#he was released before silver wolf i think

[another-goblin]

That's what happened, right? This is why he seemingly has nothing to do with all this shit show.

[vxnuslogy]

— what does it mean to be a star?

pairing: sunday x gn!reader

premise: sunday has stayed with you and the stellaron hunters for a few years. your lives has been filled with many adventures, both good and bad. but like any other story crafted by elio, they must come to an end eventually.

– warnings: slight angst if you squint, implications of committing suicide, not proofread that much.

– author’s note: one final (?) stellaron hunter!sunday fic before he gets released. ive missed writing for this man. art credits to 冒火锅海台 on Weibo for the art. | 1.9k words.

— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @dazaisms ; if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know by sending an ask off anon or filling out the forms in my pinned !!!

“what do you think makes a star, a star?”

elio asked you that question decades ago. and only now have you arrived at one final answer. out of curiosity, you asked each hunter the same question over the years that have passed, each of them giving one answer that didn’t quite match the rest.

“to be the top player of course!” silver wolf exclaimed, her tone in a matter of fact manner as she didn’t even look up from her console. you only shook your head in amusement, jotting her answer down in a new journal your boss had given you as a present.

“a star you ask,” kafka tilted her head curiously at you. eyes freed from her usual contacts and makeup followed your movement as you stirred the coffee in your cup. “well, a star for me would be something that captures the attention of others without much effort. stars often piqued your interest, didn’t they?” you only smiled in response and nodded. you made a mental note to write it down later before you went to bed.

firefly took a little longer than the last two to answer. you patiently waited, spooning pieces of cake to your lips as the girl in front of you was deep in thought. “a guide. even in your darkest moment, a star will shine as a guide for you to follow so you don’t stray from your path.” she answered in a whisper. eyes wistful as she played with the dessert on her plate. 

“a star,” blade’s gruff voice cut through the night like a knife. a few bottles of local xianzhou wine separating you two as you sat on the roof overlooking the stars above. you hadn’t expected blade of all people to humor your questions, but here you were, grateful in his presence. “it means to burn. so brightly you are unrecognizable, to others and yourself.”

“you have a sad answer,” you mutter, taking a sip of the wine from the small cup as the man huffs. 

“time takes a heavy toll for both you and i,” the wind sways his hair in a deathly dance. he brings his cup to his lips and drinks in one go. you don’t mention how you can barely finish a cup with how strong the drink was—blade could not feel the pain of it in his throat, and he never will. “you’ve already burned through the remains of your past self. it won’t be long before you look in the mirror and be unable to recognize your reflection.”

you frown at his response. “you’re pessimistic.”

“and you’re hypocritical.”

you have no rebuttal to his accusation, after all, at the very core of your character, the word “hypocrite” hangs like a thorny crown. 

“tell me, starcatcher,” red eyes reflected the conflict you’ve been massing deep within the columns of your bones. they crash onto your being like how the oceans do to the shores—unrelenting and loud. “are you that afraid of losing another that you love them as if tomorrow they’ll die?”

you fled the roof that night. unable to face your hopelessness head on after a fresh wound of death lingers by your heart. another attempt, another reminder of the welling darkness that swells from the tip of your fingers and slowly corrupts your entire body. it drowns you and you can’t help but fear that time is clutching your shoulder, weighing you down to the ocean floor as it laughs at your predicament.

“so it’s decided then.”

but that’s no longer the case. no, not anymore. it's been decades since then, and you’ve changed.

elio sits by his office chair, typewriter moved to the side as he personally penned the final bits of your songbird’s script. you were elio’s editor and proofreader. you don’t exactly remember when it started but when you were still an unwilling understudy��an actor who refused to acknowledge the stage—he would trap you in his office and force you to read over his script to make sure there were no errors.

a small and sad smile tugged at your lips as you read the pages of inked fate. “this is for the best.”

“the best, yes,” elio ceases his writing. compiling the papers into one bulk and staring right at you. “but it's not the ending you wanted.”

you shook your head, “my preferred ending isn’t relevant to how the story ends. it’s not my story to tell.”

“yes, but it's a story you’re meant to read,” there was pity in his eyes. your heart felt too heavy with realization to even feel offended by such a look. “you have the right to feel dissatisfied.”

“thank you, elio, truly,” you only gave destiny’s slave one final smile before standing. you quietly made your way to the door, forcing your steps to sound quiet and lacking sadness. but you can’t do that, you never will. building up walls will only prove to be a waste of effort. not when elio knows every brick by heart.

with a heavy sigh, you linger by the office door before making your way to your workshop. memories from years ago flood your mind as the halls fill your senses. photos from vacation, missions, and simple outings hang by the walls while certain trinkets and relics from bygone travels litter the many desks and drawers. time did take a heavy toll just like blade said. kafka’s skin started to wrinkle a bit, silver wolf started growing taller, firefly grew paler and paler, and blade looked more like death with every breath he took.

time was a painful thing to remember—it’s not infinite. and even if it was, it's never always kind to everyone. and you? you are worse than time and death itself. you were the inevitable–finality. 

“good morning, [name].”

a voice from behind greets you like a new sunrise–a reminder that a new day is here. you couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips. seeing sunday in blade’s shirt hang over his body like a blanket, firefly’s hair ties on his wrists and a spare console from silver wolf in one hand brings you so much joy. 

“sunday, good morning!” you sounded breathless. tucking both hands behind your back to hide your shaking as he joined you on your way to the workshop he’s made as his makeshift nest.

sunday smiles—filled with all the hope you’ve craved and lost. it stings your heart like a needle but you don’t show it. you’re first to look away, like all the other times in his presence, unable to face the way his wings flutter and smile twitch in concern.

when you reach the workshop, you flicker the lights on and sunday makes himself at home. sitting by the windowsill as you sat down by your table. scattered fabrics for sunday’s final mission lay in your hands, and you’d be damned if you messed up now. even with a heavy heart, you willed your hands to work, all the while ignoring the concerned stare of the angel sunbathing by the window.

the two of you spend the first few hours of morning in each other’s quiet presence before your tongue itches to ask him a question. “sunday,” you call his name and you curse the flutter in your chest when he immediately looks at you. he noticed his overly quick response and covered half of his face with a fist, pretending to hide a cough instead of his coloring cheeks.

“yes?” he asks, attention solely on you as you pin the needle back on the cushion and smooth out any creases.

“what does it mean to be a star?”

he blinked owlishly at your question. a soft hum escaped his lips as his fingers tapped on the rim of his cup in contemplation. “is there…” he tests the waters—seeing if it's too hot or too cold. “any particular occasion for you to ask me a question?”

you shake your head in amusement when his more formal tone slips out. “no, not at all. just a little tradition is all.”

“well, then,” the words die out on his tongue. every once in a while, sunday would peer at you like a lost child but you’d only nod encouragingly. “a star means to be remembered.” he looked out the window, watching the clouds pass by in a blur. “even if they aren’t always there, you know they exist.”

sometimes you wonder if it's possible for sunday to look at himself through the lens of your eyes. he was beautiful like the praise of idrila, happiness like aha’s laughter, and the curiosity for adventure like akivili. sunday wasn’t just a star, he was the entire universe. and he remained blissfully unaware of it.

“[name], is everything all right?” 

you’re snapped out of your daze when you feel his hand on your cheek. lost in the replays of sunday’s image in your mind, you didn’t notice the stray tears that had betrayed your image of an unbothered editor. 

“please, don’t cry,” he whispers, pressing your foreheads together. his thumb gently wiping away the tears that escaped your eyes. you can’t help but chuckle. sunday truly was like a sponge when it comes to others’ habits.

“what hurts you so?”

“what makes you think i’m hurt?” quite frankly, you were hurt. so incredibly hurt by his eventual departure but your heart knows his stay was only temporary. but that didn’t mean you never hoped. 

hoped. over the course of a few years, sunday had succeeded in the mission the other hunters failed at. he made you hope again.

“kafka is cooking everyone’s breakfast. it’ll surely brighten up your mood.” he states taking your hand in his and tugging you in the direction of the dining room and kitchen. sunday maneuvered through the headquarters with such ease your ribs began to clamp on your heart again.

this was his home, his respite. but only for a short time.

when the two of you enter the room, you notice his frown. the emotions of everyone were palpable—it felt suffocating. your eyes met blade and you just smiled. one deep breath in and you snapped back into your joyous self. bringing temporary light to the room.

even as you ate and chatted, there were undertones of sadness. sunday nudged your side and quietly asked you, “are you quite sure everything is alright? everyone seems sad today.”

you look at them one by one. kafka’s eyes are slowly being accompanied by eye bags and wrinkles, silver wolf is nearing blade’s shoulder, firefly looks paler, and blade’s hand shakes as he holds his chopsticks. you look at sunday’s eyes, and smile. even he was a victim of time with the way his hair grew longer and face filled with more life.

“they’re just worried,” you look away first like always. meeting blade’s gaze halfway and smiling to yourself when you see him huff in denial. “your next mission is here.”

what does it mean to be a star? elio asked you that question a long, long time ago. and you only found the answer in the form of an angel with wings behind his ears and eyes that shined like the sun. the star you’ve grown to love burns brighter than the sun but still requires rest when night falls. 

to be a star means to be remembered, even in the face of departure. you remain bright and unforgotten. left in the care of a conductor and an express you’ve once loved.

to be a star means to face the inevitable that sunday was meant for greater things than being just a fugitive venturing the universe.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[papamado]

A "theory" regarding Sampo's abilities

okay so this is an absolute mess and more of a ramble but I think it might be worth sharing so here I am Since I'm very normal about Sampo Koski, I've noticed some paralels to.. osme things... and i ended up with a concept that Sampo might be aware/know the future/what is supposed to happen, aka the same/similar thing to what Elio is using as a base to write his scripts, or is aware of the scripts that Elio creates. On Belobog we don't encounter stellaron hunters (for obvious reasons), but Sampo does end up being the one who affects the way the plot goes and actively puts it in motion, he's the one in control (to some extent) He also appears to be aware of stuff that has yet to happen and its possible outcomes (getting Natasha even before we started fighting Svarog, knowing that we will arrive on Luofu despite it being an unplanned stop, the possible future Belobog catastropy) There's 2 ways to approach this: 1. He works with how it's supposed to go, (following the trailblazer around, kinda like stellaron hunters happen to do) 2. He deliberately works against it (Jarilo VI is supposed to face destruction but he prevents it, could be for personal reasons) Theres also the whole thing about him breaking the 4th wall, which could be connected. Awarnesss of the fact that this is a game could result in him having a knowledge of what the plot of said game is.

I strongly HC Sampo to be an Elation emanator, so I thought about what being an elation emanator could mean, as in, how realistically the powers could manifest From the recent guide that was released along side the 2.2 stream, we have a small entry about Masked Fools which confirms that the path powers are DIRECTLY tied to their masks (this could mean both metaphorical or physical masks but from what i get from the context here it most likely refers to the physical ones?? the concept works with both possibilities tho so whatever <3 )

We know that sampo doesn't have his mask currently (which also works in a symbolic way, Masks represent the devotion to Elation, him not having it could represent how he wants to distance himself from what Elation is considered to be and pursue his own idea of it instead. The general description provided here for how masked fools are doesn't exactly fit him either whichmight further prove that idea, i should write a seperate post on that, anyways-) , so how the hell can he do shit that we assumed earlier was Elation-related powers? i have 2 possible explanations for this 1. Him being an emanator lets him use the path powers without a need for a mask, if thats the case - the mask would only provide a powerup 2. Elation emanator powers are something else altogether

when we look at his current power set/abilities it can all be tied to the fact that this is a game so, him bieng an emanator of elation would allow him to ignore the rules of this world/mainupulate said rules, simple as that it would also explain why he can break the 4th wall, why he is aware of the future events, what leads to them and/or how to stop them in the first place and how he can do stuff that contradicts what's been established lore vise (like how nobody should be able to cross the barrier between the Overworld and Underworld), those rules don't apply to him, he's beyond them. But there's more we DO have an in game example of people already messing with the reality in the same manner - Silver Wolf From what I gathered (with help of some friends of mine mwah mwah), the "reality editing" abilites of Punklorde people are directly tied to a technology present in said world - that combined with the world view of those living here results with them reating the world they live in as if it was a game

Adding onto that, during "punklorde mentality" mission we get to hear Leonard say this:

"Masked fools believe it really exists" so are the Masked Fools aware that someone could posses *actual* (not provided by technology) power to alter/manipulate reality and ignore the established rules of the world? We can kinda see such thing happening with Aha in stimulated universe, not only do they break the 4th wall, but according to Herta they also seem to be affecting the stimulated universe itself Aha's manipulation of reality is also mentioned in the "Glimpses into the Beyond"

So maybe to wrap it all up: 1. Sampo could be aware of the possible future events and use the reality manipulation abilities/the fact that the rules don't apply to him to achieve a desired outcome 2. Him and the Stellaron Hunters have some paralels in the narrative when it comes to the role that they play and what they do?? kinda??? 3. Punklorde people could be affiliated with Elation to some extent, even if not directly blessed by it I am probably VERY wrong about all of this but honestly I'm having fun with this theory so idc <3

[supercap2319]

Can you make a fic about Harlan × Cody. I keep rewatch Wolf pack cuz damn their scene at the parking car at gym (I think?)

Noble walked out of the gym for a little bit of fresh air. The air was cleaner, and less smellier than inside. He heard the sound of quiet moans. He looks around the parking lot and sees Cody and Harlan kissing against someone's car. Noble's car. He walked towards them. "Hey! if you guys are gonna do it, please don't do it on my car."

Harlan and Cody pull apart, turning to face Noble with mischievous grins. Harlan leans against the car, his hand possessively caressing the roof. "Aw, come on, man. Your car's just as good as any other."

"Yeah, but I don't want anything on it." Noble said, taking in their appearance. Cody and Harlan were both panting. Harlan was shirtless, a silver chain around his neck, but Cody still wore his yellow muscle shirt. "Having fun?"

Harlan smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just a little... foreplay. You know how it is, right?" Cody grins wolfishly, stepping closer to Noble. "Want to join us?"

"You want me to hook up in a parking lot?" Noble asked.

The young werewolf chuckles, pushing off the car and moving towards Noble. "What, you've never been adventurous?" Cody's eyes rake over Noble's body appreciatively. "Live a little. No one's watching..."

"Nice try, Harlan. Those tricks don't work." Noble smiled. Harlan laughs, a rich, deep sound. "Alright, alright. Fair enough. But... how about this? We'll make it worth your while. You join us, and we'll... clean your car. Top to bottom. Inside and out."

"You will?"

Cody nods eagerly. "Scout's honor." Harlan mimics the scout sign with his fingers, a mockery of the gesture. "So, what do you say? A little fun, a clean car?"

"Sounds great." Noble smiled.

Harlan's face lights up with a victorious grin. "Excellent!" Cody pounces, pressing Noble against the car and kissing him fiercely. Noble gasped as Cody's lips were on his own, feeling the side of his car against his back. Harlan takes advantage of the moment, his hands roaming over Noble's body as Cody kisses him. "Mmm, I've wanted this for so long," Harlan murmurs against Noble's neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Cody, help me get him out of these clothes..."

Noble groans and grinds as Harlan and Cody strip him bare in the gym parking lot. With a final tug, Noble stands naked before them, the cool night air caressing his skin. Harlan drops to his knees, taking Noble in his mouth hungrily. Cody watches for a moment, biting his lip before joining Harlan. Together, they worship Noble, their mouths and hands working in harmony. Noble gasped and moaned as Harlan and Cody service his cock. Licking and laping at his cock and balls. He threads his fingers through their hair, watching with hooded eyes as they make out on his cock. "So hot..."

Harlan and Cody look up at Noble, their faces covered in saliva and their hair mussed. Harlan gazes up at him adoringly, while Cody's eyes burn with desire. They continue their dual oral assault, their movements becoming more frantic as they fight for Noble's attention. He knew that Harlan was a slut, but he never expected it from Cody as well. Now, he had both studs on their knees sucking him off. It was so hot.

Noble's breathing hitches as they intensify their efforts, Harlan swallowing him whole while Cody focuses on the sensitive underside. The dual sensation is overwhelming, and Noble can't help but buck his hips, the cold metal of the car door pressing against his back. "I'm... gonna...gonna...shit!"

Both guys redouble their efforts, their hands gripping Noble's thighs as they eagerly await his release. Harlan's fingers dig into the flesh, encouraging him to let go. Cody's eyes flutter closed, his own desire evident through his pants. "Come for us, Noble. Please..." Noble groans and moans loudly as he spills his load into the eager mouths of both guys.

Harlan and Cody swallow every last drop, cleaning Noble up with gentle laps before they rise, their chins glistening. Cody leans in to kiss Harlan, sharing Noble's taste between them. "He tastes so good," Harlan murmurs against Cody's mouth. "Noble deserves a turn now."

[tinyfantasminha]

Hi op! Just wanted to say I love your art and your oc, and of course your brainrots over Jack  🫶 they made me like and appreciate Jack a lot more! If it's okay to ask, how did you ended up liking him? Was he already a fave from the start or did he worm your way into your heart gradually? And (if you're comfortable ofc) what made you decide to yume with him?

Hope you have a good new years!! 💕

AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH CRYING ON MY KNEES.....!!!!! This makes me so jkgjgjfkdjkfkh,,gfhfgjddjfh ...... thank you so much 😭💕

No matter how many people still say to me they've come to appreciate Jack more because of me I can never get used to it but it's still a wonderful feeling!! Like YES that's what I want !! Love Jack Howl!!

Anon, you just opened pandora's box...... I wished I could answer that in a few words, but I can't. Too much thoughts, too much words I need to get out of my chest. FINALLY THIS OPPORTUNITY HAS COME... *rubs hands*

I might as well put up the whole Jack-loving saga from start to present in chronological order. This is gonna be a VERY long post. (a lot of spoilers and thoughts on book 2 and 3)

To tell the truth, no, Jack was not an immediate fave! I remember seeing the official promotional art for the dorms back in 2019 before the game even released. The ones that immediately got my attention first were Leona, Ruggie, Malleus and Silver. HJDDHHGNJDSD I remember being immediately excited seeing savanaclaw cause they tick a lot of boxes I like… ''ohh??! furry kemonomimi dorm with edgy biker aesthetics?!'' <- is obsessed with leather jackets. But I regret to say that Jack didn't catch my attention, aside from the wolf ears. I-It makes me sad to remember that I judged him at first… 😭 Since Leona and Ruggie are smirking in their official sprite, and Jack looks so overly serious and closed off. BUT BOY, IF ONLY YOU HAD TOLD ME BACK THEN THAT I WOULD HAVE A 4+ YEAR OBSESSION WITH THIS WOLF GUY…………

I had missed the game's launch (march 2020) and only got to know they had already released it when I saw an user on facebook sharing screenshots of their game. Before downloading the game, I decided to watch all of the released main story segments on youtube (god bless Shel_BB's channel). I got invested right off the bat, and as I watched my faves basically fluctuated every week or every a few days... I remember my first (?? was it actually first? I don't remember anymore) fave being Ace because of course hE'S THE FIRST CHARA OF THE MAIN CAST TO APPEAR... that is, until Leona's first appearance in book 1 it ruined my life. I was like ''ah, there he is. Hot lion guy. He's my fave. Can't wait for his chapter'' I SEE A HOT KEMONOMIMI I PRESS LIKE but after book 1 ending, I was so moved by Riddle's backstory that he also became one of my faves?! DAMN GIRL DECIDE

OKAY SO HERE COMES THE GOOD PART, which is book 2. Nowadays I think that book 2 is in fact not good from a writing perspective, Leona's plan is dumb, Ruggie and Jack never got the closure they deserved, it felt too rushed etc. But I wasn't really thinking about it in a critical way, I was just excited to see new characters and how the story would go (good for me ig?? at least I had a good experience). Anyway, I remember taking an immediate liking to Leona and Ruggie but I was still super neutral about Jack throughout most of the chapter. I remember admiring his sense of justice and willingness to betray his dorm, so he was already getting on my good side. sfgsdkjgs I think the first... spark... was the moment when Jack came into ramshackle to personally wake up Yuu. ''I wanted to make sure you didn't mess everything up by oversleeping'' OKAY LIKE BUT WE JUST MET...? I wondered why he'd go that far for a nobody he just met? Then it occurred to me, could it be that he... CARES.... 😱

I thought him being a tsundere was cute. I always had... a thing for characters that look stoic and edgy but are actually big softies. I blame Lucario from the movie Lucario and the mystery of mew for starting my obsession with canine stoic ''I need no friends'' energy characters when in fact they DO need friends And I was also both amused and surprised that he could transform into a literal wolf?! JKDSJKFGSJK I STARTED TO THINK AAWW THATS CUTE FOR HIM... I love fuzzy animals so this was a bonus for me. And then after Leona's overblot there WAS... THIS SCENE--

Something about Yuu pointing out that Jack genuinely smiled and him going all tsun about it stirred a warm feeling in me... I just thought it was the cutest moment in the game so far. This was the point where I realized Jack is a genuinely sweet and caring character. After book 2 ending he had already ranked a lot higher in my tier list.

But it was only during book 3 that ACTUALLY started my spiral to madness made me realize he was gonna be more than just a character I liked.

I want to clarify that when I was watching the main story, I was self inserting as Yuu the entire time, meaning I was trying to imagine myself in their situation and how I would react if I were in said situation. There wasn't anything of substance directly affecting Yuu in book 1 and 2, but book 3 was when it got a lot personal for me. Right off the bat in book 3, adeuce and Grim got separated from Yuu and were forced to be Azul's slaves alongside a bunch of other... idk 100+ students? (or was it 200?) this was the first time since the prologue that Yuu was completely alone, and it made me feel a pang of dread. I'm not proud to say I was never the most independent person, (must be from neurodivergency + always being the pampered youngest sibling of other 4 older siblings 💀) and being socially awkward, I'd completely freeze in this situation. It's just a very stressful and scary situation to be in. That's why I was immediately relieved when Jack appeared. He refused to help at first but all it took was ONE phrase (either tease him or make him feel pity for you) to convince him.

''You've gotten pretty used to how things work in this school. Can't be helped. I'll tag along with you for a bit.''

He said he would tag along FOR A BIT... AND HE LOYALLY STAYED BY YUU'S SIDE THE ENTIRE TIME, UNTIL THE END OF THE EPISODE. I was SO deeply moved by that, you have no idea. When I was in middle school I had really bad social anxiety, like Idia-level. I was the type of person who had to cling on every possible chance of being helped and escorted around in social situations, and I couldn't vocally ask for help, so I had to wait until an extrovert took pity on me and helped me. Once in a school trip, we had to take a train at the metro station and everyone else seemed to have a magnetic card but not me... I thought I was gonna be left behind so I started to panic real bad and have an anxiety attack, and when I pleaded to my extroverted 'friend' for help, they turned their back on me. It was an awful feeling that still makes me feel helpless every time I remember it. So that's why at first I thought Jack wasn't actually gonna help Yuu, and when he... changed his mind so quickly and decided to tag along, it was a very special moment to me. I thought, ''you have no reason to be helping me but you're doing it anyway.'' Feels like in twst most of the characters have an ulterior motive when helping others, but not Jack. He claims he's not worried about adeuce and grim, but he's too easy to read. He cares, even though he gets no compensation, or any kind of reward for this. It made me feel safe around him, like I could rely on him for everything. This was the first heart arrow.

Every time spent with Jack in book 3 I fell more and more in love with him (even though I wasn't aware of it yet). He's a lot more nuanced here than he was in book 2; he shows more sides of him like his silly puppy side (when he was excited to see that octavinelle was underwater and gushed about it like an excited puppy and then got self conscious and awkward about it STOP HEWASJSGJKGSOOSOCVNSMDOSO CUTE) his caring, worried, nervous sides… He also totally did NOT NEED to accompany Yuu in Mostro Lounge's VIP room since Azul had business with Yuu only, and yet Jack was ALWAYS on their side, like a loyal guard dog. Feeling safe and reassured around a person is EXTREMELY important to me. No matter what happens, Jack is not the type to turn his back on you. If you're nice and genuine with him, he will help you with anything and never let you down, it's what I thought.

AND THEN UH.... THERE WAS THAT ONE SCENE WHEN ADEUCE + GRIM + YUU + JACK HIDE UNDER AZULS TABLE IN THE VIP ROOM... THIS IS A SCENE I THIN K A LOT BECAUSE UH... SQUISHED-UNDER-A-TIGHT-SPACE-TOGETHER-TO-HIDE MAY BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES..... AND I CAUGHT MUYSEFL THINKING NOT SO FAMILY-FRIENDLY THOUGHTS LIKE....DOESS THAT MEAN I'M PRESSED AGAINST JACK HERE,,?!??'/? AGAINST HIS BIG, WARM... tibbies... WHERE I CAN FEEL SAFE AND PROTECTED.... ADNW WE HAVE TO STAY QUIET AND VERY STILL SO AZUL DOESN'T CATCH US OOOooooHHHH....... LET ME REMINGD YOU I STILL DIDNT CONSIDER MYSESLF A SIMP FOR JACK BUT MY CHEEKS WERE AFLAME I WAS RED IN THE FACE AND IT GOT ME THINKING '''''''N-NO WAY I DONT LIKE HIM LIKE THAT RIGHT??? (This was the second heart arrow.)

AND THEN AND THEN AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaAA…… WHENB YUU AND GRIM ARE KICKED OUT OF RAMSHACKLE AND HAVE NOWHERE TO SLEEP AND SINCE ITS LIKE NOVEMBER IT MUST BE COLD AS FUCK OUTSIDE….. THIS IS BY FAR THE SCARIEST SITUATION FOR ME, I LIVE IN A WARM PLACE IF I HAD TO SLEEP OUTSIDE AT A TEMP UNDER 10 DEGREES CELCIUS WITH ONLY A SCHOOL UNIFORM I WOULDNT JUJST ''CATCH A COLD'' ACE TRAPPOLA I WOULD GET HYPOTHERMIA AND FUCKING DIE PROBABLY, GETTING KICKED OUT OF YOUR OWN HOME WITH NO PLACE TO SLEEP? I'D JUST GIVE UP CURL MYSELF INTO A BALL AND CRY……. BUT TJEN BUT THEN JACK LIKE AN ANGEL DESCENDED FROM HEAVEN OFFERED YUU AND GRIM TO TAKE THEM TO SAVANACALW?????????????? AND HE CLAIMS ITS CAUSE EVEN THOUGH HE SAID HE'D HAVE THEIR BACK, HE DIDN'T FEEL LIKE HE ACTUALLY HELPED THEM UNTIL NOW…. AND ACE AND DEUCE AND GRIM ALL SMIRKED AND TEASED HIM ABOUT LIKE ACE'S VOICE TONE IS VERY REMINISCING OF THE TONE SOMEBODY USES WHEN THEY TEASE SOMEONE ELSE ABOUT THEIR CRUSH I FELT IT IN MY BONESSS… LIKE HEY JACK WHY ARE YOU BEING SO NICE TO THEM IF IT DOESN'T BENEFIT YOU… COULD IT BE THAT YOU'RE (GASP) CRUSHING ON THEM…?!?!? YOU KNOW THIS IS THE ENERGY I GOT FROM THIS SCENE AND IF ONLY THIS GAME WAS ROMANCE-INCLINED THATS EXACTLY HOW THIS SCENE WOULD GO I FEEL IITTTTTTTTTTTT DSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAJGNNJNJCFNJBCVÇ;CV;/VC;ÑCV~]DF.ÇHFDMHFDNJDHFJHBNDFJ

……..That was the third heart arrow.

My mind is hazy after this. I don't know what else to say for the climax + ending of book 3, I really enjoyed Azul and the tweel's characters, but my mind was still on Jack and how I came to love him after this. I remember hoping that… we would get to sleep in Jack's room (this was before I realized that all of first years room were a shared 4-person room, I thought only heartslabyul was like this 💀) but I was not disappointed to find out we'd sleep in Leona's room instead 😋 is bonked

While Jack was super high in my tier list at that point, he had to share first place with some others for a while… I downloaded the game in july 2020, but it was only during august that I started to actively post art here on my blog and engage more with the fandom. And during that time I was passing through a octavinelle + scarabia phase which was especially strong during august and september if you follow me ALL THE WAY back then…… congrats soldier my faves fluctuated between Jack, Jade, Floyd, Jamil and Kalim constantly and there was even a time where I considered the Ja-trio (Jade, Jack, Jamil) my favorite characters and couldn't choose between them. So what made me ultimately lean towards Jack? Uh, to sum it up it's because he was the least popular. I was in a somewhat big twst discord server back then and although I'm super grateful to have been part of the server and met wonderful people there who are friends till this day, I also had a few unpleasant experiences. Jade, Floyd and Jamil were super popular in the server I was in, so whenever I tried to talk or gush about them, I was talked over. The server was also yume-friendly but I was still figuring out this whole yume thing and who I'd yume. The more I was talked over and ignored in favor of the louder and more popular tweels/jamil stans in the server (I think there was AT LEAST 5 yumes for each of them...) the more I felt unmotivated to keep gushing for them. Whenever I made art of them, people would immediately tag the popular loud stans to gush other THEIR reaction, and suddenly the conversation was immediately shifted towards them. I know this sort of thing is expected in a big server since people already have their circles but man… It made me a lot insecure to yume them.

But whenever I talked about JACK I was actually listened to, and my opinions were validated. Simply because back then there were little to none Jack stans, so most of them looked up to me as reference for a ''Jack enjoyer/simp''. I started to think how unfair it was that the other characters had plenty of love, plenty of attention already while Jack had almost none. No one hated him but no one quite loved him either to consider him their #1. I was baffled because he's genuinely one of the sweetest characters. I know it sounds silly, but I felt compelled to be his advocate. I WANTED people to see just how sweet he is, how he's more than just a big, uninteresting jock that only talks about working out.

I always sympathized with the odd, with the outcasts, with the ones that weren't chosen because they were not like the majority because they remind me of what I went through as a socially anxious aspie kid (I was never really comfortable revealing my diagnosis online but there you have it, autistic vic reveal lol as if that wasn't obvious before ig) do you know the feeling of being in PE class and the two kids forming groups are choosing who they want for their team and you know you'll be dead last because no one wants you in their team? So you end up in a random team not because someone chose you, but because you were the only one left and they needed to fill the space. They don't necessarily want to kick you out of the team, but they don't want you either. You're indifferent to them. This is how I imagined how Jack must have felt like in the fandom. Always ''he's such a good boy'' ''he's so sweet'' but never someone's favorite. I've lost count of how many self proclaimed ''savanaclaw stans'' I met that are just solely Leona stans who talk 90% of the time about Leona, the other 10% about Ruggie and outright IGNORE Jack.

After getting Jack's first birthday card in the first 10 rolls, I decided, well he's gonna be MY favorite. The other popular characters have enough fans, enough people to make art and writing for them. It wouldn't make a difference if one more fan is added or removed. But for Jack, at least back then, it DID make a difference. Finding people in the eng fandom who would do fanart of him (like just HIM, not him being part of a group like savanaclaw or first years) was so rare. And especially finding accounts or blogs dedicated entirely about him…?? I don't remember seeing any of it. This…erasure, this indifference towards him made me feel even more connected to him. I want to keep supporting him, to keep giving him the love that he deserves.

In these 4 years he's been a massive source of comfort to me, if I feel anxious or stressed I imagine his big, warm hand on my shoulder, on the small of my back, patting my head etc… I imagine him motivating me to work harder, to push myself out of my comfort zone, telling me to stop moping and to get up and try again. I imagine him giving me his tail to hold and pet when I need to keep myself grounded. I imagine his disapproving look when I have dishonest thoughts or think about taking shortcuts.

I don't know how to finish this, but if you read ALL of this congrats and thank you for bearing with me lol it took me almost 4 hours to write this entire bible...... if you DID read all of this, I hope I could, if only a little bit, change your perspective on Jack Howl for the better.

I love Jack Howl.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

THE BINDING THRONE~2

Summery: The Binding Throne is a dark fantasy where Y/N is bound by ancient magic to Bucky and Loki—two dangerous men consumed by obsession. As passion, power, and prophecy collide, she must embrace her fate as queen or be devoured by it.

Characters: Dark!Loki x f!reader x Dark!Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Dark fantasy, obsessive behavior, manipulation,smut,possessiveness

||Main Masterlist|| ||Series Masterlist||

||PART 1: THE SEER’S TETHER||

CHAPTER TWO: THRONE

The keep whispered.

Not in words, but in sensations.

It pulsed beneath your feet like a living thing, old and powerful—its walls layered with spells and secrets you could feel but not yet understand. You’d lost track of time in this place. Whether a day had passed or a week, you couldn’t say.

The sky outside the narrow windows never changed. Always that same bruised violet, streaked with silver lightning. No sun. No stars. No sound of birds or breeze—only silence and the constant sensation that you were being watched.

Because you were.

They did not leave you alone.

Not truly.

Bucky watched from the shadows. Silent, still. Always present in the corridors you crossed, at the edge of every room you entered. A sentinel in black and steel, he trailed you like a wolf—never speaking unless he must, but his gaze a constant pressure on your spine.

Loki, in contrast, made no effort to hide his fascination.

He joined your mornings like a lover who’d always known your body. Draped in green velvet and the scent of ancient things, he’d lean in close with a smirk on his lips and a spell on his tongue. He wanted you to laugh. To challenge him. To want him.

And you did. Against your better judgment, your blood warmed when he neared. When he spoke of magic and power and the ways he could show you both. He read your hesitations like scripture—and twisted them sweetly into temptation.

“Do you know what they used to call this place?” he asked one evening, standing beside you in the tower garden. The moon—if it could be called that—hovered high above, casting pale light through thorny vines. “The Grave of Choice.”

You arched a brow. “Comforting.”

He smiled. “Not everything beautiful is safe, darling.”

You looked up at him, your own magic crackling faintly in your fingertips. “You think this place is beautiful?”

He turned to you fully then, his hand lifting to brush a lock of hair from your face. He didn’t touch you—but the threat of contact made you still.

“I think you are,” he said. “And that’s far more dangerous.”

Before you could answer, Bucky emerged from the archway behind you—his arrival utterly silent.

Loki’s expression darkened, subtly. “Do you ever knock, wolf?”

Bucky ignored him. His gaze found yours. “The binding grows stronger.”

You tensed. “What do you mean?”

He stepped forward, eyes flicking to the base of your throat. You followed his gaze—and froze.

The obsidian pendant.

The runes on its surface had changed. They glowed faintly now, pulsing with heat like coals under skin.

“It responds to both of us,” Bucky said. His voice was low. Careful. “But only through you.”

Loki folded his arms. “Fascinating. The seer as conduit. Oracle and offering.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not your offering.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “Not yet.”

You backed away.

But the air shifted—and the garden changed.

Vines twisted behind you. The walls closed in. The doors disappeared.

Magic.

Loki’s doing.

You turned on him. “Release the spell.”

He gave you a slow smile. “I will. But not until you answer one thing.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer, each movement deliberate. Predatory.

“Do you want either of us?” he asked, voice silk and steel. “Or do you merely fear being wanted?”

Silence followed. You couldn’t speak.

He raised a hand, and this time he did touch you—his fingers grazing your jaw, the briefest contact, but it burned.

You heard Bucky shift. The garden trembled with it.

“Enough,” Bucky said. There was a warning in his tone. One that sent cold through the stone beneath your feet.

Loki chuckled. “So territorial. But don’t worry, soldier. I’m not here to steal her.”

You pulled away. “I’m not something to be stolen.”

That stopped them both.

The vines loosened.

The spell lifted.

You left them standing there, fury and magic crackling in your wake.

____

The next morning, you woke to a whisper.

Not in your room.

In your mind.

Come to the mirror hall.

It was Loki’s voice.

You shouldn’t have listened.

You went anyway.

The hall was vast and cold. Mirrors lined every surface—tall, silver-edged, enchanted. You saw yourself reflected a thousand ways. Older. Younger. Stronger. Broken.

And then, Loki appeared behind you.

No longer grinning.

He stepped beside you, gaze locked on your reflection.

“Do you want to see your power?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“Not what the world says it should be,” he added. “Not what your bloodline must be. But what it could become.”

Your breath caught.

He reached for you—and when your fingers touched, the mirrors shattered.

You weren’t in the hall anymore.

You stood in a dream-version of yourself. Crowned in flame. Runes carved into your skin. Magic pouring from your mouth like language never spoken aloud. In this version, you belonged to nothing. To no one.

And yet…

Bucky stood behind you.

And Loki beside you.

One hand on your heart.

The other at your throat.

Both of them waiting.

Both of them wanting.

You tore free of the vision with a scream.

Fell to your knees in the real hall.

Loki knelt beside you, his face pale. “You saw it.”

You trembled. “What was that?”

He didn’t smile. “Your destiny.”

____

Later that night, Bucky came to your chamber.

You were still shaken. Still furious. Still burning with questions you couldn’t silence.

“Why me?” you demanded when he stepped inside, closing the door with a quiet click. “What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you like a man preparing to do something he’d hate himself for.

Finally, he said:

“I was a weapon before I was a man. A monster before I had a name. But something in me stilled the first time I saw you.”

You swallowed hard.

He stepped closer.

“Your magic… It doesn’t run from mine. It listens.”

You shivered. “And Loki?”

His jaw clenched. “He wants to possess you.”

“And you don’t?”

He stepped closer still—until you could feel the cold of his metal arm brushing the heat of your skin.

“I want to protect you from what’s coming,” he said. “Even if that means protecting you from me.”

You stared up at him.

“Then why stay?”

His voice dropped.

“Because I can’t leave you.”

——-

And in the weeks that followed, the keep changed.

Loki showed you spells no mortal had ever seen—he taught you to read the threads between realms, to twist the air into shapes, to wield fire with your eyes alone.

Bucky showed you silence. Strength. Protection. He taught you to fight, not with rage, but with precision. And when you couldn’t sleep, it was his footsteps you heard outside your door.

They circled each other like lions.

And you were the flame between them.

But the throne—the Binding Throne—still waited.

It would choose.

And you would feel the cost of that choice in your blood, your bones, your soul.

Until then…

You were not safe.

But you were no longer powerless.

-to be continued

[edda-grenade]

more tattoo removal shenanigans

solas has a job in the garden section of a hardware store, blood on his hands, a past that probably wants him dead, and a tattoo he really wants to get rid of. saar’s a vitaar and tattoo (removal) artist, who is definitely, totally, 100% the normal one in this scenario

au tag bc yes this is escalating

2nd meeting

Solas arrives early for his first session of tattoo removal. Someone else stands behind the counter this time: a tall and lanky Dalish elf, her dark hair done up in haphazard buns. He notes the pattern of her vallaslin—the All-Mother, strong and shielding as a tree—and swallows down the panic that attempts to climb up his throat once more.

It is possible to remove his marks—the marks on him. Sunken inside his skin, down into his bones…

“Oh! You must be Solas!” the Dalish woman exclaims, eyes bright. “I’m Merrill, Saar said she mentioned me?” She steps out from behind the counter and close to him. “Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me any details,” she whispers, “but you’re in really good hands. Saar gives really good hugs if you need them; I mean I think I’m not too bad at it either, but I’m not, y’know—”

A statue in motion. The kossith in question emerges from the back room, her towering frame filling the door. 

“—Saar!” Merrill interrupts herself, “Your 3 p.m. is here!”

The gentle smile that blooms on Adaar’s face is as imbalancing as it was during their first meeting. A part of Solas wants to bare his teeth at her—he is not a wounded animal to be coaxed into shelter—but the rest of him cannot help but relax, if only slightly.

What little of her magic he was able to observe during their first meeting gave the impression of a capable mage. And if the newspaper article was accurate in this regard, she developed the enchantment herself, and ought to be able to describe its function and makeup in detail.

Adaar leads him into the back room and activates an… interesting example of a silencing sigil. Solas is not exactly familiar with the Free Marches style of academic spellcraft, but he cannot imagine anything like that being taught in official schools. She bids him sit down on the client chair, then straddles her own—backwards, again.

Her amber gaze is piercing.

“I’m not trying to pry, here,” she says, “but if you know anything about the chemical, or magical, for that matter, properties of your ink, that would be real helpful. Or just the specific product name, or manufacturer? I’ve never seen that type before.”

Solas swallows. He had done his best not to involve himself in those… proceedings. “I am afraid I do not know any specific details,” he says finally. “It is—was crafted to be particularly long-lasting and stable. It stains very well.” Like the hands of whoever applied it…

Mythal’s hands, shining silver—

Adaar laughs, small and sharp. “It certainly does.” She gets up, dons gloves, fetches the syringe tool and disinfectant. The scent of alcohol is biting as she applies it, chasing away any fragments of Solas’ memories. He breathes in deep, closing his eyes.

Adaar touches his chin, careful despite her large hands and claws, noticeable even through the thick nitrile gloves.

“Ready to get started?” Her voice is careful as well. Something in Solas’ chest twists painfully.

My dear Wolf, my General…

He releases the glamour spell.

“Yes, I am.” If his voice cracks, Adaar does not comment on it.

#

It stings. More than when Adaar extracted the sample. But if anything, the pain is a welcome distraction from the voice deep in Solas’ mind that screams he should not be doing this, must not be doing this—

“Hey. Solas?” Adaar’s voice is quiet. Solas blinks at her—he is not certain how much time has passed. “Do you… I can ask Merrill to come in, if you want?” she asks. “Hold your hand, or just keep us company? Sometimes it helps—”

“No,” Solas interrupts her, shaking his head. “I would not—the fewer people see…”

The fewer people know, the better. For his own sake, and theirs.

“Gotcha.” Adaar holds a tissue box at him. “You’re crying,” she explains gently, when he raises an eyebrow at her in question. Ah. That would explain the different stinging ache. Solas dabs his face dry while Adaar putters with her tools. She exhales, noisily, and rolls her neck and shoulders. She seems nigh exhausted. A glance at the clock hanging on the wall informs Solas that it has been almost a full hour since they began.

“Are you well?” he cannot help but ask when she sits down once more.

“Oh, yeah.” Adaar stretches her neck, generating a concerning crack, as if to belie her statement. “Your ink’s just a blighted stubborn fucker, so I need more than just the enchantment. And I haven’t figured out yet how to dislodge it more efficiently.”

More than the enchantment… She must be fueling the spell with her own magic, then. It would explain the residual energy Solas can sense lingering all around them, now that he is paying attention.

“How does it work?” Solas asks. “Both the physical mechanism and the spell?”

She hesitates, the syringe tool an inch from his face. “Little hard to explain while I’m doing this—” she gestures with her free hand at his face, “—but I can try?”

“Please do. The article did not go into much detail on the actual manner of functioning.”

Oh, that smile is new. It lights up her eyes like the sun.

“All right,” she says, pulling the skin of his cheek taut with one gentle thumb while setting the needle against it. “The core is a modified extraction spell, like what gets used in magical filtering set-ups… ”

#

It’s far from ideal, trying to explain her particular process of tattoo removal while she’s doing it. Saar constantly has to remind herself not to gesture, because she has a damn needle jabbed into Solas’ skin. The ink itself hasn’t deigned to cooperate in the meantime either, so she has to keep track of the power she’s funneling into the enchantment, move the altered tattoo gun in time when the ink does finally gets pulled out… It’s a bit of a mess, and it takes twice as long as before. Lucky that she didn’t schedule any appointments after this one.

But Solas has his eyes open now, and his breathing is regular. Not flat and fast anymore.

“You integrated multiple spells with one another? In succession?” Solas asks, a hint of disbelief in his voice. Maybe even awe.

Saar shrugs—and freezes. Blights. Good thing she’d already pulled out the needle. “Yeah? For me, it’s easier that way, building it up piece by piece. Don’t have to figure out how to fit five different things together all at once, y’know?”

“How did you deal with interference? I assume there was interference, given the complexity.”

“Oh, for sure. But it’s…” She pauses, resets the tool to the next spot, and gently holds his face still. It’s kind of endearing how readily he moves under her hand—and then completely forgets about stillness when a question or comment occurs to him. “Look,” Saar says, “I don’t know the fancy terminology for it. But I did it like you get cats used to each other. Let them sniff each other for a while, before letting them in the same room?”

“…Fascinating.” He sounds like he actually means it. His gaze shifts to somewhere in the distance, then returns. “Would you be willing to give me a demonstration? One where I am not the subject.”

Saar can’t help smiling, a little giddy. Few people are that interested. “Yeah, absolutely.” She resets the syringe tool. “Now hold still, I’m almost done with this side, then you can go back to not being an experimental subject.”

Solas actually chuckles. It’s a short, low, wry sound, but definitely a chuckle. Considering in the beginning Saar had been worried he’d start hyperventilating on her, that’s almost more of a success than getting that bloody ink out of his skin.

In the end, it takes three hours to do one cheek. Saar decides to file that as a success too. When she’d done the comparisons to the other inks in her sample library, and nothing behaved remotely the same…

“D’you wanna see how it looks right now?” she asks, before she covers the skin in ointment and gauze. Solas’ expression freezes, and only bit by bit unfreezes. Saar files that away for next time. That skittishness evidently runs deep.

“Not—not yet.”

“Sure.” She bandages the raw skin, then pats his shoulder. “Well done. That wasn’t easy.”

Solas squints at her. “I spent the past hours moving as little as possible, while you expended… quite a bit of your magical reserves.”

“True.” Saar’s starving and bloody exhausted. She takes her hand back, arms crossed over the backrest of her chair. “But removing something that was a part of you for a long time, for whatever reason, or just a short time but it still was a part of you… that’s hard. You can be proud of that.”

He looks at her as if he’s drawing up a multi-step counterargument. Saar gives him a sharp grin. “You can try and convince me otherwise next time, but not tonight.”

Solas sighs. He honestly looks exhausted too. “Very well.” He watches her for a moment, gaze inscrutable. Doesn’t smell nervous anymore, though.

“When would it be possible to schedule the next appointment?”

A part of Saar wants to say, tomorrow. But even if she didn’t have her schedule packed, she’d be too worn out to do this again so soon. She needs a lot of food, and sleep, and maybe have another go at picking apart that ink, now that she has more of it. At this point she’s almost sure there’s some kind of magic woven into it.

“In three days, same time slot?”

After a moment of consideration, Solas nods. He draws the glamour spell over the half of the tattoo that remains, and exits after her. In the front room, he hesitates before the door. He turns around and looks up at her with eyes that seem very old.

“Thank you, Saar.”

He’s gone before she can even think to reply.

Merrill, who had been closing down the shop, scoots close to Saar’s side. She gestures at her own cheek, expression curious.

“I thought he came in for tattoo removal?” she asks quietly. “That’s what you put down in the calendar…”

Saar hesitates. But… it’s Merrill. “Yeah. He did.”

[deviousdevilx]

Here ya go @rosie-tyler @theweirdcobrakaifan

it +18 !

Daniel knew it was foolish, stupid really to follow the long haired man into the spa, but he needed answers. Having left Chozen behind, Daniel set off on his investigation.

He immediately regretted it, the moment he confronted his kidnapper who stood next to Sensei Wolf.

"You sent this thug to kidnap me? Why?" Daniel accuses the younger sensei, but before Sensei Wolf could answer, a recognizable voice replied instead.

"Because Danny boy...what would life be without a few surprises?"

Daniel never wanted more than for the floor to swallow him up in that moment. Of course Terry Silver was back, and of course he'd pull a move like this.

"You were behind my kidnapping?"

Smoking a rather large cigar, lounging in a large bubbly jacuzzi, Terry Silver smugly grins, "Your obsession with your mentor's past made it way too easy."

Terry smirks from the jacuzzi before waving off Sensei Wolf, and the thug, Dennis, once used to harass Daniel all those years ago, but right now Terry wants to be alone with his Danny boy.

Stunned, scrambling to form words, any retort, really, Daniel knows he should just walk out but pauses. Terry's men could or would likely be behind the door.

Fuck it. He's stressed beyond words. Johnny leaving, the tournament, the kidnapping, the latter which was due to the man before him.

The jacuzzi looked inviting, if only it was unoccupied, but beggars can't be choosers.

Daniel swiftly removes his sweater, than shirt, for once leaving Terry Silver speechless. No witty remark, or comment. Just silence, as Daniel strips.

"I've had a real shitty last few days, some of which can be blamed on you...a fucking dog cage?" Daniel starts rambling angrily, as he works on removing his pants.

The shock wears off Terry's mind as he watches Daniel strip before him in all his glory. He'd always admired Daniel's lithe slender form. Even at his age, Daniel was beautiful. Always was, always will be. So he sits in silence, enjoying the view as Daniel continues to rant.

"Ever since we arrived here, shit's gone wrong, the kids are stressed, I'm stressed, Johnny and Miguel had to leave, Carmen's in the hospital, not that you'd give a damn. I've learned some things about Mr. Miyagi, Kreese is fucking with my head...and now you! You're here, like a fucking cherry on top of my shitty sundae of a week!"

Naked, furious, Daniel climbs into the jacuzzi. He finally realizes what he has done, and the ravenous stare he is now getting from Terry.

Before he can react, Terry pulls Daniel on to his lap, and it becomes very apparent he's quite pleased with Daniel being naked in this jacuzzi.

"You sound stressed Daniel, and I know just how to relieve it."

A large warm hand creeps up over Daniel's thigh, fingers massaging the skin. Daniel is unable to move much now, with Terry's one arm wrapped snugly around Daniel's middle. The taller, old man was not about to let Daniel squirm away free.

He should know better than to let Terry fucking Silver jerk him off in the jacuzzi, but Daniel is beyond reasonable thinking the moment Terry's lip touch the back of his neck, gliding down to suck where his neck meets his shoulder.

Terry's very large hand wraps around Daniel's semi-erect cock, and pumps it to life. In a matter of minutes, Terry has Daniel writhing, moaning, and gasping on his lap, dissolving into a trembling mess. His own erection pressing against Daniel's firm round little ass. Maybe not today, but it would soon penetrate past those sweet little cheeks.

Right now, Terry is solely focused on pleasuring his Danny boy.

"That's it, that's it Danny boy, come for me," Terry whispers into Daniel's ear sensing the other is very close to release.

"Mmh harder, faster!" Daniel urges with a whine.

Anything for his Danny boy.

Afterwards, Terry has Daniel wrapped in a thick cozy bathrobe, and leads him into another room for a pleasant full body massage. By him of course. Maybe later he'd have Daniel ride him.

After supper, perhaps.

[sapphic-circles]

In the Savage Night (Chapter 12)

Read on AO3

“Get away from her.”

Elphaba was standing before she even realized she’d done it, and Dr. Nikidik stared at her in shock.

“I beg your pardon?”

Rage boiled beneath Elphaba’s skin. How dare this man hurt Galinda, hold her in chains like a rabid dog. How dare Miss Coddle allow something like this within the walls of the school. Regardless of whether they knew who they’d captured, they knew it was a person. All of this was downright unconscionable, made all the worse by the knowledge that the poor, cowering creature was her friend.

Elphaba stepped forward, feeling the power creep up inside her and doing nothing to curb it. “I said, get away!”

The sound of shattering glass burst through the room as the new vase on Dr. Dillamond’s desk broke, sending poppies whirling into the air. The flowers hung suspended by magic, twisting gently where they floated and dusting the room with their pollen. Elphaba froze, unsure of what she’d just caused, until one by one everybody present fell into deep sleep.

Almost everybody. Dr. Dillamond and Galinda remained standing, though Galinda looked as if she might collapse any minute. Elphaba rushed through the tiered desks to the Wolf, who only backed away with a weak growl.

“Miss Elphaba,” Dr. Dillamond said. “What is going on?”

“It’s Galinda,” Elphaba said before thinking to conceal her friend’s identity. They could trust Dr. Dillamond, at least. “I have to get her out of here.”

“Oh, my,” Dr. Dillamond whispered. He approached Dr. Nikidik’s unconscious form and nosed around his pockets. “We must get those nasty things off of her immediately,” he said. “The silver is poisoning her.”

Elphaba’s heart skipped as she looked back toward Galinda, who took another step backwards.

“Hey,” she said gently, kneeling down onto the floor to make herself appear smaller. Up close, the terror in the Wolf’s eyes was evident, but they’d never be able to remove the restraints if Galinda wouldn’t let them touch her. “Galinda, it’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Please let me help.”

Elphaba held out her hand and watched as Galinda’s eyes flickered between fear and trust before settling on the latter. Her tail remained tucked between her legs and her guard hairs still bristled with nerves, but she took slow, unsteady steps forward until the side of her face came to rest against Elphaba’s palm.

Elphaba let out her breath and mustered a brief smile for Galinda, but she couldn’t linger too long. Who knew how long the sleeping spell would keep its effect, or how badly the silver was affecting Galinda? Her pulse burned with worry for her friend, who seemed to be struggling to draw breath. Elphaba wasn’t sure it was the fear or something worse.

“Let me get this off of you,” Elphaba said quietly, shifting her hand to the buckle securing the muzzle to Galinda’s face. She moved slowly, terrified she’d spook her friend into moving away from her again, until she could release the buckle and let the muzzle fall away.

“There you go,” Elphaba murmured, running a gentle hand over the soft fur of Galinda’s cheek. The skin of her snout shone an angry red where the muzzle has chafed away the fur, and a few raw spots bled slightly. Galinda worked her jaw loose, and Elphaba wondered how long of the three days her friend had been missing that she’d been trapped like this.

“Here,” Dr. Dillamond said. “Try these.”

A jingling sound met Elphaba’s ears as he pulled a ring of keys out of Dr. Nikidik’s suit pocket with his teeth and brought it to her. Elphaba took them gratefully and checked Galinda’s collar for a lock, then tried the keys when she found it. She breathed a sigh of relief when one of them clicked the mechanism open, and she pulled the offending metal thing from Galinda’s neck.

She made quick work of the cuffs on Galinda’s legs, too, her stomach churning as she found the one on her left hind digging into an open wound: deep lacerations all the way around her hock, presumably made by one of those horrendible traps.

Galinda whimpered as Elphaba worked carefully to remove it with as little pain as possible, but she couldn’t take it off without agitating the wound. She whispered, “Sorry, I’m sorry,” as she pulled it out of the dried blood gluing it to her flesh. Galinda yelped when it pulled at her wound, feebly trying to wrench her leg away until it was free.

“Good,” Dr. Dillamond said. “That’s a start. Quickly, now, come with me. I’ll show you the back way to the Animal faculty housing; no one will look for you there. Hurry.”

He led them through the halls, checking carefully that no one was around to see them. They moved slower than Elphaba would have liked—Galinda couldn’t manage much speed—but they got out of the building and around to the back of campus without detection. Elphaba kept a hand on Galinda’s back as they walked, soothingly raking her fingers through the long hair there, until Dr. Dillamond led then into a vacant barn.

“Here we are,” he said. “I would take you into my quarters, but I’m afraid they’re not quite big enough. Lie down, Miss Glinda, please.”

Galinda didn’t even seem to notice the mispronunciation of her name for once. She padded toward an old pile of shavings and collapsed into them with a heavy sigh.

“Are you all right?” Elphaba asked. “How do you feel? What can I do?”

Galinda only stared at her.

“She can’t speak,” Dr. Dillamond said. “I told you, Miss Elphaba, history is repeating itself quite closely. You’ll be able to talk to her once she returns to her Human state.” He trotted toward a spigot in the barn wall and began filling a bucket. “Right now, she needs her wounds addressed. Clean them thoroughly, and make sure she stays hydrated. Who knows how long the silver had been tainting her bloodstream?”

Dr. Dillamond carried the bucket to Galinda, who lifted her head to drink from it as if she’d been parched.

Elphaba watched helplessly as the Goat took a closer look at Galinda’s wounds. “Dr. Dillamond,” she said. “How do you know all of this?”

“I knew a Werewolf once,” he said. “I harbored him for years and learned quite a lot from him—until he was captured and killed.” Dr. Dillamond turned to face her, his expression severe. “I’m afraid Miss Glinda is not safe here any longer. I would suggest she go home as soon as she’s well, before these people turn to harsher methods of capture.”

Harsher? Elphaba couldn’t imagine anything harsher than what she was currently witnessing.

“Come with me for a moment, Miss Elphaba,” Dr. Dillamond said, heading toward the door. Elphaba glanced back at Galinda, wary of leaving her alone even for a moment. “She’ll be all right,” Dr. Dillamond said. “Come, now.”

Elphaba nodded and followed the professor outside, where he took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “I must warn you,” he said quietly. “Miss Glinda may be weak at the moment, but please be mindful of her. Lycanthropes, when scared or injured, can be incredibly dangerous. She may hurt you without meaning to. Keep yourself safe until she loses her Wolf shape.”

Elphaba frowned. “How long will that take?”

“Until the silver is out of her system, at least,” Dr. Dillamond said. “Perhaps longer depending on her emotions. I’d wager she’ll be like this at least overnight, providing we can prevent any infection from setting in.”

Elphaba nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you, Dr. Dillamond. You should get back to class before they wake up. I don’t want you to get into trouble if Miss Coddle thinks you were involved in this.”

“You’ll be all right on your own?”

“I think so,” Elphaba said. “May I come to you later if we need more help?”

“Of course,” Dr. Dillamond said. “I’ll do whatever I can. I only pray no one else actually knows who she is.”

“Me, too,” Elphaba murmured.

She bid Dr. Dillamond farewell, then turned back into the barn. Galinda lay where she’d been left, her head resting on her front paws and her eyes closed. Elphaba thought she might have fallen asleep at first, but an ear twitched as she approached, and Galinda blinked up at her.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Elphaba said. She knelt down and reached out to lay the back of her hand against Galinda’s forehead, but the Wolf flinched away. Elphaba withdrew her hand for a moment, then said, “It’s all right. I just want to see how warm you are.”

She reached out slower this time, and Galinda allowed her to touch her forehead. It felt rather warm, but Elphaba wasn’t sure whether that was a byproduct of having fur or a symptom of infection.

“I’m going to get some stuff for your wounds, okay?” Elphaba said. “Just stay here and get some rest. Please. I won’t be long.”

Galinda let out a low groan and closed her eyes again, which Elphaba took as confirmation that she wouldn’t be going anywhere—not that she was in any state to, but she knew how determined Galinda could be.

Elphaba hurried back to their room and gathered what she could: antiseptic, clean rags, bandages, honey. Dulcibear had taught her once that honey could do wonders for infection, and Elphaba had kept a stash of it ever since. She figured it was better safe than sorry when it came to treating Galinda’s wounds, knowing now that silver was poison to her.

When Elphaba returned to the barn, Galinda was actually asleep. She’d shifted onto her side and splayed out in the bedding, her massive flank rising and falling with her breath—which, thankfully, seemed a bit more even now.

Elphaba hated to wake her, but with Dr. Dillamond’s warning fresh in her mind, she didn’t want to risk startling Galinda awake by dressing her wounds in her sleep. She cupped the Wolf’s cheek and rubbed it gently, saying, “I’m back, my sweet. Can you wake up for me?”

Galinda’s ears pinned back and a growl escaped her throat, lips pulled up to expose large, gleaming teeth for just a clock tick before she opened her eyes and seemed to remember where she was. Her demeanor immediately changed, eyes wide as she pulled away from Elphaba, scurrying back in the shavings until her back hit the barn wall.

Elphaba swallowed hard and tried not to let her fear show. The last thing Galinda needed right now was to feel feared, and the subconscious defense wasn’t her fault. She’d been held hostage just hours ago, for Oz only knew how long.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry I woke you. I just really need to clean your wounds, okay? You’ll feel better after I do.”

Galinda whined and turned her head to face the wall. Elphaba could see her trembling, and it broke her heart. The worst thing was that she has absolutely no way to guarantee her friend’s safety, let alone make her feel safe. Elphaba understood now why she was so loath to trust; all the world, history included, wanted her dead.

Not all the world, Elphaba thought. Dr. Dillamond, at least, was in their corner. And Elphaba would do her damned best to make sure nothing else happened to her friend.

“I know you’re scared,” Elphaba said. “I know. I would be, too. But I promise, I only want you to feel better. I’ll be quick, and then you can get some more sleep. Can I please clean you up?” She paused, but got no response. “Please, Galinda. You’ll get worse if I don’t.”

Galinda sighed. She lay back down and nodded, though apprehension still shone through her eyes.

“Thank you,” Elphaba said. “I don’t—I don’t know exactly what silver does to you, so I don’t know how badly this is going to hurt. But I’m going to be as gentle as I can, all right?”

Galinda nodded again and closed her eyes as she dipped her head to give Elphaba access to the lesions on her muzzle.

She cleaned the wounds carefully, wincing in empathy every time Galinda flinched or whimpered with the pain. These weren’t deep, but they were jagged and inflamed, and Elphaba worried that they were already infected. She topped them with a smear of honey, which earned her a quizzical look from Galinda.

“It’s for infection,” Elphaba explained. “I want to be safe. Especially seeing as I can’t bandage you here.”

She moved on to Galinda’s foreleg, which wasn’t as bad as her hind, but some of her older cuts from last week had been torn open and needed to be cleaned, too.

The hind was what really worried Elphaba, and now that she could get a good look at it, she felt sick. The wire of the snare had carved deep into Galinda’s flesh, leaving cavernous red gashes in her leg. Some of the skin there hung loose, torn to shreds by the wire and exacerbated by the silver cuff that had been so cruelly secured on top. This, Elphaba worried was infected—the redness spread down toward Galinda’s paw, visible even under her fur. The limb felt warm to the touch, and Elphaba gritted her teeth to hold back tears. She didn’t want her own emotions making Galinda feel even worse.

“This one’s really bad,” Elphaba said. “I know you know that. I just don’t want to take you by surprise.”

She held her breath as she touched a damp rag to the wound, but even the gentlest touch she could manage caused Galinda to jerk away and yelp in pain.

“I know,” Elphaba said. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Do you want me to find you something to bite down on?”

Galinda hesitated, then nodded, and Elphaba got up to look for something. Much of the material in the barn was dusty or dry-rotted after years of disuse, but she managed to find a broom in the corner with a sturdy handle. She wiped it off and brought it back to Galinda, who eyed it with disdain before taking it into her mouth.

“I know it’s not ideal,” Elphaba said. “I wish I had something better for you.”

Galinda groaned and lay her head down, gripping the broom handle tight between her teeth. Elphaba returned to the wounds and dipped the rag into the water, soaking it through before squeezing it out over Galinda’s leg. The Wolf tensed, but the less direct method of wetting it seemed to help.

Elphaba continued that way until the dried blood softened slightly, and she warned Galinda again before beginning to wipe it away. She could hear the wood of the broomstick crack a little bit under the pressure of Galinda’s jaw, and she watched as her formidable claws dug deep into the floor, leaving deep trenches in their wake.

“You’re doing so well,” Elphaba whispered. Her arms shook as she cleaned the wounds, but not out of fear; she’d never seen anyone or anything in so much pain before, and she wanted to cry for her friend. Most Animals couldn’t cry, she knew, and she assumed Galinda was no different in this form. She couldn’t imagine bearing this agony with no release.

By the time Elphaba finished clearing away the layers of blood and grime, Galinda had loosened her grip on the broom and lay panting, exhausted, instead. She tried not to worry too much—Oz, most would have fainted during something like this—but her chest still tightened with concern.

“I’m almost done,” she assured Galinda. “Just the honey, now, and then bandages. And then it’ll be over, okay?” She hoped Galinda wouldn’t remember in the moment that the wound would still have to be cleaned again later on. The poor Wolf seemed to be at her limit already.

Elphaba finished quickly, then moved to sit beside Galinda’s head. The blonde almost looked worse off than when they’d arrived, but Elphaba hoped it was only the strain of treating her wounds causing her heavy eyelids and heaving flank. She gently removed the broom from Galinda’s mouth and set it aside, then stroked the fur between her ears.

“That’s it,” Elphaba said quietly. “We’re all done. Just…please let me know somehow if it starts feeling worse. If you feel sick, or anything like that. I need to know if it’s getting infected.”

Galinda hummed in acknowledgement and closed her eyes.

“Are you hungry?” Elphaba asked. “I could bring you something before you sleep.” She had a feeling Galinda hadn’t been fed for at least as long as she’d been captive, if not the entire time she’d been gone. But Galinda only heaved a sigh and shook her head without opening her eyes.

“I’ll get you something when you wake, then,” Elphaba said, intentionally phrasing it as a statement rather than a question. Galinda needed to eat, whether she had an appetite or not.

Elphaba hesitated before asking her next question. She hadn’t forgotten the way Galinda had nearly snapped at her coming out of sleep before, and she wasn’t even sure her friend had forgiven her for her intrusion the other day, but she also hadn’t forgotten the way Galinda had clung to her in bed as if she’d been waiting all her life to have someone to lie with. Galinda needed what comfort she could get right now, and Elphaba selfishly wanted to feel close to her, too.

“Can I sleep with you?”

Galinda opened her eyes again to stare at Elphaba with an expression that seemed to border on wonder, as if waiting for Elphaba to change her mind. But when she didn’t, Galinda nodded and softly nudged Elphaba’s shoulder with her head before laying it back down.

Elphaba let out her breath and crawled into the shavings beside Galinda. She didn’t want to crowd the Wolf or brush against any injuries, so she lay down behind and rested a hand in the fur of her neck. She scratched slowly and soothingly, running her nails through the fur until the tension in Galinda’s body finally began to ease, and they both drifted off together.

[writingsofwesteros]

#lost in the snow

I have some thoughts on how Cregan decided he wanted the Princess to be his wife.

It’s Aegon and Helaena’s wedding and as is customary, the lords from around Westeros were invited to help celebrate. Cregan hadn’t become the Lord of Winterfell yet, but he came alongside his father to enjoy the celebrations. It was such a long journey for the pair, but young Cregan thought it all worth it once he laid eyes on his Sweet Princess.

She stood by her younger brothers in the throne room as the family greeted their guests. Her radiant silver hair shone as it flowed down her back, and her eyes looked out on the Lords and Ladies curiously. She was shy, often seeking approval from her mother or grandsire before acting. It was clear however, just how beautiful the Princess was. All Targaryen’s had an ethereal quality about them, but the younger Princess was renowned for her beauty, much like that of her older half-sister. Cregan thought her perfect, his young heart enamoured.

The pair see each other in the training yards once. Cregan was invited to train with Aegon and Aemond, and though he regarded the brothers with contempt, he took the opportunity to release his frustrations. His Sweet Princess was sat on the balcony alongside her father embroidering a dragon sigil, and he catches her eyes occasionally flitting down to the yard whenever loud shouts sound. She sends him a small smile when he makes eye contact with her, and softly claps when he bests Aegon in their sparring match.

At the wedding feast Cregan asks her to dance. They are both young and have little experience with the lively tunes playing, but they aim to keep their movements coordinated. Sweet Princess enjoys his company enough, though she quickly dances with others for the rest of the night. Cregan thinks he sees a blush on her cheeks when she spots him across the dance floor however. She walks up to him at the end of the night, eyes downcast and face a flaming red, and shoves a small handkerchief into his hands. He watches her run off and looks at the fabric to see a small dragon embroidered into it: the one she had worked on in the training yard. Cregan looks up and sees her leaving the hall, her exit accompanied by the laughs of Aegon as he finds amusement at his sister’s crush.

The princess would soon forget about her crush on the wolf as other boys appeared in court, though Cregan would not. He would return to Winterfell and place his Sweet Princess’s handkerchief in the drawer of his desk so he could look upon it in times of great stress. His obsession grew over the years as tales of the Greens reached the North. When he requests the hand of his Sweet Princess, he clutches her handkerchief in his hand as he writes, finally seeing his opportunity to take what he wishes.

Oh the backstory we all needed !!! 🥺🥺💚💚

The idea of her sat and watching him train, focusing on the little handkerchief. Alicent had even chuckled, allowing her darling love this..never thinking it would come to anything.

He keeps the handkerchief for his baby boy; gifting it to his son

[carabas]

Hey. Why does Lucanis's storyline end like that. Why would you start a storyline with a conversation like this:

Lucanis: I've always thought that to live truly is to live fully. But even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me. Rook: Being grandson to the First Talon must come with a lot of baggage. Lucanis: And when I proved I could carry it, the expectations only grew.

And after he has repeatedly stated in Tevinter Nights that, though he certainly doesn't want to quit the Crows, he does not want to be First Talon and would not be suited to it:

"All that effort training and grooming us, and the old woman still won't step aside." Beneath the bitterness in Illario's tone was something rotten. "Your time will come," Lucanis assured him. "Will it?" Illario's piercing gaze met Lucanis's in the mirror. "People talk. You've always been her favorite." He'd heard the rumors. For all their secrets and intrigue, the Antivan Crows were a chatty bunch. "My talents lie elsewhere," Lucanis said, gesturing toward the arsenal around him. "You're the one with the silver tongue."

Tevinter Nights again:

Illario's gaze grew hard. "How long are you going to keep doing this?" "Doing what?" "Caterina's bidding." The wine turned in Lucanis's mouth. "Illario. Stop." "If I was in charge, you wouldn't have to do this anymore," he cajoled. "You could quit." Lucanis stared at his cousin. "I don't want to quit." Illario sat back. The distance between them suddenly felt much wider than a table. "Even if it kills you," Illario whispered. "Death is my calling," Lucanis stated, matter-of-fact. "Just as yours is to become First Talon." He smiled, hoping to ease the tension, but Illario's posture remained taut. "And if Caterina disagrees? If she thinks you're the better man for the job--" "I don't want it, Illario," Lucanis insisted. "But you wouldn't refuse." "It's impossible to refuse Caterina," Lucanis admitted reluctantly. "Only prolong her, until she sees reason." He knew it wasn't the answer Illario wanted, but it was the truth. And in their line of work, honesty was hard to come by.

...and then Caterina declares Lucanis First Talon and, that's, we're leaving it like that. That's where we're leaving it? We started this story with a statement that his life had never been his own and had been determined by Caterina, and we are ending the story with his life being determined by Caterina, that is what we are doing?

The final pivotal scene of this game is about a spirit being released from an unwanted role he had been twisted into! Solas was Wisdom before Mythal turned him into her weapon as the Dread Wolf, a role he had remained trapped in long after the person who imposed that duty upon him had died! Letting Solas persist in his perceived duty twists him into a monster who starts talking like Elgar'nan, the very thing he'd said he feared becoming! Finally releasing Solas from Mythal's service is the super happy best ending of this game! The obvious parallels are paralleling!

And yet this story ends with Lucanis in the role Caterina put on him as First Talon??

Bioware why would you write it like that, I just want to talk

[amenemisa]

Yeah... I decided to read a fiction yesterday and now look what i've got in my hand :')

""" Silence didn’t have time to settle back in the room, though, since Mori effectively broke it barely a minute later.

“I suppose I should be going too, since you must have some things to think about, not to mention your time to mourn. Sure, you don’t have to be on your own either, but you get--” As he spoke, he was already starting to move towards the office’s door following Naomi’s example. At least until Fukuzawa made his own move and grabbed him by the wrist; there was no actual force in such a grip, as if he had already wasted all his energy for the day.

As if holding Gen’ichirô as tight as possible during his final moments and after had taken it all away.

“You don’t have to go.”

It wasn’t until Mori turned back to face him when he released his wrist. None of them had taken a seat since the patching up finished and the actual meeting ended, but perhaps it was time to. And perhaps he would let himself cry once again, and even seek comfort in the doctor’s arms…

… and perhaps there was no real ‘perhaps’, because next thing he knew, he was already seeking and receiving Mori’s embrace as if all time spent apart had dissipated. Then, tears fall again, even if more silently than before. """

Okay, I'm aware of what Mori's face looks like here. In my defense, Fukuzawa crying like this breaks Mori's heart and makes him sad too. It is not unusual for Mori to see the Silver Wolf, who does not show a proper expression due to his age-like nerves, and he wants to calm him down. But on the other hand, even though he secretly doesn't want to, he is jealous of the person who can make Fukuzawa so sad, and this hurts Mori. Yes... yes I'm sorry but that's exactly the point. I remembered why i had a break from the fandom... My heart aches again o(╥﹏╥)

And we also thank @frankenjoly for this fiction! Thank you for bringing my fukumori brainrot again xd. If you're interested, you can read it here~.

[jwritesalright]

Same scene, different amount of experience.

1 month of writing experience 1.[The unknown creature was adorned in dark gray fur with a dash of silver hair running along its back, ending at the tip of its outstreched tail. It had a similar shade of silver coating its belly. Its jaws housed teeth, coated in the glistening blood of the doe. As its tail moved, and ears perked up, it almost directed its attention somewhere else. [Her] spine crawled with frights. The palm gripping her bow grew sweaty. The animal’s turn was halted by an arrow. [He], swift on the draw, sent one directly to the side of the wolf’s head, and as its skull cracked violently, the canine managed to get one last yelp out before falling to the forest floor, motionless.] 7 months of writing experience 2.[The gnawing of teeth. The canine claimed its prey before [she] did. Its ears, dimly grey and fluffy as the clouds covering the horizon, perked up. It sensed her presence. In pure instinct and nature, the animal turned to face [her]. Nature. The wilds. All of it; both the beauty of nature and the gore of its eternal competition of species, all shown in the wolf’s eyes, bent in an innate will for survival. [Her] palms grew sweaty and her voice would have shook if she would have been able to speak, yet she could barely blame the wolf. It just wanted to do what it felt was right. Defending its hard-earned dinner, the raw blood and fat of venison. Then, in its eyes, fear and pain. A whiz and a snap. [She] had realized it before the beast ever could. An arrow, impartial to nature, in the side of its skull commanding the wolf to rest. A swift pain, and a release from the eternal struggle for existence. She turned to where the arrow came from. To her left, [he] stood, just as shaky as her, the string of his bow still vibrating, like a harp of death. An instrument that tucks the living to sleep, whether they want it or not.]

I posted the first passage yesterday, and people didn't think it coveyed what I wanted it to. Truthfully, it was an old passage I wrote back in June, when I barely started writing. So I decided to revisit it, now with a bit more experience and confidence under my belt. It is part of my book, and I now realize that the entirety of the book needs to be rewritten, as I feel it reads far too boring. I have found out I need to read a lot more.

This is just a glimpse of what is to come. Your praise is appreciated, but your criticism even more so. Hope you enjoyed.

-J

[myheadsgonenumb]

I don't generally write wolfstar sex scenes (or any sex scenes tbh). I'm not "out" as a fanfic writer irl and would die of embarrassment if anyone I knew ever knowingly read something I wrote, but this would be ten times worse and I would have to actually change my name and leave the country if they read anything smutty of mine. Just no.

I tend to write a lot that's rated Teen and Up (like The Wolf's Tail or Bite and Prejudice) and if I do head into the wilds of an M rating I usually fade to black (like in It Wouldn't Be An Adventure Without You).

But Nearer, My God, To Thee is my wolfstar retelling of Titanic (1997) and, along with having Remus paint Sirius like one of his French girls, I had to write the wolfstar equivalent of the scene in the car (cue much blushing from me).

I've put it beneath the cut, because it's E rated - but what follows is a very rare (for me) spicy wolfstar scene...

In the middle of the cargo hold stood a magnificent, silver carriage - round like a pumpkin and frosted like a Christmas cake. It glittered dimly in the dark. 

Sirius gave a haughty cough and, grinning, Remus bowed to him and opened the carriage door. 

‘Thank you, my good man,’ Sirius said as he climbed into the carriage and reclined on the satin seats. 

Remus hopped into the driver’s seat and pretended to pick up some reins. ‘Where to, Sir?’ 

And then Sirius had leaned forward and draped his arms around Remus from behind, holding him tightly. ‘To the stars,’ he breathed into Remus’s ear, and pulled him backwards into the carriage with him.  

They lay together on the satin seat, arms wrapped around each other, so close they could feel the others’ heartbeat, and gazed deep into each other’s eyes. Despite the cold, they were flushed and their breath came in little gasps, catching in their throats.

‘Are you nervous?’ Remus asked, trying to hide the tremble in his own voice.

Sirius shook his head, and pressed kisses to Remus’s calloused fingers. ‘I think it’s time to pick up where we left off.’

‘Let’s hope we are not interrupted by any House Elves this time,’ and he kissed Sirius deeply, tangling his fingers into Sirius’s hair and increasing the pressure until Sirius moaned, and then breaking off to drop kisses down Sirius’s neck.

With a bit of fumbling, and a lot of kissing, they managed to pull Sirius’s robes over his head and cast them onto the floor of the carriage. Remus whimpered a little when he saw the acres of flawless, creamy skin again, and ran his hands all over Sirius’s body - but Sirius was impatient and - nipping at Remus’s earlobe with his teeth - started to tug at Remus’s robes.

Soon these had been divested as well, and impatient fingers tore at the buttons of his undergarments until they were both bare and pressed against each other. Feeling like they were on fire, and would burn to nothing if they were not touching, their hands explored the others’ body; Remus revelling in the smooth, silky perfection of Sirius, while Sirius made a guttural sound of pleasure as he encountered coarse chest hair, and muscles made hard by work. 

His eyes widened slightly as his fingertips brushed against a scar, raised and gnarly and covering much of Remus’s torso. But he said nothing, and Remus covered his own discomfort by planting a kiss in the hollow of Sirius’s neck and watching him squirm, pleasurably beneath him. 

As their hands wandered, and their breath came faster, and their lips brushed against collarbones and jawlines before returning to hungry mouths and desperate kisses, they both felt the warmth of blood travelling south, and then the familiar heaviness between their legs, coupled with an aching longing for release. 

Sirius’s hand drifted downward to touch himself, but he encountered Remus’s own, rough hand, which gently knocked his away… and then Sirius felt a jolt of pure magic and adrenaline shoot through him, and his whole body seize up in ecstasy, as Remus wrapped his hand around Sirius’s length and began to stroke. 

He arched his back, his toes curled up… He was vaguely aware that the crystal windows of the carriage were steaming up around them as his breath came out in short, pleasured yelps, but not much else was penetrating the heady, insatiable fog which was clouding his mind. 

His muscles tensed, the warmth and the ecstasy built up in him until he felt he might yell out and, suddenly aware that Remus was doing all the work, he reached out and took hold of Remus, stroking him - just the same. 

He felt Remus shudder on top of him, as he made contact and began his gentle rubbing. They lay with their whole bodies pressed against each other, their skin slick with sweat, one hand giving longed-for gratification while the other caressed, and kissing deeply, exchanging ragged breaths. 

Sirius groaned, and thrust his hips forward, desperate for his release… But then Remus broke off and whispered, ‘Not yet,’ against his mouth. Now, Sirius whimpered, as the pressure was taken away and the crest of his pleasure  began to ebb. But Remus was already moving, kissing the hollow of his neck again, and then dropping kisses on his chest and down to his belly, further and further, until he took Sirius into his mouth - a featherlight kiss, a lick, and then deep inside. 

Sirius began to buck, thrusting upward as the mounting sensation became almost painful in his longing to reach the peak. Frantically he tried to grab something to steady himself, his left hand flailing to find purchase on anything that would ground him. It hit against the back window of the carriage and slid back down again, leaving a trailing hand print in the steam.

He closed his eyes, and bit his lip and then - just when he thought he could bear it no longer - he came to a shuddering climax, feeling his whole body jolt and judder and shake as ecstasy crashed over him like waves on the shore. 

And then he was floating in blissful nothingness, a warm blackness in which he tingled all over and his mind could focus on nothing else but his utter contentment. 

He was vaguely aware of Remus pulling back, and of him stroking himself with sure and even movements until he too came to his own climax, and then Remus was lying back beside him, wrapping his arms around him. 

‘You’re trembling,’ Sirius murmured. 

‘I’ll be fine.’ 

Their hands still caressed each other, stroking their slick and salty skin, but they were gentle now - with none of the fire of before, and the kisses were tender, and sleepy. 

‘How did you get this?’ Sirius asked, as his fingertips brushed against the unsightly scar once again. 

Remus hesitated. ‘I was attacked,’ he said, in the end. ‘By a monster.’ 

‘But you won?’

‘I lived,’ he replied shortly.

Sirius snuggled deeper into his arms. ‘That’s more than I ever did… before I met you.’

They lay there together, for they did not know how long, the aftershocks of their climax reverberating through them, and feeling untethered from all reality but each other. The sweat began to dry on their skin, in the cold air, but they did not shiver as they lay covered and warmed by Remus’s stolen, velvet cloak. 

[lanafofana]

Snippet Sunday Funday

✨💖Thankies for the tag @roguishcat 💖✨

If you're here for BG3 content I'm afraid I've dipped my toes into Dragon Age Inquisition. Read on for some Solavellan Hell Mongering.

No warnings (other than DAI spoilers)

Context is that Inky has time travelled, dated the eggman and now Solas has dragged her ass to Crustywood.

Enjoy 😘

“Then what I must tell you…the truth–”

There. She can see it now, the tell she missed in her first life. The flicker in his gaze. The sudden realization and despair in the same breath. The weighty mantle of grim acceptance settling around him like a funeral shroud. She can see it all like a beacon of pain shining out from his eyes, the dip at the corner of his mouth, the furrow of his brow.

The gentle press of her fingers against his lips has startled him into temporary muteness. Stemmed the tide of this ill-fated evening but she knows it won't hold for long.

“The truth is,” she says quietly, staring at where her fingertips brush against the soft dry skin of his mouth to avoid his piercing gaze. “I know a liar when I see one.”

Solas’ lips part when he sucks in a breath.

“Even one who lies only by omission.”

The breath he releases is slow, controlled and steady, and hot against her skin. She sees him swallow hard, his lashes fluttering as his lids slide shut.

What could he possibly be thinking, she wonders with a thrill of fear.

Reconsidering what Leliana’s network of spies might have discovered and insinuated? Perhaps how to control any potential fallout with misdirection and a clever lie so mired in truth it tastes just the same when she swallows it.

Or, she thinks darkly, maybe he is judging the weight of the Inquisition's value against its potential liability. Dreading what she could possibly be leading up to.

She wishes she knew. Her stomach swoops like she's in freefall.

Wrapped in the safety of mortal flesh and bone, her heartbeat hammers to break free and scream.

“A mage with a mysterious past,” she begins.

Miraculously, her voice is steady, betraying none of the tremulous anxiety ricocheting around her gut, striking against her ribs like shrapnel.

“One with rare, intimate knowledge of the Fade; experience with warfare enough to find kinship with a battlehardend warrior.”

Still and stern he reminds her chillingly of the stone statues he once left in his wake. Is he even breathing? Is she?

“Canny enough to play mental strategy against the best Hissrad the Qunari could offer. And win.”

When she chances a glance at his face his eyes are still closed, his usually placid expression is tense. A wolf backed into a corner.

“An apostate that appeared at the right time, in the right place.”

Moving her hand from its delicate perch on his lips, Ellana cups his clenched jaw, tracing the laugh line at the corner of his mouth with her thumb. His eyes crack open slowly, pools of liquid silver in the moonlight. Mercurial and soaked in secrets. The Dread Wolf carries his own Wells of Sorrow on his face, as obvious as any vallaslin, borne in tandem with his terrible yoke of duty. The weight of them could crush her.

“Did you think I walked into your love blind, Vhenan?”

Solas’ eyes trace the planes of her face like it’s a map he’s never seen before. As quickly as he turns new information around in his mind he’s also memorizing every line and freckle, committing each fresh detail of her that's been revealed in this new light to his eternal memory.

“I have never pressed you to reveal your secrets or why you keep them. I do not intend to do so now.”

At this he can hold his silence no longer. “Vhenan–”

With terrible certainty she knows this is where he is trying to draw his line in the sand. The clean break to spare them both a worse fallout in the future. A desperate, foolish, stupid attempt to protect her that could only have been born from his deep tragic love for her. Idiot.

She can see his regret as clearly as she can hear it. It makes her want to tear it from his face with her nails and teeth. To rip it from him like a mask. Like she did in Tevinter, a lifetime ago.

A lifetime that ended in ashes.

When she’d thought she’d finally gained the upper hand for once and slid her fingers beneath carved porcelain. So naively certain of her victory. Only to reveal the face of a trusted confident staring back at her, also painted with regret.

Ellana hates regret. What good was regret when his hand was already buried to the wrist between her ribs, iron fingers around her heart.

No, the Inquisitor has no need for regret. And neither does Ellana.

Her voice, when she finds it, is a hoarse whisper. “Do not presume to make my decisions for me, Solas.”

He stares at her in surprise. Opening his mouth he hesitates and closes it again, rethinking what he wants to say. Completely incongruous with the heavy hearted seriousness of the moment she feels an entirely inappropriate burst of glee at catching him off guard.

The line of his shoulders softens and the expression on his face turns rueful. “Even in this, you surprise me.”

And then they have filthy depraved grotto sex.

TBC 😘

Tags: @feedthepheasants

[silvernyxchariot]

Do you mind if I ask why you don't like the idea of Sunday becoming part of the Stellaron Hunters?

For the record, I'm not too keen on the idea as well. Story-wise, I feel like it'd be a little too out of left field unless it's justified well. Sunday's rigorous adherence to order and his devotion to his sister are the two main factors that prevent me from thinking of him as a Stellaron Hunter.

I can't see Sunday doing anything to jeopardize Robin's chances of becoming an Intergalactic Superstar, and while he'll likely be exiled from Penacony due to everything, I don't see him as a Wanted man. Not unless he dies and ends up being rebirthed as something else, but even still, I imagine Sunday would have to be pushed to the brink to hit that point - even further than he was before.

Oh, uh, you're going to get me to elaborate.(/not mad) I don't think being a St.Hunter would be beneficial to him. I have a lot of mental railways for this, but in summation, for Sunday to join the Stellaron Hunters, it would be a stagnation or "back pedaling" for his character development.

He was already groomed and manipulated by Gopher Wood into being controlled by the idea of creating a dream world of harmony through The Order. For Sunday to give up his "autonomy"¹ and start following Elio's script would be stagnant for his character because then he'd essentially be going from one puppeteer to another. Then, nothing has changed. ¹The current Stellaron Hunters indeed do have free-will and have their own side adventures, don't get me wrong, like Silver Wolf messing with Herta and Screwllum for a game cartridge she wanted in their archives. But Sunday's character focuses a lot on protecting Robin as well as finding a form of peace. (In which case, I see him as a possible Preservation character too.)

With all that being said, Sunday is currently floating around in limbo. I can see him turn into a hermit/anti-hero character who would help Robin or even the Astral crew on his own terms after being released by the IPC. The way Jade spoke to Sunday kind of made it seem that was the route Sunday could take. Like, "We'll set you (Sunday) free. :) But you will have no power, no money, no status, and The Family will no longer accept you on Asdana and Penacony. So, you'll basically be homeless." Give this man a journey to find who he really is without others manipulating him. Worst case scenario, the IPC absorbs him into their organization.

But if Hoyo did make him a Stellaron Hunter, I see them playing it as Elio manipulating Sunday by threatening Robin and doing the ass pull of "But wait! He's a changed man, we promise! Right Before He Dies (LOL), and he realizes his life choices have all been for nothing."

As an aside from all of that, thank you for being (what I interpreted as) polite in your ask.