#of shards and crystal (final fantasy)

[druidonity2]

2022 WoW x FFxiv: Mysterious old men who are very magical and also have really tall towers and have sorta weird relationship with aging.

[flowering-darkness]

Lorenza: "Had I been at Laxan Loft that fateful day, then perhaps.. You whom the Ascians kept in the shadows might yet have had an ally for that last sacrifice. ..Ah, but who are we two of the void to dwell on a hundred years past?"

(comments/reblogs are appreciated but never required. further context is under the readmore!)

A little idea I had earlier and was successfully able to get a friend to queue into E10 with me to access the location for! This is actually technically my first thing made for my selfship with the Shadowkeeper (or to use her truer name Cylva), so it's perhaps a bit too context-heavy of a piece to start things off with, but.. oh well! I hope that it's still alright/people like it, even without everyone being aware of the full background ;w;

(If you are curious what's actually being depicted here: it's just a hypothetical musing about "if Lorenza had been present at the Battle of Laxan Loft a hundred years ago, where Cylva turned into the Shadowkeeper and forced Ardbert and the Warriors of Light to fight her (but they refused to kill her like she asked), then maybe that whole event could have been a bit less emotionally harrowing for Cylva". There was no way Lorenza could have been there, of course - she didn't even know Cylva at that time, as the two only met at the start of Shadowbringers despite both originating from the Thirteenth - but.. it's still something she idly muses after learning about Cylva's past. For more background context, feel free to have a read of this other post!)

When it came to putting this together, I was limited by what remained of the duty timer (since we had to do the whole boss fight against the Shadowkeeper and then I had to wait for everyone else to leave), as well as my own inexperience with manipulating reshade parameters like colour curves and brightness (so I apologise if this is a bit all-the-same-value - I tried to mess with the background vs. foreground a bit, but that was about all I could muster). To put things into perspective, this is how the arena looked before I went in and started the posing process - so as you can see, a lot of processing needed to be done to get the final vibes!

I'm also still not really adept at posing within FFXIV, which is why Lorenza is incorrectly using her right hand to reach out to Cylva; the day I learn how to flip/invert poses derived from paused animations will be a very advantageous one indeed! There's probably a better workflow than the one I currently use, but.. like when I was first starting out with MMD, it takes a while to get properly familiar with the tools involved and how to do what you're aiming for with them. I'd meant to get some alternate/closeup camera angles, but exited out of /gpose instead after taking the initial one, which meant I lost everything I'd loaded in .w.

In any case, though - I like how the final product turned out (even if the composition is almost identical to my January render..), and I hope that some of my thought process in making it could come through! I did finish making this at one minute to midnight on Valentine's Day, but I'm aware it isn't really a very Valentine's Day selfship thing.. so, I suppose it's more fitting that I wasn't able to get around to posting it until after the date had changed here! =P

Thank you kindly for taking the time to read this! I hope it all makes sense ^-^

[banished-away]

if i had a penny for every extremely long running fantasy series ive enjoyed that have a magical crystal tower causing problems, id have two pennies, which isnt much but its weird it happened twice

[toadeyes-miqote]

Final Fantasy XIV vs Fate Grand Order - The hero of one story is(?) the villian of another

GACHA!!!!!!!! D luck Summoner Guda(ko) summons SR Archer Hylnyan via crystals lots and lots of quartz without hitting pity

The place she's in is pre calamity Coerthas

Help took down the one eye cyclops that is threathening a bunch of travellers

turns out to be a certain catgirl archer and a certain red chef and his dad along with their summoner and shield maiden

FGO team invite Hylnyan to travel to next town with them

They are looking for someone who has a dangerous something on them

Hylnyan is helpful as first until she finds out that Guda(ko) was ending timelines and worlds every month

To bring back what was once lost Guda(ko) has been doing this for 6 years now

Apparently pre ShB Emet was here somehow and that much needed conversation about destroying other shards/timelines/lostbelts/lostworlds amongst the three happened with Emet actively trying to recruit Guda(ko) and somehow a fight happens

Heroes' Gauntlet Round 2!!! Guda(ko)'s very fine Lancer Army and her Knights of the Round proceed to hunt Hylnyan down. sics dragons at her.. is HW this? Guda(ko) Necromancer this since they are all in shadow servant forms?

Basaka wa dare ni mo makenai sekai de ichiban tsuyoi rd 2

FGO team keeps tracking down Hylnyan

An encounter or two later to realize that Emet is using Guda(ko) to delay Hylnyan to get timeywhimey macguffin grail. Ends up working together

"We have to kill him Hylnyan." "..." "He would make a good summon... maybe a Ruler if not an Avenger."

"My Lobo is fluffier than your Fenir."

Hylnyan would still be conflicted at the end of the event but is sent back automatically because resolution. And would still take down Guda(ko) if she was a threat appearing in her neck of the woods

In another life Atalanta could have be a past life

"FOU! FOU!!!!!!"

----------------------

JP side is two years ahead in doing 7th Lostbelt with no specfic end in sight yet and no guarantee from my POV that OG world would be back

Much parallels spotted when playing both games. Especially Varis during Alliance parley and Wodime's Olympus monologue about godhood.

Guda(ko) aka Fujimaru Ritsuka was practically an Ascian and kinda Elidibus-Emet in a way yet not She's the only suitable compatible summoner left and then 6 years later...

But shards are not stagnant worlds and that LB1 conversation. Would it be much more ecplosive if G'raha (aka Pollux) was added to it since he did change timelines.

The conversation of Guda(ko), Emet (and if he wants to bring Elidibus it will be COOOOOLLLLL!!!!) WoL, Wodime would be quite something with an over dramatic Emet pitting Guda(ko) and Wodime against WoL and guilt tripping G'raha.

What would using the crystal tower, the mother crystal or Crystal Exarch as quartz payment bring? Would it bring back Doctor? Or restore Data Loss? What is this Link Lost with Avengers thing I hear about? I don't want to lose Lobo since Guda(ko) put in much effort for the wolf. I have to wait for the NA version...

That and the game just added Urianger's JP VA to servant list, Estinein and the twins when? XD

I don't fanfic the crossover because I can't handle how obsessed I would be if I have to write it. The most is limited interaction because its huge and I'm not really sure how to resolve it.

Yeah this was actually a loose pierce base on where Hylnyan's missing mate might have went during ARR.

#wolqotd time! Your Warrior of Light/XIV OC is transported to the OTHER media you most recently watched/played/read: how are they doing?

[tripleglitchwriting]

I heard you're up for writing prowl (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)!! Maybe just cute moments of reader and prowl cuddling or baking.... anything thats cute

I did it! I posted something!! Yippee!!!

This is fluffy prowl and reader movie night!!

It’s technically Earthspark Prowl, but I didn’t really do much of a deep dive into his character so it’s just kind of an amalgamation of Prowl’s in my head.

Anyway, enjoy :-)

Movie night. Your favorite time. It just happened to be incredibly difficult to set up with a guy hellbent on working 24/7. Luckily, you knew how to be creative by now. And so when you located a particularly bountiful energon deposit, a plan started to come together.

…

“Don’t.” He rumbled, “Do not touch that.”

Prowl loomed over you like an angry building, but you knew better than to be worried. The mine you’d “accidentally” found was a treasure trove of glittering, luminescent crystals reminiscent of the fantasy worlds in your dreams. It was beautiful, but not your mission. His, maybe, but not yours.

Being about the size of Prowl’s palm, you had to watch your step everywhere you went, else you somehow impale yourself on an energon shard. Of course, you used this to your advantage.

“Hm? Why? You scared?” You teased, just slightly poking the tip of a particularly sharp one.

“No, I’m concerned. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“What’s the problem? I see you drinking this stuff all the time!”

“Yes. Because I run on it, you don’t— it’s not even processed yet! So stop touching it.”

“Oh… I don’t know, it looks pretty delicious…”

“Are you glitched?”

“We’re about to find out!” You just about graze your teeth on a crystal before you are unceremoniously yanked away by a gigantic metal hand.

“Seriously, what in Primus’s name do you think you’re— oh. Oh. You little— don’t give me that, I can see what you’re doing!”

“Oh? And what am I doing exactly?” You grinned. He growled back.

“You have the right to remain silent. We’re going back to base and reporting this to Prime.”

And so you did. And he carried you the entire way back. You didn’t want to stay there for any longer than you had to, as pretty as it was, because tonight was movie night.

Prowl never left a job unfinished when it was right in front of his face. You suspected he would try and execute every procedure ever passed into law when it came to new energon deposits on an alien planet, even if he’d been living there for months now. And he would’ve done it right there. Standing in the equivalent to a cave full of explosives. Like a stubborn idiot.

You also knew that, if he didn’t do it, the rest of the Autobots would. Like they’re supposed to. Because it’s their job. With a mine like that, they’d be occupied for the entire night. How convenient…

…

When you finally arrived back at headquarters, he was already heading to his office. “Office” being a loose term here, as it was really just a room he put a desk, chair, and datapads in. The most basic, bland, boring kind. That was all he needed.

But not you. And you were going to make sure your plans went through.

“PROOOOOWL!!” You yowled right next to his audial receptor. He’d been doing whatever important report, but you figured it could wait.

“AGH!” He jointed up in his head, “WHAT?!”

“It’s almost time! Movie night!”

“Oh- you little fragging scraplet, can’t you see I’m doing something important?”

“More important than Terminator? Or Robocop?”

“Leagues more important than those sorry excuses for mechanical representation.”

“Oh, fine, I’ll just… put on Spaceballs…” He stopped.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. And I’d play it so loud that you could never focus on your work.”

“Don’t—” but you had already slid down his desk, racing to the adjacent room.

“YOU— DO NOT PLAY THAT AWFUL FILM!”

“I can’t hear you over the sounds of LONE STARR and his GOOFY GANG of SILLY characters!”

He could never catch you in time. Not because he wasn’t fast enough, no, he could pick you up in a second, but because you already had the trap set. The room you’d ran into was decked out with the best projector tech you could find. (AKA, the best projector tech you could convince Nightshade to make without turning the movie into a 5D nightmare) You had popcorn, energon candy, a mountain of blankets, and quite the wide array of tasteful films.

When he finally entered your snare, you received the most withering death glare known to mankind. But everything that withers must also bloom, and you could see joy behind his optics. Mostly because they were shining significantly brighter than usual. Hah, and he thinks you can’t tell when he’s hiding his real feelings.

The fairy lights you’d set up glowed a beautiful gold against otherwise dark corners. Your face was just slightly visible, especially with how small it was compared to him, but you knew he could see your beaming smile. He let out an exaggerated ex-vent, doorwings forcefully dropping and optics rolling. Still, once he finally sat down next to you, you saw them perk right back up again.

“We aren’t watching that horrendous mockery of a movie, right?”

“Psh, I don’t even have the DVD anymore. You broke it after flipping the table. Tonight, you get to decide what we watch.”

“Wait, I… but I thought you enjoyed choosing the film.”

“Sure I do. But I want to watch what you want to watch tonight.”

And his optics grew bright again, illuminating your wide selection of 80’s, 90’s, and early 2000’s DVDs. Breakfast Club, Mean Girls, Star Wars, The Godfather, Planet of the Apes… everything you could think of he hadn’t already seen.

So you were a little caught off guard when he chose The Princess Bride. Something he’d seen nearly ten times already.

Oh, sure, he played it off as an excuse to ‘get to know human culture’, but the same could be said for every other movie on the planet. You didn’t argue.

As the night progressed, you were eventually able to get him to pick you up. For a guy who claims to dislike soft things, he sure does put up with a lot of pillows and blankets for you.

You tried not to move when he unconsciously ran a digit down your back. Or when he pet your hair. Or when he adjusted himself to make sure you weren’t about to fall out of his fabric covered palm.

You fell asleep long before the movie ended. You couldn’t possibly know that he denied every call on his comm link, shooed away any bot curious enough to crack open the door, and completely forgot about the report that had been oh so important earlier.

You also couldn’t know that, had he wanted to, he could just turn his audials off if he didn’t want to hear you watch Spaceballs. He could’ve left you at the base when he realized you’d stumbled upon an energon mine. He could’ve made you leave his office when he worked on his reports. But he didn’t. He didn’t because the minuscule weight you provided in his servos was everything he needed.

Work could wait just a little longer. Tonight was movie night.

[mjwhisperer]

Crown Royal

November Eleventh • 1992

New York City, Manhattan Penthouse

Word Count : 14.6k

Outside, the streets of Manhattan pulsed with their usual midnight heartbeat; restless and unruly. Car horns bleated impatiently in the distance, mingling with the bark of taxi drivers and the faint echo of laughter drifting up from the sidewalk far below. Neon signs flickered against rain-speckled windows, casting brief shards of electric color across the tall glass panes of the penthouse. But up here, above it all, the world was hushed; sealed off by floor-to-ceiling windows and velvet drapes drawn halfway shut.

Inside the penthouse, only the low crackle of the fireplace broke the silence, its flames dancing amber and gold across the room's polished mahogany bookshelves. A vintage record player sat in the corner, spinning a slow, syrupy jazz tune that curled through the warm air like smoke; something old, something that suited nights like this.

You were tucked into the corner of the private library, curled on an oversized velvet lounge chair that swallowed you whole. An apricot satin nightgown clung to your freshly washed skin; the delicate fabric glowed softly in the firelight, slipping off one shoulder as if coaxed by the warmth. Damp strands of your hair brushed your collarbone, carrying the faint scent of your favorite shampoo and the rich sweetness of shea butter and coconut oil that gleamed over your arms and legs, catching every flicker of the fire.

A pair of slender black reading glasses perched precariously on the bridge of your nose, lenses flashing each time you lifted your gaze to turn a page. The book resting against your thighs was one of those novels; the kind with pages that whispered secrets and fantasies into the quietest corners of the night. This one, though, was special: a gift from Michael, wrapped in silk and handed to you on your last birthday with that knowing glint in his eyes that made your pulse skip.

Tonight, you had finally cracked it open, letting your fingertips drift over the finely embossed cover before sinking into the story. The words sprawled across the pages like warm hands over your skin, pulling soft gasps and small, secret smiles from your parted lips.

In your free hand, you held a heavy crystal tumbler of Crown Royal, the gold-rimmed glass chilled with a clink of slowly melting ice. Each sip slid smooth and smoky over your tongue, mingling with the warmth coiling low in your belly as you read one steamy passage after another. The ruby lacquer on your nails glowed as you traced the rim of the glass, then drummed it idly against the side, punctuating the soft, breathless phrases you murmured aloud; tasting the words and the whisky together.

And through it all, a question lingered at the blurred edges of your mind, teasing you with a slow, decadent pull that made you squirm deeper into the plush cushions: Had Michael really read the back cover before he chose this? Or had he stood there in that hushed corner of the bookstore, one hand buried in his pocket while his eyes drifted over the swirling, gold-inked title; picturing you exactly as you were now: legs folded up under you, mouth slightly open, breath catching on every forbidden word, your skin glowing slick and warm in the hush of your private library while the city outside raged on without you.

The thought made heat prickle across the back of your neck, trickling down your spine in a slow, sinuous curl. Instinctively, you shifted against the overstuffed cushion, the fabric sighing beneath your thighs as the satin hem of your nightgown slipped even higher, revealing the gleam of shea-buttered skin and the soft indent of your hipbone. The record player crackled softly in the background; a saxophone moaning low as if it, too, knew what secrets your pages held.

Your lashes lowered behind the black frames perched on your nose as you dipped your head back into the pages. Your lips parted, moving silently at first; then forming the words in a hushed, breathy whisper that felt like a confession to the dark wood and flickering firelight:

"His hands traced up her sides, the palm of his hands palming her breasts, thumbs brushing over her peaks before taking them between his lips, his eyes locked on hers, making her watch; watch his lips, his tongue, the way his saliva slicked over her hardened peaks..."

Your throat tightened around the words, a warm ache pooling low in your belly. One hand gripped the heavy crystal glass a little tighter, the melting ice clinking against the rim as you tilted it to your lips. The Crown Royal kissed your tongue again; smoky and sharp, a perfect counter to the heat blooming under your nightgown.

You squeezed your thighs together, a soft exhale slipping free as you read on; eyes flicking hungrily over the next lines, tracing how he moved inside her, how her nails raked desperate red crescents into his back, how her body arched and twisted and begged under the weight of him.

A quiet, wicked little laugh purred in your throat. You wet your lips, savoring the last drop of the whisky as you whispered to the empty room, "Lucky girl..."; the words dancing off your tongue like an invitation.

You tipped the glass back, drained it, then drew the back of your hand across your mouth, leaving a faint trace of warmth on your skin. With a soft sigh, you slipped the book closed, its pages still humming with secrets you weren't quite done with yet.

Pushing yourself up from the lounge, you let your nightgown fall a little more as you stood; a loose, silky brush against your thighs as you bent to gather your empty glass. The air kissed the sheen of coconut oil on your legs as you padded barefoot out of the library, the fireplace's glow slipping off your shoulders the moment you stepped into the main room.

The city lights bled through the tall windows, shimmering against the glass shelves of the mini bar. You set the glass down carefully, your fingertips lingering on the cold marble counter as you reached for the decanter, the gold cap gleaming in the dim light. You poured slowly ; Crown Royal streaming in a rich amber ribbon, catching little glints of firelight as it filled your glass once more.

Your mind, though, stayed curled back in that plush chair, tangled in the breathless words, the weight of his imaginary touch, the delicious knowledge that Michael ; your Michael ; had chosen that story for you. Whether he'd read every page or not didn't matter now. The thought of him picturing you like this was enough. And as the record spun on and the city roared outside, you lifted your refilled glass, brushed your thumb along its golden rim, and let a slow, secret smile curve your lips ; already hungry to slip back into that wicked story waiting for you in the next room.

As you stood at the bar, the soft clink of the gold-rimmed glass in your hand, the library's warmth still clinging to your skin, you heard the faint turn of a key at the door. A quiet click, the hush of hinges swinging open ; and then there he was.

Michael stepped inside like the night itself had followed him in ; tall, broad shoulders tense beneath the spill of his loose black curls. The strands framed his face in a disheveled halo, a few rebellious locks brushing against the dark sweep of his lashes. He pushed the door closed behind him with the slow, deliberate care of a man carrying too many thoughts in his head ; the latch falling into place with a muted finality.

In the low glow of the penthouse lights, you could see the wear carved into his eyes: heavy-lidded and rimmed faintly red, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mouth. The black blazer draped over his forearm was creased, his crimson button-down undone at the collar, showing a teasing sliver of his throat ; warm skin kissed by the glint of a fine gold chain that disappeared beneath the rumpled fabric.

He tossed his keys onto the side table with a soft metallic clatter, shrugging off the blazer in a single motion, careful but impatient. When his eyes finally rose to find you standing there by the marble bar ; nightgown hitched up just enough to show the sheen of your thighs, your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, the glass of Crown Royal held delicate in your hand ; something in his tired face softened.

"Hi..." he murmured, voice thick and hoarse at the edges, his lips curling into a faint, weary smile.

You returned it with a slow, warm curve of your own. Pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with the back of your knuckle, you crossed the few steps to him, bare feet silent against the cool floor. The scent of him hit you first ; the faint trace of cologne and city air clinging to his shirt, the warmth of him cutting through the chill of your drink.

"Hi, baby," you breathed, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the rough line of his cheekbone. You could feel the subtle prickle of stubble, the way his skin was still cool from the night air. You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze again, tilting your head with a quiet curiosity as you brushed your thumb over the back of his wrist. "Tired?"

A humorless little laugh slipped from his chest as he gave a slow nod, dark eyes flicking from your lips to the whiskey in your hand. "Exhausted," he confessed, voice dropping even softer ; a worn thread of sound meant only for you. His fingers brushed against yours as he set the blazer beside his keys, then drifted to the buttons at his chest, fumbling them open one by one with a deliberate slowness. His eyes never quite left yours, though ; half-hidden by the tumble of curls that fell forward when he ducked his head.

"Were you waiting up for me?" he asked, the question gentle, a little raw around the edges as his fingertips paused on the last button.

You shrugged one shoulder, your grin curling into something sly. "Kind of. I got... distracted." You lifted the glass slightly, the ice clinking softly. "I finally started that novel you gave me for my birthday." A quiet snicker danced past your lips. "It's... quite something."

A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. He exhaled through his nose ; a soft, tired huff of a laugh as he tugged the last button free, the shirt hanging loose enough now to show the sharp dip of his collarbones and a teasing brush of chest beneath the gold chain. His eyes found yours again, lids half-lowered as a smirk curved his lips. "I figured you'd like it," he murmured, reaching out to gently take the glass from your fingers ; his skin grazing yours, warm and grounding.

He lifted the glass to his mouth, the rim brushing against the faint stubble on his upper lip. His throat bobbed as he swallowed a careful sip ; the sight alone enough to make your breath catch. You watched the way his tongue darted out to catch the stray drop at the corner of his mouth, slow and absent, like it was just for you.

"Mmph," he hummed, savoring the taste before lowering the glass, his gaze locked to yours with that glint ; tired but playful, the man behind the stress peeking through. "How far in are you?" he asked, voice low and conspiratorial, like he was in on some secret only you two shared.

You tilted your head, tapping your finger lightly against the empty side of the glass. "Started this morning," you confessed, unable to fight the heat creeping up your neck. "I'm already on chapter twelve. And some of those scenes..." You paused, a breath of laughter slipping past your lips. "I never would've guessed you'd pick something like that for me."

He just watched you for a heartbeat longer ; eyes steady, dark, glinting faintly in the warm light. Then that lazy smile curved his mouth again, softer this time, touched by something fond and wicked all at once. "I read the back cover and..." He shrugged, handing the glass back into your waiting hands, the weight of it suddenly colder than the heat radiating off him. "I liked the sound of it. Besides..." He tipped his head, curls brushing his cheek, voice dipping into that low, velvet hush only you ever got to hear. "I've seen what you keep hidden in that library."

Your mouth parted to tease him, but before you could, he leaned in ; so close you could smell the faint tang of whisky on his breath, feel the soft scrape of his stubble as he pressed a slow, unhurried kiss to your lips. The kind that said home and later and don't stop reading yet.

When he pulled back, he lingered for a second, forehead brushing yours, his eyes still half-closed as his thumb ghosted across your jaw. "I'm gonna shower and change," he murmured against your mouth, the words more felt than heard.

Then he slipped past you, silent as a shadow despite the heaviness in his bones, his feet whispering over the polished floor. The loose edges of his shirt brushed his sides, the fabric fluttering with each step and giving you fleeting glimpses of warm skin and the thin gold chain that caught the low light like a secret promise. A few dark curls tumbled over his brow, half-shielding the tired sharpness of his eyes as he cast you one last look over his shoulder ; soft, half-lidded, a wordless hush that said wait for me ; before disappearing down the hallway and into the hush of the master bedroom.

You stayed frozen there for a heartbeat longer, the cool rim of the whiskey glass pressing against your lower lip, its chill at odds with the flush climbing your throat. The taste of his kiss lingered ; the faint warmth of his breath, the subtle scrape of stubble that still tingled at the corner of your mouth.

Slowly, you picked the glass up with a soft clink, the melting ice chiming like tiny bells. You reached for the bottle of Crown Royal ; its weight heavy, cool, and promising in your hand ; and padded back across the vast hush of the penthouse. Each step made the satin hem of your nightgown whisper against your thighs, a soft brush of silk on warm skin that left a trail of goosebumps behind.

The library welcomed you back like an old lover ; the crackling fireplace sighing low, the vintage record still spinning its lazy jazz, saxophone moaning in the background like it, too, was caught up in your private confession. You placed the bottle gently on the little side table beside your lounge chair, the glass set right next to it. The pages of the novel waited, splayed open where you'd left them ; the spine cracked wide like an invitation, words burning softly under your fingertips.

You lowered yourself back into the plush velvet cushions, sinking until they seemed to cradle you. The book fell open on your lap as you adjusted your reading glasses, pushing them up your nose with the tip of a slick finger. You drew in a breath ; steadying yourself ; then let your eyes drift over the words you'd barely dared to speak aloud before.

Your voice slipped into the room in a breathy hush, just loud enough to be heard over the fireplace's crackle:

"Taking me so well, my love..." you read, your voice catching on the my love, like it was meant for you alone. "He said as he slowly thrusted his length in and out of her warmth, her walls still clenching tight around his thick member, the veins along his shaft pulsing with a desperate, aching need as he reached for the candle beside them..."

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, breath hitching as you turned the page with trembling fingers.

You paused, the words dancing hot behind your eyelids. A small sound slipped past your lips ; something between a sigh and a quiet curse. You bit down gently on your lower lip, tasting faint traces of whiskey there, the faintest salt of your skin. Then you forced your eyes back down to the page.

"He carefully blew out the flame, still buried deep within her, moving with slow, deliberate thrusts that made her whimper ; the red wax dripping from the candle's tip as he tilted it forward, letting it spill in a slow, molten line over her belly, down her core, and across the peaks of her breasts, the heat making her arch beneath him..."

You let the book drop slightly, your pulse a thunder in your throat, your thighs pressing tighter together beneath the satin draped loosely across them. You murmured it to the empty room anyway ; like a confessional whispered only to the fire and the whisky:

"Jesus Christ..." you breathed out, your voice so soft it barely stirred the air. The vividness of it all flickered behind your eyes ; the slick heat, the wax, the low growl of a man's voice promising more, more, don't stop.

Your hand found the cold glass again, fingertips curling around the heavy crystal, the melting ice kissing your knuckles as you raised it to your lips. The whiskey slipped across your tongue ; sharp, smoky, its bite almost enough to steady the fluttering heat twisting low in your belly. Almost.

You exhaled shakily, the words dragging you back in as your gaze dropped to the page once more:

"He poured it carefully down the valley of her body, then tipped it over himself ; crimson wax sliding down the ridges of his hard chest, over the swell of his abs, dripping lower until it mingled with the place where he stretched her open and full, his length throbbing with a raw, relentless hunger, so close to spilling but refusing ; holding it, savoring it, refusing to stop... not now... not ever..."

A small, strangled sound slipped out of you ; half gasp, half helpless, breathless laugh ; a soft confession that the shadows around you gladly swallowed whole. The air in the library felt heavier now, thick with firelight and words you'd let crawl under your skin. You shifted again, the smooth satin of your nightgown sliding against your warm, shea-buttered thighs as you crossed one leg tightly over the other, pressing down until you could feel your pulse there ; a steady, insistent throb that matched the ache blooming low in your belly.

You tipped your head back, hair spilling over the lounge's plush cushion, the fire's glow catching your throat and collarbones, gilding them in molten gold. The warmth of it only deepened the heat simmering beneath your skin, the kind that made your breath come a little too fast, too shallow.

"God... she's too lucky," you murmured to the flickering fireplace ; your voice cracked with a grin you could feel tugging at your lips, sharp and breathless, half disbelieving at just how deeply the words had sunk into you.

You lifted the heavy glass again, your fingertips slippery against the cold crystal. You tipped it to your lips, letting the last swirl of Crown Royal roll over your tongue ; smoky, sweet, and burning enough to make your eyes flutter closed for a heartbeat. The warmth pooled low in your belly, mingling with the pulse already hammering between your thighs, softening the sharp edges of the scene your mind refused to release.

Your lashes lifted, heavy, as you let your gaze fall back to the open book. The fire popped behind you, a slow crackle that filled the space between your heartbeat and the next word. You let your eyes trace the lines, the ink almost pulsing under your stare as the story wrapped itself tight around you once more.

You read aloud, your voice slipping into the hush like silk:

"His body pressed against hers, moving within her ; thrusting deep, pulling back, every inch slicked in her warmth. The sound of her moans poured sweet and high into his ear, filling the room ; echoing through the mansion like music only they could hear. His teeth grazed the column of her throat, teasing her skin before he sank them in ; a sharp bite, a gasp, a sting that made her arch and beg for more..."

Your lips parted on the last word. A soft exhale shivered through you, your chest rising and falling as you stared at the page ; reading the same wicked line again and again, each time sinking a little deeper into the heat that coiled around your spine. You reached blindly for your glass, desperate for the distraction, the chill of it biting at your palm as you lifted it once more. The whiskey went down smoother this time, your throat used to the burn now ; your body so heated from the inside out that the drink felt like nothing more than another layer of warmth to spread through your veins.

Goosebumps prickled along your arms, down your ribs, while the hair at the nape of your neck lifted under the soft brush of air from the vent overhead. You could almost feel it now ; that imaginary wax poured in slow rivulets over your chest, the heat blooming where it dripped, cooling and warming at once. You squeezed your thighs tighter, the silk of your nightgown caught in the press, clinging to the curve of your hip and the soft skin just beneath.

With a low sigh, you set the empty glass back on the side table ; the crystal clink echoing too loudly in the hush. You adjusted yourself against the lounge seat, shifting until you could tuck your bare feet beneath you, your knees drawn up as the book perched in your lap like a lover's secret.

You pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose, your fingertips trembling just slightly, and picked up where you left off.

"Maestro..." you whispered, testing the name on your tongue before your voice lifted, reading the next line aloud:

"She moaned it softly, almost reverently, as his fangs broke her skin ; his hips rolling deeper, deeper still, the thick length of him hitting that deepest place inside her as he drank. Her legs locked tight around his waist, drawing him in until they were fused together ; the faint hiss of candle wax still warm, sealing them in a heat that bound them skin to skin. Her nails carved down his back in desperate red lines, marking him as hers, as he pulsed inside her ; refusing to stop, refusing to let go..."

Your head fell back once more, the ceiling blurring above you as you exhaled a rough, half-laughing curse. "Fuck..." you breathed out, your voice raw in the hush. The air felt thick in your lungs ; too warm, too heavy, scented with fire and old books and the ghost of Michael's cologne that still lingered in the room like he'd never really left.

With a trembling hand, you slipped the silk ribbon back into the crease of the book, marking the page you knew you'd revisit. You let the cover fall shut with a soft thud that felt too final ; like sealing a door you weren't quite ready to close. You set the novel gently aside on the table, beside the empty glass, the bottle of Crown Royal half-drained, catching the firelight in its amber depths.

You sat there for a moment, the fire crackling soft and slow in the hearth, the mellow hum of the old jazz record drifting through the library like a secret only the walls could keep. Your thighs pressed tight together, the subtle, restless ache building low and warm in your belly ; a slow thrum of want that pulsed hotter with every heartbeat. You could still feel it: the phantom trail of that molten wax down your sternum, the imagined scrape of sharp teeth grazing your neck, the delicious, impossible stretch of a lover born in ink and paper yet crawling all over your skin like he was real ; so real you could almost taste him.

Then the quiet creak of the door gave you away ; Michael stepping in, barefoot on the polished floor, fresh from his shower. He was a dream made flesh in the hush of the room ; wearing nothing but a pair of soft plaid pajama pants that clung low on his hips, the fabric hugging his lean waist just enough to make your mouth water. The cotton shirt meant to cover him hung forgotten in his hand, draped loosely over his knuckles. His chest was bare ; warm brown skin marbled in beautiful constellations of creamy vitiligo that seemed to glow in the flickering light. Droplets of water clung to the ends of his dark curls, stray strands falling into his eyes as he crossed the room with that slow, bone-tired grace that made your chest ache.

He reached you without a word at first, lowering himself beside you on the lounge chair until the cushion dipped under his weight, pulling your gaze greedily to him. He scooped up your bare feet, settling them across his lap ; his palms broad and warm as they cradled your ankles. He smirked at you, dark lashes heavy over those warm, exhausted eyes that still glittered with a teasing softness only you ever got to see.

"I thought you were reading?" he murmured, voice low and thick from sleep and steam, the barest edge of a laugh curling around the words.

You lowered your gaze shyly behind your glasses, the heat on your cheeks giving you away. "I was..." you breathed out, your voice softer than the fire's crackle, "but it was getting to me... it was a lot." Your lips curved in a guilty, breathless grin.

He snorted under his breath, a teasing sound made soft by the affection that always curled behind his words. "Mmhm... and you've been drinking, so of course it's a lot." His thumb drew lazy circles over the arch of your foot, warm and tender, making tiny shivers crawl up the backs of your calves.

You couldn't stop looking at him ; the way the firelight kissed the strong slope of his shoulders, the subtle pull and flex of his forearms when he shifted your legs in his lap, the slow rise and fall of his chest as his gold chain glinted against the scatter of water droplets still clinging to his collarbone. Just sitting there, just watching him ; that wasn't helping the ache simmering low in your belly one bit.

He felt your stare ; he always did. His dark eyes lifted to yours, half-lidded and heavy with that quiet, knowing heat that made your breath catch. His palm slid up the curve of your calf, over your knee, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you of what they could do. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, like he knew exactly where your mind had wandered. "What is it, pretty girl?" he asked, voice soft enough to hush the room.

Something inside you gave way at that ; your feet slipping off his lap as you shifted forward. The whiskey and the words and the warmth of him blurred together until you couldn't sit still anymore. You rose onto your knees on the cushion, leaning in until your thighs straddled his lap, your nightgown falling like water around you as you settled your weight onto him ; the heat of his bare chest brushing your stomach through the silk.

Your hands found his face without thinking ; your palms warm against the sharp lines of his jaw, thumbs brushing slowly over the soft stubble along his cheeks, tracing the edge of his jawline, the shadow beneath his lower lip. He tilted his head back slightly to look at you ; those tired, sultry eyes sinking deep into yours, heavy-lidded and burning with a hunger that never needed words. His big hands slid from your thighs to your waist, his fingers brushing over the thin fabric of your nightgown ; slow strokes that made the satin rustle and cling to your heated skin.

"What do you want, baby?" he murmured, that wicked, knowing tease threading through the softness of his voice, his mouth tipping up at one corner ; because he already knew the answer. He always did.

You felt your breath stutter as you settled fully on his lap, the warmth of him pressed firm between your thighs. One thumb traced over the lush curve of his bottom lip, the other brushing slowly over the cleft of his chin, feeling the small dip beneath your fingertip. His eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat at the touch ; lashes brushing his cheeks before they lifted again, locking you in place with that low, molten stare.

"I want you..." you whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer ; soft and raw and honest. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt the heat of his breath against the pad of your thumb.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest ; warm, dark, and edged with that deep, endless tenderness he saved just for you. "You can always have me, beautiful," he murmured, his hands sliding lower over the swell of your hips, squeezing them gently as if to anchor you right there, flush against him. "You know that..." His voice dropped into something softer ; a vow pressed into the hush of the room. "I love you."

Your lips parted, your thumb brushing along his lip as he spoke, your other hand cupping his jaw tighter, as if you could pull those words deeper into you. "I love you too..." you breathed, voice trembling just enough to give you away.

He smiled, the curve of his mouth soft and lazy ; and then he dipped forward, kissing the pad of your thumb so tenderly it made your stomach flip. But he didn't stop there ; his lips parted, catching your thumb gently, drawing it past his teeth until the warmth of his mouth wrapped around it. His tongue flicked slow and deliberate over the sensitive tip, a lazy, sinful pull that made your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes stayed locked on yours ; those low, tired, wickedly soft eyes turned molten beneath the damp tangle of curls falling across his forehead. They glinted in the firelight, catching the flicker of the flames behind you like they were smoldering from the inside out. Your chest pressed flush to his as it rose and fell in short, shivery stutters ; each shallow breath ghosting against his lips as his tongue dragged slow, deliberate circles around your thumb. The wet heat of his mouth made your spine arch, a soft, helpless ache tightening between your thighs as your knees squeezed his hips a little closer.

When he finally let your thumb slip free, the pad of it damp, your heartbeat thrummed so loud in your ears you could barely hear the crackle of the fireplace behind you. You held his gaze a moment longer ; that dark, lazy, all-knowing stare ; before you brought that same thumb to your own mouth, parting your lips to draw it in slow. The tip of your tongue flicked over the taste of him, the faint warmth lingering on your skin as you sucked it deeper, your eyes never leaving his.

Michael's breath hitched, his lips parting just slightly ; pink and soft and wet in the fire's glow. His eyes dropped to your mouth, dark lashes sweeping low as he watched your tongue tease your own thumb like you were tasting something forbidden. A low, rough sound crawled up his throat. "So nasty..." he murmured, voice soft but edged with a spark that made your toes curl against his thighs. His eyes flicked back to yours ; heavy, dark, pupils wide. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.

Then he reached up, slow and deliberate, slipping his fingers around the delicate frame of your reading glasses. He tugged them off with gentle care, tossing them aside on the cushion. His large palm found the back of your head, fingers weaving into your damp hair as he tugged you closer. When his mouth finally met yours, it was slow at first ; a deep, savoring press that tasted like whiskey and want, soft lips parting yours open until you gave him everything.

His other hand slipped up the side of your neck, strong fingers cradling your jaw as he angled your head, deepening the kiss until your breath stuttered out in a quiet gasp. His tongue brushed yours ; a teasing, sin-slick slide that made your pulse pound harder. His thumb traced the curve of your throat, brushing over the rapid flutter of your pulse point, grounding you in that hush where only the fire dared to crackle.

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest when you rocked your hips, pressing yourself closer against the thick warmth growing beneath the soft fabric of his pajama pants. His hand on your hip squeezed tight enough to make you whimper into his mouth ; the sound swallowed by the wicked tangle of his tongue.

He pulled back just enough for his lips to hover over yours ; his breath brushing your mouth in short, heated bursts as his soft chuckle vibrated through your chest. "I love the way you respond to me," he murmured, voice hoarse and sweet with mischief. Before you could answer, he caught your lips again ; this time harder, deeper, tasting you like he was starving for it.

His palm slipped down, brushing over the side of your throat before drifting lower ; fingertips grazing the swell of your breast through the thin satin of your nightgown. You gasped softly against his lips, your nails dragging lightly over the slope of his bare shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin, the slight dampness where the shower droplets hadn't fully dried.

You slid your mouth down to his bottom lip, catching it gently between your teeth. You sucked on it slow, feeling the tremor that ran through him when you tugged, letting it slip free with a soft, wet pop that made both of you pause ; your breath ragged, eyes locked.

A quiet groan crawled out of him, his jaw flexing beneath your fingers. His hands slipped from your waist to the curve of your behind, big palms spreading wide as he gripped you tight, pulling you flush against the hard heat pressing insistently through his pajama pants. The squeeze made you gasp ; a soft, startled moan bubbling from your lips as your palm flattened over the strong, warm plane of his chest, feeling the steady pound of his heartbeat under your touch.

"Michael..." you breathed, the word trembling out on a sigh ; equal parts plea and confession.

"Mmm?" he hummed, his mouth ghosting over the corner of your jaw, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. You felt the warmth of his smile before he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. His mouth drifted lower, kissing down the side of your neck ; slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned wetter, hotter, until his teeth grazed the delicate line of your throat.

A soft gasp escaped you when his tongue flicked over your pulse, a gentle lick followed by the delicious scrape of his teeth as he bit down just enough to send a thrill ripping through you. You threw your head back instinctively, the soft spill of your hair brushing his bare chest, the fireplace painting you both in flickers of gold and shadow.

"Michael... oh..." you whispered, your voice catching when his lips latched onto the crook of your neck. He sucked there, slow and deep, until your skin throbbed under his mouth ; the same wicked trail Maestro carved into that lucky girl's throat in the book laying on the floor with lost pages.

You felt his hands slide up ; fingers brushing the thin straps of your nightgown. He hooked them gently, tugging one down, then the other, his knuckles dragging fire across your heated skin. The silk slipped over your shoulders, a whisper of fabric that pooled at your waist until the top half of you was bare under his hungry stare.

He pulled back just enough to look ; really look ; his warm brown eyes dropping to the soft curve of your breasts, your peaks tight and sensitive from his touch and the chill of the air. A soft sound escaped his throat ; somewhere between a hum and a growl. His big hands slid up, palms warm as they cupped your breasts fully, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples in slow, teasing circles that made your back arch and another quiet gasp fall from your lips.

His mouth drifted lower with a warmth that made your breath catch ; a soft exhale trembling out of you as his lips brushed down your throat, across the delicate hollow at the base of your neck, and over the gentle slope of your collarbone. You felt him pause there for just a heartbeat, the heat of his breath ghosting over your bare skin, before his mouth finally found the soft swell of your breast.

His lips pressed there first ; slow, reverent, almost a hush of worship that made your chest rise into him. Then his mouth opened wider, teeth grazing your sensitive skin with the faintest scrape, a tease that made your fingers curl deeper into the dark curls at the back of his neck. His tongue flicked out ; a slow, lazy stroke that circled your nipple once, twice, tasting you before he drew the peak fully into the heat of his mouth.

A soft gasp tumbled from your lips, spilling into the hush of the private library like a secret. The jazz record spun on in the background, all low brass and whispered percussion, but all you could hear was the soft, wet sound of his mouth ; the way his tongue licked and curled and tugged at you, coaxing your nipple deeper against his teeth. He sucked slow at first, his lips sealing tight, his tongue circling the sensitive peak in deliberate, almost patient strokes that made your thighs tighten around his hips.

His free hand came up, big and warm as it cupped the weight of your other breast ; his thumb brushing teasingly over the neglected peak before he pinched it gently between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it in slow, careful circles, tugging just enough to send a sharp spark of heat darting through your belly, pooling low and needy between your thighs. Your moans were soft at first ; quiet little whimpers ; but the moment his teeth grazed and tugged, they spilled out sweeter, needier, echoing off the shelves lined with all those forgotten books.

He pulled away with a low, wet pop, the peak of your breast flushed and slick, a thin strand of his saliva catching the firelight as it fell from his lips. He didn't give you a chance to catch your breath ; his mouth shifted to your other breast, his lips warm and wet as he dragged his tongue slowly over your right nipple. He let it rest there for a heartbeat ; just the tip of his tongue flicking quick, sharp lashes across your sensitive skin ; before his lips closed around it and sucked you deeper into his mouth.

He switched his pace with wicked skill ; flicking his tongue in fast, teasing bursts that made your thighs tremble around his hips, then slowing down again, circling the swollen peak with long, languid strokes that left you gasping. He pulled back only to bite down lightly, his teeth grazing the tender flesh in a promise of a sting that never quite hurt ; a tease that only made your breath hitch and your hips roll helplessly in his lap.

Your hands tangled deeper in his hair, tugging just enough to feel him groan low against your chest ; that sound vibrating straight through your skin, down to that molten ache that throbbed hotter every time your hips ground down against the thick, hard heat pressing up through his pajama pants. The thin satin of your nightgown clung to your waist, bunched and rumpled around your hips as you rocked yourself closer to him, seeking the friction your body was begging for.

He lifted his eyes to meet yours; that dark, wicked spark dancing in the warmth of his tired gaze as he sucked slow and deep, letting his teeth scrape one last time before pulling back just enough to speak. His voice was low, that lazy rasp curling around every word. "God, you sound so pretty, baby..." he murmured, a smirk tugging at his wet lips.

Before you could catch your breath, his big hands slid up and cupped both your breasts at once; the sudden squeeze rougher now, his thumbs brushing over your swollen nipples as he squeezed again. You gasped, a soft cry that broke into a whimper when he gave one breast a subtle slap, just enough to send a sharp sting through the tender skin. The sound cracked through the soft hush of the room, followed by his low, breathy chuckle.

He watched you flinch and melt all at once, that wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "So damn pretty," he whispered, his voice warm and soaked in that lazy praise that made your chest tighten.

His hands slid lower, dragging down your sides in slow, greedy strokes; his fingertips brushing over the curve of your waist, the softness of your hips, until his palms spanned your lower back, pulling you tight against him. He leaned in again, the brush of his damp curls against your collarbone sending a shiver through your chest. His mouth followed; lips brushing lower, kisses open-mouthed and wet down the center of your sternum, his tongue tracing a slow, sinuous line down the slope of your torso.

Your nightgown slipped further, pooling in soft, careless folds around your hips until the thin satin was nothing but a suggestion clinging to the swell of your thighs ; the only thing separating your flushed, slick heat from the cool hush of the room. His thumbs brushed up again, circling your stiff peaks with a slow, maddening precision, coaxing another soft gasp from you as he dragged his mouth lower. His lips traced the curve of your belly, tongue flicking in warm, wet strokes that made your stomach jump beneath him ; every flick and scrape like he was spelling your secrets out in a language only your skin could read.

A soft, helpless sound slipped from your throat ; a breathy, broken plea you could hardly shape around the thrum of your heartbeat. "Michael... please..." It came out shaky, a whisper drowned in the shallow hitch of your hips rocking harder against him, your body hungry for every inch of him ; every press, every scrape of teeth, every slow, wicked stroke of his tongue that made your veins burn hotter than the whiskey settling warm and sweet in your belly.

He didn't answer you at first ; just a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest as his tongue flicked higher again. He traced a wet, sinful line up the center of your body ; from the dip of your belly to the soft valley between your breasts, tasting every inch of you with slow, possessive sweeps that left your skin flushed and damp beneath his mouth. He ghosted up your neck, along the delicate edge of your jaw, warm breath brushing your ear before he found your lips again ; and when he kissed you, it was slow and deep, stealing the last of your air with that hungry, savoring press of tongue and teeth that melted every thought clean away.

His big palm cupped the back of your head, cradling you like something precious as he lowered you carefully onto the lounge's cushion. You felt your book slip from under you ; the soft thud of it hitting the polished hardwood lost under the thunder of your pulse. Your chapter, your place in that wicked story ; gone, forgotten, replaced by the real thing, warm and breathing and hovering over you.

He leaned back just enough to look at you ; the nightgown bunched helplessly around your waist, your flushed skin glowing in the hush of the firelight. With one slow tug, he slipped it down and off completely ; the soft satin falling away, forgotten on the floor as he tossed it aside. His eyes dropped, dark and heavy, tracing the glisten between your thighs with a slow, greedy flick that made you squirm under his gaze.

He settled between your open legs, his hands warm on the back of your knees as he guided them up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The press of his mouth against your ankle made you jolt ; the brush of his lips soft, then his teeth nipped playfully at the delicate bone just above your heel. You gasped ; sharp, shaky ; the word breaking off your lips with a tremor. "Fuck..."

A low laugh rumbled from him, dark and smooth and edged with that lazy confidence that always made your skin burn. His hands slid down, tracing the line of your calves with his thumbs, feeling every soft tremor in your muscles as he leaned in. He kissed up your ankle, his lips warm and open, then caught your toes in his mouth, sucking them slow while his eyes never left yours. The heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth ; it made your hips roll helplessly, a soft, desperate whimper slipping from your parted lips.

He let your toes fall free with a soft pop, chuckling again ; that deep, wicked rumble vibrating straight through your thighs. His big hands moved back to the backs of your knees, pressing them closer to your chest until you were spread wide beneath him ; open and glistening, every trembling inch of you laid bare under the weight of his gaze.

"Fuck..." he murmured, the word almost reverent, dark eyes flicking down to where you were slick and pulsing for him. He shifted forward, straddling the lounge seat ; broad shoulders caging you in as he lowered his face between your thighs. His mouth hovered just above your heat, his breath hot and teasing as he opened his lips and let a slow drop of spit fall ; hitting your swollen bud with a soft, obscene wet sound that made your whole body jerk.

You gasped ; a sharp, helpless cry ; hips bucking into the air. He lifted his gaze to watch you, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mmph... look at you... so desperate for it..." he teased, his voice rough but warm, dripping with that low, dangerous affection that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

A soft whine slipped from your throat, your foot nudging at his shoulder in a feeble push that only made him laugh again ; a deep, rich sound that curled around your pulse and dragged it faster.

"I got you, beautiful... shh..." he murmured, his hand leaving the back of your knee to brush down your thigh, warm and big as it settled at your hip. He lifted his thumb to his lips, sucking it slow until it glistened ; then pressed it down between your thighs, the wet pad brushing over that swollen, slick bundle of nerves in one slow, deliberate circle. The contact made your back arch off the cushion, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as your hands clawed at the lounge's edge.

"You're so wet for me..." he murmured, voice a low hum as he flicked his thumb again, rubbing his spit into that aching bud with slow, lazy circles that made your hips chase his hand. His eyes stayed locked on yours ; dark and soft, that tiny smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as he watched you unravel. "Fuck... look at that..."

He pushed his thumb lower, dragging it to your entrance ; slick, hot, so ready for him that he groaned just watching the way your body fluttered around the slow press of his thumb slipping inside. He eased it in, inch by inch, the stretch delicious and sharp, the soft grind of his hand against your folds making your thighs twitch around his broad shoulders.

Your head fell back, a soft, wrecked moan slipping out as your hips lifted off the cushion, chasing the deep push of his thumb. He flexed it inside you ; twisting, curling ; just to watch the way you broke apart on the simple touch.

"Fuck, baby... look at you..." he rasped, his voice thick with that raw, aching want that made your pulse roar in your ears. "So needy... so wet... all for me..."

You could only gasp ; no words, just the ragged sound of your breath shattering in your throat as your nails bit deeper into the lounge cushion beneath you. Every muscle in your belly clenched around the deep, teasing slide of his thumb, every nerve alive under the hush of crackling firelight and the faint hush of old jazz weaving through the thick air. The soft, slick sounds of your own needy moans tangled with the wet slip of his touch ; filthy and sweet, echoing in the hush like a secret too big for the walls to hold.

Then he slipped his thumb free, the sudden emptiness making your hips jerk up, your breath catching in your chest ; only for the hot brush of his breath to fill the gap, his head lowering, curls tickling your inner thighs. He flicked his tongue through your slick slit, a slow, teasing stroke that made your eyes slam shut, a raw gasp tearing from your parted lips.

"Yes;" The word fell out soft and desperate, your hips twitching up to chase more of his mouth. He huffed a dark laugh against your heat, that low snicker vibrating straight through you as he dragged his tongue up again. He spread you open wider with his thumbs, his mouth dipping low to kiss each trembling fold ; a slow, reverent worship that made your thighs quake around his shoulders.

Then his lips closed around that aching bundle of nerves, sucking it slow and deep until your back bowed off the cushion. He pulled back only to flick his tongue in tight, quick lashes ; back and forth, back and forth ; every stroke shooting sparks through your belly, making your fingers tangle tighter in the cushion until your knuckles ached.

But then he stopped. You whimpered, a soft, broken sound as you lifted your head just in time to see him glance up at you ; his lips wet and glistening, his eyes half-lidded and dark with that lazy, hungry mischief only he could wear so well.

"Look at me," he said, voice low and rough, the command curling around your spine like silk and barbed wire all at once.

Your breath caught, your lashes fluttering as you forced your eyes open ; dragged your gaze down the line of your trembling body to where he knelt, framed by firelight, shoulders broad between your spread thighs. He pushed your knees back more, pressing you open so wide you could feel the cool air kiss the slick heat of your folds. He lowered his head again, tongue flicking back out ; slow at first, tracing lazy circles that made your thighs tense tighter around his shoulders.

A moan cracked from your throat, raw and sweet, your hips bucking helplessly as he swirled his tongue around your bud. His eyes stayed locked on yours ; those low, heavy-lidded brown eyes watching every twitch of your mouth, every flutter of your lashes, every small shiver that rippled through your chest as you gasped his name.

"Michael... fuck..." The word broke apart on a sob as your fingers slid into his damp curls, tugging at the roots as he groaned low ; that dark, hungry sound muffled by your heat. His nose brushed against your bud as his tongue slid lower, slow and thick, dipping into your slick entrance and curling deep inside you.

Your hips rolled against his face in slow, hungry circles, feeding him every inch you could give ; letting him taste the heat pulsing deep inside you, letting him feel how soft, how tight you clenched around the steady slide of his tongue. He groaned again, a rumble that vibrated through your core, his fingers digging deeper into the back of your knees as he rocked his face closer, tongue pumping slow and deep, swirling inside you until your thighs trembled and your toes curled tight against his broad back.

A sharp cry cracked from your lips, your voice rough and high as he found that sweet spot inside ; the one that made your hips jerk up, made your whole body break open with heat. "Oh, Michael;" you gasped, voice trembling as you tugged his head closer, your fingers twisted tight in his hair.

He growled in answer ; that sound raw and soaked in heat ; before slipping his tongue out of you, dragging it up to your swollen bud. He flicked it fast, impossibly fast, the wet lash of his tongue sharp and sweet all at once. His teeth caught the swollen flesh just enough to make you cry out, your voice rising higher, cracked and breathless as you felt that sweet, sharp edge building deep in your belly.

The room spun ; firelight, old jazz, the soft, slick sound of his mouth working you open and raw. You could feel the mess of your juices and his saliva dripping down, soaking into the cushion beneath you, every soft squelch making your face burn hotter as you bucked helplessly against him.

A deeper groan rolled through him, his jaw working, the muscles flexing tight under your fingertips. No wonder his jaw stayed so sharp ; always devouring you like a holy meal, always feasting on you like a man starved for your taste.

"Fuck... don't stop;" you choked out, voice cracking as the edge came sharp and fast, heat coiling deep in your belly until it snapped hard. His right hand slipped from your knee, dragging up your trembling body until his palm wrapped around your throat ; warm, wide fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse pound harder, your vision blur sweet and soft at the edges.

"Right there;" you gasped, voice breaking as your back arched hard, your thighs shaking around his shoulders, toes curling tight as the orgasm ripped through you in a hot, wet wave. A sound like a sob tumbled out ; raw, broken ; your hips jerking helplessly against the soft, filthy drag of his tongue as he pushed you through it, through every twitch and tremor until you could barely breathe.

His eyes stayed locked on your throat ; watching the way you swallowed, the way your mouth fell open around a sound you couldn't even make. He squeezed just enough to hold you there, the pressure sweet and wicked until your body finally sagged back into the cushion, a soft, shattered moan slipping free on the tail end of a shaking gasp.

He pulled away slow, his mouth shining ; lips and jaw wet with your sweetness, breath warm and ragged as he sat back on his knees. His tongue darted out to taste the corner of his mouth, a slow smirk curling the edge of his lips as he watched you struggle to catch your breath.

"Mmmh... god, that was perfect, baby... you okay?" he murmured, voice soft but rough around the edges, hands stroking down your trembling thighs.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as your wide, dazed eyes dropped ; helplessly drawn to the way his big hands worked at the knot in the drawstring of his pajama pants. Slow. Unhurried. Certain. The soft cotton fell loose around his hips, pooling low on those lean thighs until he pushed them off completely, leaving nothing between you and the full, heavy length of him.

He was thick ; beautiful ; the dark, veined shaft flushed and hard, the head of him slick and glistening with need. Even there, in the shadows and firelight, you could see the scattered, tender pattern of his vitiligo marring the smooth, flushed skin ; a patchwork only you knew this intimately. A secret painted across the length of him. It made your throat tighten, your thighs press helplessly wider as a pulse of heat rolled through your belly.

He knelt back onto the lounge between your spread legs ; all golden skin and damp curls and soft, sure hands ; and reached for the bottle of Crown Royal you'd left within reach. His eyes stayed on yours as he uncapped it, a soft glint of mischief flickering in those deep brown eyes while he brought the bottle's cold mouth to your parted lips.

"Open," he murmured, low and warm ; a quiet, coaxing command that made your pulse thrum hot in your ears. You parted your lips obediently, the bite of the cold whiskey sweet and sharp on your tongue as he tipped just enough for you to swallow. A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest as he pulled it away.

"Good girl..." he murmured, voice a soft drag of velvet and heat that made your thighs twitch around him. He lifted the bottle to his own lips, taking a slow sip, the line of his throat working as he swallowed. Then he set it aside, forgotten again ; all his attention snapping back to you.

He leaned in, his bare chest brushing your trembling breasts, the coarse hairs of his treasure trail grazing your soft belly as his heavy length dragged warm and hot along your slick heat. His mouth found yours again ; slow, claiming. Not rushed ; no, never that ; but deep and deliberate, savoring every tiny gasp you gave him. The kiss tasted like you, like the sharp sweetness of Crown, like the salt of your own skin still clinging to his tongue.

Your breath stuttered against his lips as he worked you open with his mouth ; a languid tangle of tongue and teeth, his head tilting just enough to deepen the slide. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it softly until a moan spilled into his mouth, that helpless sound sliding down his body like heat poured straight into his veins.

You felt the thick weight of him twitch between your thighs, that solid, throbbing length pressing harder against your slick warmth. Your hips lifted instinctively ; chasing the heat, the friction, anything he'd give you.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were kiss-swollen and slick. His eyes drank you in ; low, hooded, soft with that possessive tenderness that always made your breath hitch in your throat. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, tracing the wet curve before letting it fall away.

"You look so beautiful like this..." he murmured, voice thick with awe and want ; dark lashes half-lowered as he dragged his eyes down your flushed, trembling body. "All mine. Only for me."

A shiver slipped through you, your breath trembling on a soft, desperate sigh. You watched ; helpless, transfixed ; as he brought his hand to his mouth, spit pooling on his tongue before he let it fall slow and hot into his palm. He wrapped that broad hand around his thick shaft, his spit gliding over the velvet skin as he stroked himself ; slow, base to tip, his mouth falling open as he watched his own hand work his girth slick and ready for you.

He looked up at you ; eyes dark, burning ; then leaned in just enough to drag the broad, slick head of him down, pressing it flush to your pulsing heat. He didn't push in ; not yet ; just rocked his hips enough for that flushed crown to smear your wetness back and forth, teasing your swollen bud until you whimpered, hips twitching up for more.

Then he pulled back just enough to slap his thick length against your slick folds ; once. The wet sound cracked through the hush of the room, sharp and obscene. Twice ; another smack, the heat sparking through your belly as a soft cry slipped out. A third time ; harder, heavier; the slap of flesh on flesh making you whimper and bite down on your lip just to keep from sobbing his name too soon.

He watched you do it; watched your mouth tremble around that bitten lip, watched your eyes flutter half-shut as your hips rocked helplessly up for more. A dark, crooked grin tugged at the edge of his mouth, his free hand sliding up the inside of your trembling thigh until his fingertips brushed that slick heat he'd just teased raw.

"Look at you..." he murmured, that low, rough voice scraped raw with praise and heat and a dark promise that made your belly clench tighter around the thickness pressing right at your entrance. The swollen head of him nudged against your slick folds, parting them just enough to feel that first slow, burning push ; the thick promise of being filled, stretched, made to take every inch he gave.

"So damn sweet for me," he rasped, his thumb brushing your knee as he nudged you wider open, claiming all the space between your thighs for himself. "Ready for every inch, aren't you, baby?"

All you could do was nod ; helpless, soft ; your breath trembling through parted lips. "Please..." you whispered, voice threadbare and wanting as your toes curled against his warm skin. You brushed the ball of your foot against his bare chest, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the faint dampness of shower steam still clinging to him. Your eyes dragged down his body ; the broad spread of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the way the light caught the gold chain resting in the hollow of his throat, the splotches of vitiligo like constellations across his ribs and hips.

He gave you that small, sinful smile ; the one that always promised ruin ; then bent low, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your ankle, his lips hot against your skin. His big hands braced your thighs wider, the slick head of him dragging through your folds, back and forth, until you whimpered. Then ; slowly, so slowly ; he eased inside. Not fast, never rushed. He knew what it did to you. How you split open for him ; every single time, as if your body could never quite get used to how thick he was, how deep he reached.

"Shhh... relax for me, baby... breathe," he murmured against your knee, his voice a hush of warmth and control as inch after inch sank into you. The stretch was everything ; a dull ache that made your toes curl, your spine arch, your nails dig helplessly into the soft cushion under you. A soft, broken moan slipped out as he bottomed out ; buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of him pressed flush against your slick heat, your body fluttering tight around the thickness now seated deep inside.

He stayed there, locked inside you, savoring how you clenched around him ; the way your lips parted on a trembling exhale, your lashes fluttering, your thighs twitching against his ribs. He watched you unravel with that tender, dangerous heat in his eyes ; the same heat that made you feel owned, adored, undone.

Your palm drifted down, shaky fingers splaying across the firm plane of his stomach. You felt the warm slide of his skin under your touch ; the faint line of his treasure trail where it met the thick base of him, wet with you. Your hand wandered back up, brushing the hard slope of his chest, fingertips grazing the small dark specks of vitiligo on his pecs.

He caught your wandering hand in his, kissed your palm ; a soft, warm press that made your stomach flip ; then pressed it to his chest, pinning it there over the steady thud of his heart. He drew back, the thick drag of him pulling out slow until only the tip of him teased your entrance ; then he rolled his hips back in, filling you again, letting you feel every inch.

Your soft moan spilled out, hips twitching up to meet his push. He did it again ; slow, deliberate, the rhythmic roll of his dancer's hips coaxing out your pleasure one trembling breath at a time. His groan broke between his teeth ; a raw edge of hunger that made your belly flutter.

When he caught your hand again and pulled you forward, you let him guide you up until you were pressed chest-to-chest. He wound your arm around his neck, your palm brushing that cool gold chain. Your fingers grazed the damp hair at his nape, clinging for balance as he pushed deeper ; a steady, patient rhythm that let you feel every thick inch working inside you.

Your thighs trembled wider as he angled deeper, the head of him brushing that spot that made you choke out his name. You squeezed your hand tighter around the strong column of his neck, thumb brushing the damp skin just below his jaw. He groaned when you did, his head tipping back, throat bared ; the thick line of it so beautiful, the Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed down a ragged breath.

He dipped closer, his forehead brushing yours as he hooked his big hands under your knees again, pushing them back, opening you wide so he could bury himself deeper. The shift made your voice break on a high, needy cry. He pulled out until just the thick head of him stretched you wide ; then thrust forward, slow but deep, filling you to the base in a single, steady push that knocked every thought from your mind.

"Oh fuck..." you sobbed out, your nails clawing at the smooth skin of his back.

He let out a dark, breathless laugh; the sound rumbling warm against your lips as he hovered just over you. "Can you handle it, baby?" he rasped, voice thick and teasing as he did it again ; that same slow drag out, that deep, deliberate thrust in that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Shut... up..." you panted, breath breaking around a helpless moan as you tightened your hand around his neck, choking him lightly ; just how he liked it. A low, wrecked groan tore from his throat, the sound rumbling under your palm.

"Shit;" he hissed, hips snapping forward a little harder this time, the wet slap of him pounding into you echoing over the soft crackle of the fire, the low sigh of jazz still humming somewhere in the background like a memory. The air smelled like sweat and shea butter and the faint sweetness of Crown Royal lingering on both your lips.

He fucked you deeper, steadier ; each roll of his hips controlled, claiming ; until the heat at your core burned so hot your toes curled tight against his ribs. Slick sounds filled the hush of the room, your wetness coating him with every thrust. His length dragged deliciously against every tender spot inside you, coaxing out gasps and moans you couldn't hold back.

Your hand slipped from his throat, palm skimming down over the slick warmth of his chest. You pressed your arm over your eyes, a futile, instinctive attempt to muffle the helpless sounds spilling from your lips. But he wouldn't let you hide; not from him.

He caught your wrists in one big hand, pinning them back above your head against the lounge, his grip strong but reverent. His other hand braced your hip, angling you just right as he pushed deeper, his breath a soft snarl against your ear.

"Don't hide from me..." he whispered, his lips brushing your temple, his hips grinding deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. "Let me hear it, pretty girl. Every sound. All of it."

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his ; that dark, molten stare locked on every flicker of your face as you came apart for him, as if he could see every hidden thought spilling loose under the steady, delicious drag of his hips. The fireplace behind him hissed and cracked, gold light dancing over the damp curls clinging to his forehead, bronzing the slope of his shoulders, the flex of muscle in his arms as he caged you there ; caught, pinned, made soft and helpless beneath every slow, claiming thrust.

"That's it, baby..." Michael rasped, voice rough with hunger but low with praise ; a sinful vow that curled down your spine and tangled with the tight, coiling heat low in your belly. He drew out, hips rolling back with that practiced, deliberate grace, then pressed forward again ; slow enough to make you feel each thick inch splitting you open, deeper than before. The stretch was a tease and a promise both, a burn that made you keen for him to give you more.

"Take all of it... just like that..." he murmured again, his breath spilling hot against your throat as he dipped closer, the warm scrape of his lips pressing to your neck. He kissed you there, slow at first ; the plush press of his mouth soothed by the rhythm of his hips pumping deeper ; then his teeth grazed your skin, a soft, wicked bite that made your back arch off the lounge, made your thighs twitch around his hips.

His pace built with each roll of his hips, each slow push and greedy pull, the wet sound of your slick warmth taking him echoing through the hush of the firelight and the old jazz record that still sighed somewhere behind you. The room smelled like shea butter, sweat, and the sweet burn of whiskey that still lingered on your lips and his.

"Just like that, baby..." he growled again, voice hitching into something darker, more guttural, as he sealed his mouth to the curve of your neck. He sucked your skin there ; open-mouthed kisses that turned into sharp pulls that would bloom purple come morning ; his hips snapping harder, faster now, every wet slap of skin meeting skin pushing you closer to that edge.

Your moan tangled in your throat, helpless and hot against the shell of his ear. "Michael..." you gasped, the word slipping out like a ragged prayer ; part plea, part praise, every syllable broken by the stutter of your breath as he buried himself deeper. Your head tipped back, throat bared, your voice catching on another choked moan as he drove in again, harder ; the head of him kissing the mouth of your cervix in soft, devastating taps that made your vision swim.

He felt your body tighten beneath him ; the flutter and clench that made his own breath break into a groan, dark and guttural against your skin. "Fuck..." he breathed out, voice cracking around the word as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping your mouth like he wanted to taste every gasp you made. The kiss was hungry but unhurried ; lips sliding, teeth catching, breath mixing. You tasted yourself on him, the lingering sweetness of the crown royal, the salt of your sweat, the taste of him that made your head spin.

He broke the kiss with a soft growl, lips dragging down your jaw as his hand slipped from your pinned wrist and found the back of your knee. He hooked it in the crook of his strong arm, folding you deeper, pushing your leg back until your knee brushed your chest ; the new angle stealing your breath as he sank in again, impossibly deep. The thick head of him pressed right where you were softest, where your walls fluttered tight and trembling, your slickness coating every inch of him with a wet, messy sound that made his hips snap rougher.

Your toes curled helplessly in the air, body arched in a helpless bow beneath him as wave after wave of heat rolled through you. Your thighs quivered, slick and trembling, held wide and open in his firm grasp, his fingers digging into the backs of your knees like he was trying to brand himself into your skin. The room felt molten;humid with the scent of sweat, sex, shea butter, and the deep, aching pulse of need that had been building and unraveling between you for what felt like eternity.

Each thrust of his hips landed with a sharp, wet slap, your bodies colliding in a rhythm so deep, so deliberate, it bordered on worship. His thick length dragged through your soaked folds, parting you with each stroke, stretching you open around him in a way that made your back claw at the sheets. He filled you over and over again, unrelenting, like he needed to reach somewhere deep inside and stake his claim.

He whispered your name against the side of your neck, voice shredded and raw, a whisper scraped from the base of his lungs. The sound alone could've undone you, so thick with devotion, like he was offering up a prayer and a plea all in one. His breath was hot and stuttered, lips trembling as they grazed your damp skin;laced with salt, perfumed with your shared heat.

His gold chain swung freely between you, slapping softly against your sweat-slicked chest. Each motion sent it trailing across your breastbone, the cool metal dragging along your skin, catching in the hollow dip of your collarbone, a beautiful contrast to the scorching heat of his body pinning you to the lounge seat.

And then he leaned back, never breaking rhythm, his hips still grinding into you with that steady, devastating tempo. His dark eyes dropped between your bodies, watching the way you took him;watching how slick and needy your body looked, how your folds gripped every inch of him and begged for more. His mouth parted slightly at the sight, jaw tight, nostrils flaring like he was fighting not to lose control.

You had your head thrown back now, spine arched off the seat, hands cupping your own breasts, rolling your swollen peaks between your fingers in time with his thrusts. The pleasure sparked from your nipples all the way down to your core, winding the coil inside you even tighter. When he looked up and saw you like that;open, aching, playing with yourself for him;his lip curled into a dangerous smirk.

"You're gonna make me lose my mind," he growled lowly, his voice husky, trembling at the edges with restraint.

He leaned in again, slower now, and pressed his lips to your ankle; soft, reverent. His kisses trailed up your calf as he pushed into you deep, slow, and hard, over and over. His thrusts were purposeful, like he wasn't just trying to fuck you;he was trying to imprint himself on your soul. His chain swung again, catching the glow of the fireplace as he kept moving, rhythm never faltering. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, wet, rhythmic, punctuated by your gasps and the shaky moans you could no longer hold back.

Your hands moved down his sides and found his hips, gripping tight, urging him faster. He hissed through clenched teeth when your nails bit into the flesh above his hipbones.

"Damn..." he groaned, head thrown back, curls damp with sweat and sticking to his temples. Beads of it ran down his neck and chest, catching in the gold chain around his neck as his body worked over yours like a machine.

"Michael..." you moaned, your voice dissolving into a shaky breath as you clenched around him. Your walls fluttered, eager and sensitive, tightening the closer you drew to the edge.

His hands tightened behind your knees, pressing your legs back even further, deeper, angling himself to hit exactly where you needed. You felt him dragging across that spot again and again, each stroke making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.

"You feel that?" he whispered thickly, his voice trembling now. "Right there, baby... damn, you're so tight... you gonna give it to me?"

You nodded, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was, from the fire winding hot in your belly.

"I'm close," you cried, voice breaking, your fingers digging into the roundness of his behind, holding him inside you like you never wanted him to leave.

He grunted, chest heaving. "F-fuck baby... I'm not gonna last..."

His rhythm grew rougher, faster, his control slipping as your body fluttered around him. Sweat poured from him, from you;your skin stuck together, your breaths staggered and uneven, chasing something that was right on the edge of falling.

And then it hit.

Your whole body tensed, bowed, lips falling open in a soundless scream. That fire snapped at the base of your spine and exploded in your belly, white-hot pleasure spilling out in every direction. You convulsed beneath him, walls pulsing, milking him, begging him not to stop.

"Michael!" you cried out, shaking beneath him.

With a cry ripped raw from the base of his throat, Michael slammed into you harder than ever, once;twice;his entire body trembling with restraint before it gave out entirely. His release came in thick, scorching bursts, pouring into you in long, unrelenting waves. Each pulse of him stretched the moment into something infinite;his hips pressing deep, buried to the hilt as his body locked up over yours, arms trembling from the force of it. You could feel him throbbing inside you, every twitch of his climax pressing up against your deepest ache, branding you from the inside out, his warmth spilling into your womb, coating your walls like molten honey.

He stayed inside you, his length still heavy and twitching, held in place by the tight seal of your body wrapped around him like silk. Slowly, reverently, he lowered your legs from his shoulders, setting them down with a gentleness that contrasted the storm he'd just unleashed inside you. And then;he collapsed forward, the weight of him warm and solid and human as he blanketed your body with his own. His chest pressed to yours, the heat of his skin sticking to yours, breaths jagged and erratic as he tried to come down, tried to find air again.

His face dropped to your chest, lips brushing the underside of your breast in a lazy, reverent kiss. His nose nuzzled against the damp skin there, and you felt his breath ghost across your nipple, still hard and pebbled from the aftershocks. You threaded your fingers through the wet curls at the base of his neck, stroking gently, your other hand drifting down his spine, over the flex and dip of his muscles, your touch smoothing over the thin layer of sweat slicking his skin.

He didn't move;he simply breathed with you. His body felt like an anchor and a balm, grounding you as your hearts thundered together in unsteady rhythm.

His length, still sheathed inside you, twitched again;less urgent now, but no less intimate. He was only half-hard now, but the stretch of him lingered inside you, every inch still making you ache. You felt him slowly begin to soften, felt the sticky heat of his release leaking from where you were still joined, dribbling out of you in slow, syrupy trails onto the fabric of the lounge chair beneath you.

He exhaled slowly, then pushed himself up with a low groan, the muscles in his arms flexing as he eased his weight off your chest. He looked down between your bodies, gaze dark and molten, and gently rocked his hips forward once more, just enough to make you gasp.

You whimpered at the sensation;his length dragging against your fluttering walls, still so sensitive it made your thighs twitch. "Fuck..." he breathed, voice hoarse and trembling, watching the way your body responded to even the softest movement.

Then, slowly, he pulled out of you.

The sensation was overwhelming. You felt every inch of him slip free, wet and slow, until a flood of his warmth followed, pooling out of you and sliding down the curve of your thighs. He stared at it for a moment, his jaw tight, eyes heavy with something unreadable;hunger, reverence, the kind of satisfaction that came only from giving everything and being given everything in return.

His eyes moved slowly back up your body, pausing at your glistening skin, the rise and fall of your chest, the flushed peaks of your breasts; and finally, your face.

"You okay?" he asked softly, the roughness in his voice edged with concern.

You nodded slowly, your breath still shaky, your chest still heaving with the echoes of pleasure. "I'm fine, baby..." you whispered, eyes half-lidded, limbs loose and heavy, body wrecked in the best way. Your walls fluttered again at the thought of him still inside you, at the evidence of him still seeping from your body.

Michael nodded once, slowly, then leaned forward to kiss your thigh, his fingers smoothing over your legs where they still trembled faintly. His eyes drifted down again, watching as the creamy mixture of you and him spilled from your center onto the lounge cushion; slick, hot, and glistening.

The record player had long stopped spinning, the soft jazz a memory now. The needle sat idle in the groove, leaving behind only a soft hiss like distant rain. The only sounds left were the steady crackle of the fireplace and the soft, shallow breaths shared between you;both of you still riding the echo of everything that had just passed.

Without a word, Michael slipped one arm beneath the bend of your thighs, the other cradling the small of your back, and lifted you from the lounge chair with the effortless ease of a man who'd held you a thousand times. Your body melted into his on instinct, limp and warm and boneless, the aftermath of pleasure still humming in your blood. His chest was slick with sweat, muscles still flexing from exertion, and you pressed your cheek to him, breath falling soft against his skin as he carried you.

Your bare body curled against his, limbs folding like petals toward the center of him, instinctively seeking the quiet shelter of his hold. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear;slower now, but still strong, still echoing the rhythm you had shared minutes before. One of his hands drifted along your spine, his fingertips grazing every dip and curve with reverence, the kind of touch that wasn't rushed or demanding, but slow and sacred, as if he were relearning your body not just with desire;but devotion.

"I love you," he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing the crown of your head as the words slipped out like a vow;low and hushed, nearly drowned beneath the soft crackling of the fire nearby, but still weighted with everything he felt for you. The way he said it made the world feel small, private, precious. Like it was only the two of you, suspended in time.

You exhaled against his collarbone, your lips ghosting over the slope of his shoulder. "I love you too," you murmured back, barely awake, your voice edged in velvet and sleep, a quiet echo of everything your body had already confessed.

He shifted slightly, easing back on the lounge chair, and cupped your face in his hand. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, lifting your gaze to his. Your eyes were heavy, lids drooping, pupils dark with exhaustion and softness. He studied you like he always did in these moments;like you were something delicate and wild he still couldn't believe was his. And then he kissed you. Slow. Deep. Purposeful. His lips were plush and warm, tinged with the lingering taste of Crown Royal;rich, smoky, with a hint of honey. The kind of kiss that didn't need to say anything because it already said everything.

The book you'd been reading earlier lay forgotten on the floor, its pages splayed open and spine bent, abandoned in the quiet chaos of passion. Somewhere in the mess of thrown clothes, empty glasses, and half-spun vinyl, the story you were following had lost its place. But none of that mattered anymore. The chapter could wait. The plot could be found again. Because the real story had just unfolded across skin and breath and tangled limbs;and it was more intoxicating than anything written on the page.

All that existed now was the man in front of you;his arms wrapped tightly around your bare frame, both of your bodies slick and glowing in the amber flicker of firelight. Beyond the tall glass windows, Manhattan glittered like a sleeping beast, but neither of you noticed. The sky could've cracked open, the city swallowed by the storm creeping in from the east, and you wouldn't have cared. Not with the heat of his body wrapped around you. Not with the world narrowed to this single, breathless space;the silence after the storm, and the sound of your breathing in time.

Sleep tugged at your lashes, soft and slow. Your breath deepened, became even, and your body relaxed entirely in his arms. He felt the shift, the way you surrendered to sleep like it was a safe harbor, and he watched you for a moment longer;his expression unreadable, but gentle, almost awestruck. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real.

Carefully, Michael slipped an arm beneath your knees again and the other behind your shoulders, rising from the chair with your body still curled in his. He walked with purpose, slow and steady, carrying you through the darkened hallway of the penthouse and into the master bedroom, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.

The bedroom was cool and quiet, the linen sheets freshly turned down, a low breeze stirring the curtains near the balcony doors. He leaned down and gently laid you on the bed, your hair fanning across the pillow in soft waves. He bent over you and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips; soft, reverent, a kiss meant to end the night like a benediction.

"Sleep well, baby..." he whispered, brushing your cheek with his thumb once more before moving to the other side of the bed.

He eased into it beside you, the white sheets cool against his skin. You instinctively reached for him in your sleep, and he smiled faintly as he scooped you into his arms, pulling you close, spooning you from behind. His chest pressed to your back, one leg slipping between yours, his arm banding tightly around your waist. Your bodies fit together perfectly;warm, bare, flushed. His nose nestled into the back of your neck as he inhaled your scent, a mix of sweat, perfume, and something entirely you.

And as sleep claimed him too, he pressed one last kiss to your shoulder, murmuring something only the night would keep.

The penthouse was still. The fire in the library cracked quietly, casting long, dancing shadows. The empty glass of Crown Royal rested on the table, forgotten. Both your clothes were scattered across the floor like fallen petals. The jazz record on the player had long stopped, the needle now whispering soft static into the air, and that book;the one you'd been so absorbed in hours before;lay face-down on the rug, its chapter lost to the heat of hands and mouths and the rush of breathless desire.

But you'd find the page again. Eventually.

For now, all that mattered was the two of you. Wrapped together in the hush of night. Held beneath the glow of a dim city sky. And asleep in the arms of something far deeper than lust— something lasting.

[statsbot]

THE END OF DUNGEONS & DRAGONS

Prompt: "The sword coast setting, but thousands and thousands and thousands of years in the future, where it's turned from high fantasy into dark fantasy"

The Outline:

Sample Campaign Starter:

Text under Read More:

The Great Cities Waterdeep, once the City of Splendors, is now the City of Eternal Twilight. Its towering spires remain, but they're twisted and warped, having grown like pale coral over thousands of years of wild magic exposure. The city exists in layers - the deepest parts still contain functioning Undermountain technology, while the surface is a maze of crystallized buildings where masked nobles maintain a mockery of the old customs. Baldur's Gate has become a titanous mechanical city-state, burning the corpses of the dead in enormous furnaces to maintain warmth as the sun dies. The Sword Coast itself is no longer recognizable as a coast - the sea has partially crystallized into a sheet of black glass that occasionally liquefies without warning.

The Nature of Magic As the sun dims, magic has become more visceral and dangerous. The Weave has partially collapsed, creating "knots" of wild magic that float like spectral tumors across the landscape. Spellcasting requires blood sacrifice or the burning of valuable materials - the age of casual magic is long gone. Many spellcasters have resorted to binding fragments of dying gods into their flesh to maintain their powers. The color of magic has changed too - most spells manifest in blacks, grays, and pale blues, as if the magic itself is suffering from cosmic frostbite.

The Old Pantheons The gods are dying, but cannot truly die. They exist in a state of perpetual agony, their essence crystallizing into god-shards that fall from the sky like meteors. Some gods have merged together in desperate attempts to survive - Lathander and Kelemvor are now one entity, a terrible thing that represents both dawn and death, neither of which have meaning anymore. Mystra's death long ago caused the initial collapse, but her essence still pervades reality like a virus, causing spontaneous magical mutations.

Survival Methods People cluster around "hearth-crystals," shards of the original sun that still emit weak heat and light. Communities are usually small, heavily fortified, and deeply suspicious of outsiders. Many have resorted to consuming the flesh of magical creatures to survive, leading to widespread mutations. Water must be thawed before drinking, and most food is grown in underground fungal gardens. Some communities have turned to worshipping the machines left behind by the gnomes and artificers of old, maintaining ancient technologies they barely understand.

Monsters and Creatures Most of the iconic D&D monsters have evolved or devolved into horrific new forms. Dragons are blind, pale things that nest in thermal vents, having lost their color affiliations millennia ago. Mind Flayers have returned from the far realm, but they're different now - more mechanical, having fused with ancient Netherese technologies. Beholders have multiplied and shrunk, becoming swarms of floating eyes that serve as organic surveillance systems for the larger settlements.

The Planes The planar boundaries have grown thin and unstable. The Shadowfell is slowly merging with the Material Plane, while the Feywild has become a frozen wasteland of eternal twilight. Fragments of other planes occasionally crash into the material world, creating zones where reality behaves according to alien rules. The Nine Hells have frozen over, and demons now seek warmth in the material plane, sometimes offering their essence as fuel for the desperate.

Ancient Artifacts The legendary artifacts of the past have grown in power as the world dies. The Blackstaff has become a living entity that consumes its wielders. The Ring of Winter is sought after not as a weapon, but as a tool of mercy - it can grant final death to those who otherwise would live forever in the twilight. Many new artifacts have been created from the crystallized remains of gods, each carrying a fraction of divine power and madness.

SITUATION A hearth-crystal powering the settlement of Coldhearth is dying. The crystal's dimming has caused panic among the inhabitants, who know they have perhaps two weeks before the cold claims them. However, the local Crystal-Speaker has had a vision - one of the dying gods, a merged aspect of Gond and Oghma called the Brass Scholar, is falling from the heavens. Its crystallized divine essence could serve as a new hearth-crystal, if it can be claimed. Unfortunately, others have sensed its imminent arrival too - including the machine-cult of Baldur's Gate and a desperate band of god-flesh scavengers.

SETTING Coldhearth sits in what was once a coastal village near Waterdeep, though the black glass sea is now several miles away. The settlement is built into and around an ancient lighthouse, its beacon replaced with the current (dying) hearth-crystal. The surrounding area is a wasteland of crystallized trees and frozen earth, with occasional patches of liquidized ground where wild magic has temporarily thawed reality.

The nearby "Shattershore" - where the black glass sea begins - is a maze of geometric shapes and broken reflections. The glass occasionally liquefies without warning, swallowing the unwary. Scavengers risk these dangers to harvest valuable resources from ancient ships trapped within the glass. Several miles inland lies the ruins of a pre-twilight trading post called Wayward's Rest, now home to a colony of devolved mind flayers who trade memories for warmth.

The predicted impact site of the falling god-shard lies in the Thornmaze, a crystallized forest where the trees have grown into impossibly sharp geometric patterns. The local mutation-touched say the trees still grow, just too slowly for normal eyes to see. The maze is home to various geometric predators - creatures that have adapted to move and hunt along perfectly straight lines and right angles.

CAST The Settlement of Coldhearth Vara Nightbridge, Crystal-Speaker and unofficial leader. Her eyes have been replaced with shards of a fallen god, allowing her to see divine essence. She speaks in temperatures rather than words. Ghkss the Thawed, a mutation-touched merchant whose flesh periodically liquefies. He maintains the settlement's fungal gardens and knows more than he shares. Pock, a child who never seems to feel the cold. The other children follow her lead, and she knows all the settlement's secrets.

The Machine-Cult of Baldur's Gate Archimandrite Kex, a cyborg priestess who has replaced her blood with heated oil. She leads the local machine-cult expeditions. Brother-Operator Finn, a former street thief who maintains the cult's warmth-engines. He's secretly planning to steal the god-shard for himself.

The God-Flesh Scavengers The Twins, Voss and Vess, who share a single mutation-touched body but alternate control. They're known for eating anything that glows. Skrike, their enforcer, who has bound frozen demon-flesh to his bones. He can only move in straight lines but hits like a runaway cart.

INITIAL CONDITIONS The hearth-crystal is dimming noticeably each day. The settlement's outer rings have already been abandoned as the warmth recedes. Most residents have crowded into the lighthouse proper, creating tensions and using up stored resources faster than anticipated. The Crystal-Speaker's vision has given hope, but also attracted unwanted attention from outside groups.

The machine-cult has already established a forward camp near the Thornmaze, using salvaged warmth-engines that leave trails of black smoke. The god-flesh scavengers are more mobile, using trained geometric predators as mounts to patrol the crystallized forest's edge.

The god-shard is due to impact in approximately ten days. The cold is getting worse. Strange lights have been seen in the Thornmaze, suggesting the area's wild magic is intensifying in anticipation of the divine arrival.

GOALS Vara Nightbridge seeks to save her people and maintain order during the crisis. Ghkss wants to preserve his secret collection of pre-twilight artifacts, even at the cost of lives. Pock intends to lead the other children to safety if the adults fail. Archimandrite Kex plans to use the god-shard to create a new type of warmth-engine. Brother-Operator Finn dreams of becoming a god himself by consuming the shard. The Twins aim to feed the god-shard to their geometric mounts, believing it will create perfect predators. Skrike simply wants enough divine essence to fix his condition.

TOOLS/RESOURCES Vara has her god-shard eyes and the loyalty of most settlers. Ghkss maintains a hidden cache of thawed water and preserved food. Pock knows secret ways through the Thornmaze. Archimandrite Kex commands several warmth-engines and trained technicians. Brother-Operator Finn possesses a pre-twilight device that can supposedly contain divine essence. The Twins control a pack of geometric predators. Skrike has demon-enhanced strength and durability.

SAMPLE SOLUTIONS Navigate the Thornmaze using Pock's knowledge, reach the impact site first, and defend it until the god-shard arrives. This requires surviving the geometric predators and wild magic surges.

Ally with Brother-Operator Finn, use his device to safely contain the god-shard, then betray him before he can consume it. This means dealing with both the machine-cult and his personal ambitions.

Convince the Twins to help clear a path through the Thornmaze using their geometric predators, then deal with their inevitable betrayal at the impact site.

Use Ghkss's secret resources to outlast the other factions, letting them fight among themselves before claiming the god-shard from the survivors.

Negotiate with the mind flayers at Wayward's Rest, trading memories for their help in securing the god-shard. This is risky but could provide a significant advantage over other factions.

[flowering-darkness]

This is such a lovely concept for an ask game! May I please request a flower for Zero?

Born during the Contramemoria war, Zero grew up harbouring Darkness in her veins, and was eventually near-fully corrupted into a voidsent during the Flood of Darkness that destroyed her home world (the Thirteenth) ten thousand years ago. With her original form, appearing human but still half-voidsent, restored to her by a Crystal of Light, she accompanies the party for the post-Endwalker storyline, tentatively experiencing humanity again after so long spent only knowing a ruined world without trust.

💐Flower Reblog Game💐

Hiiii this is my first time doing this type of game so please be patient with me!! ^^ Divider by saradika-graphics

For this reblog game, please provide a picture of your s/i or f/o I'll assign them a flower! A description of them, short or long doesn't matter, would be greatly appreciated but not required!

For example, I assign my f/o Dimitri the flower.... Forget-Me-Nots!

Proshippers DNI

[centrally-unplanned]

On a recent trip home I picked up my dog-eared childhood copy of The Crystal Shard, the first-ever appearance of trope-defining dark elf Drizzt Do'Urden:

As my partner remarked on seeing the cover, "do you really need the whole wolf? The pelt ain't enough?" Darn right it ain't, when I was ~10 and playing basement D&D every weekend with my friend circle I fucking loved Drizzt, like all nerd kids back then did. Even better, this book was one of those things where he isn't even the main character, no one thought this would become the "IP" that it did. It is pure Early Installment Weirdness. So I was curious how cruelly the passage of time would affect this 1988 fantasy pulp novel.

Anyway we are 112 pages in and our first named female character has finally appeared. I am not exaggerating or even ignoring bit characters for that point. Women as a concept do not appear in the first 30 pages, until this line:

"Fetch the wenches!" he commanded.

And you occasionally get some mind-dominated sex slaves who are, again, unnamed, until Catti-brie (the named girl) shows up. As barbarian boy Wulfgar's romantic interest by the by.

This isn't, like, a gigantic bash or anything - Catti-brie herself is a primary character and well-realized and all that, and as always you can tell a story about a group of guys if you want. But back then the pulp fantasy landscape was just fucking rough my dude; this book spends a lot of time on the "societies" of Icewind Dale, governance & trade and war, and women just do not contribute to that society, in any way, beyond token references to mothers-and-lovers as a concept.

There is a line Wulfgar, someone from the "barbarian" nomadic tribes, makes - as a comparison to Catti-brie - about women in his society:

Barbarian girls were raised to keep their thoughts and opinions, unimportant by the standards of men, to themselves.

And I get it, like Catti-brie is headstrong and wilful and Wulfgar is Learning to Respect Women. I grok that this is an arc moment and depiction is not endorsement. But I think that idea works a little better if the author had put a single female character from the barbarian society on the page to help with that point! The book shouldn't agree that they are unimportant, right? I'm looking at George R.R. Martin's portrayal of the Dothraki in A Game of Thrones - published in 1996! - and seeing it for the progressive act it is now lol, that is a low bar. I have read later R. A. Salvatore books and he would never do this today of course; it was just how the genre worked back then.

Progress is just good sometimes I guess!

[robinnsblog]

Shadow Crystals, Titans and Despair

What if they’re one and the same?

In Chapter 4, we’re revealed how the Shadow Crystals are formed.

They’re tears and glass, easily associated with the Titans and their spawn.

A shard of fear. Appears in places of deep dark.

It sputtered in a voice like crushed glass.

But what or who is crying the Crystals? If we take the elemental pair Dark/Star into consideration, a Star, fallen or not, could be referring to a Lightner. Chapter 2 kind of confirms this:

The robot that Spamton used to create his Neo suit, had once been filled with the hopes and dreams of a Lightner, however, it shouldn’t be forgotten the fact that it was discarded and forgotten. Perhaps the Lightner feared their ideal body was impossible to achieve or thought it was too absurd an idea, so they threw the equivalent of their hopes and dreams away. And what would that mean?

Well, that the source of a Shadow Crystal’s power is not hope, but despair (a good reason to weep).

No wonder they give Gerson the creeps, and why looking through them never shows anything good. It’s not that they reveal what lies behind the illusion or a glimpse into the future —as the Prophecy panels technically do—, but rather show an alternate view of reality through the lens of fear.

Think about it:

You thought you saw toys strewn on the floor.

You thought you saw the computer lab.

You thought you saw the lobby of the church.

You’re having fun, making friends. What would you be afraid of? That it was pure fantasy, none of that real.

You thought you saw Susie glaring at you, coldly...

You always wanted to be her friend and you finally are. What there is to fear? For her to hate you again, and she would have good reason to, you’re keeping a lot of secrets…

You thought you saw the television get smashed to pieces.

Despite everything, I don’t think Kris wanted Tenna to be killed at the end of Chapter 3.

You thought you saw Undyne frozen in ice.

You thought you saw Noelle close against you, whispering.

I would be afraid of the mere possibility of The Weird Route happening too. It’s called The Forbidden Path for a reason, after all.

You thought you saw through your hand.

You love playing the piano. Without one hand, however…

The prophecy's text does not warp in the crystal's lens.

If the prophecy promises something terrible, wouldn’t you fear its fulfillment? And thus, it doesn’t change, because what you fear is already before you.

Now, what would all of this imply about the Titans and the Knight’s armor? The existence of the Pure Crystal might shed some light on that: if it’s the hope equivalent of a Shadow Crystal, and it’s transparent rather than opaque, that would mean that the Knight’s armor is made of pure despair.

Makes sense for a seemingly hopeless boss fight, no?

And how poetic if Carol was the Knight, literally wearing her grief as a weapon, explaining why they were crying when we first met them…

[idalenn]

Day 4 - Reticent

Worqor Zormor - Lillian and Alisaie switch up the plan to harry the Second Promise. (7.0)

Major characters: Warrior of Light, Thancred, Urianger

Full text below the cut

Quick as a lie, Lillian’s hand snapped away from her forehead and a golden cord yanked Alisaie whole into her grip.

“We’re changing the plan,” Lillian growled, twisting the younger girl around to get at the leather tube slung across her back. “Alisaie, you and Krile stay with Wuk Lamat, and I’ll head off the others at the pass instead.”

“What’s come over you,” the girl cried. “So. Suddenly?” Wrenching with all force in her Elezen frame, she tried to free herself to no avail. Lillian’s arms were muscle woven with steel.

“Thancred got the best of us. Heard all we – quit moving – intended. They’ll expect your harassment up ahead.” Her deft fingers slid around the tube’s hooks, undoing them one after another. So much easier without gloves, she thought. In short order the map was flapping in her hand. “But not mine.” Krile nodded, clarity writ plain on her face.

“The Echo. We’ll leave this to you, then.” She knocked their Hrothgar claimant across one hand with the dripping end of her brush. “Worqor Zormor awaits us, Third Promise. Our friend will rejoin us once she’s finished.”

Confusion reigned over Wuk Lamat’s own expression. “Does anyone care to enlighten me on this?”

“It must needs be later, I’m afraid. Just run for now. I’ll do my best to inform you of the basics on the way.”

“So it goes.” Wuk Lamat’s shoulders slipped with a heavy sigh. Beyond a protesting Alisaie, Lillian hurriedly crumpled the map into a long green pocket of her cape. “I bring you into my circle for help and you look to escape me at the first chance. Sometimes I think you just can’t toler-AH–” Wind took the rest of her words, loose earth and shards of rock showering the remaining party as Lillian raced off with its power at her back, yalms melting away with each stride.

 Up the path she went dodging around fallen stone outcroppings and growths of blue and violet crystal, the image of the Second Promise’s ascension on a column of air with Thancred and Urianger in tow still burned into her eyes. Not one soul in that damned town malms below had mentioned that was a possibility. Or perhaps her attention had fallen off at the wrong time in conversation and missed its passing mention in one of many grand tales she had been forced into hearing, some unexplainable act that had allowed the defeat of a rampaging beast like Valigarmanda. That was the irritating part about scholars like Koana; legends always held a grain of truth, and those learned as he always knew how to exploit those grains. Like as not down in the valley there existed some Sharlayan device he’d built capable of calling tempests to aid him.

Irritated, she slammed her staff into the mountain face and flooded it with aether. Juts of jagged, black stone ground out, dislodging flora that had lain root in the rock and birds that had found roost in the plants. Once extended enough for use, she bound up the cantilevered platforms, staff readied, its tip alight with pearlescent aether. One bird arrowed towards the Miqo’te, squawking complaint till light and petrichor found their mark, the smell of roast windkin filling Lillian’s mouth with water and nearly sending her feathered cap flying into the abyss. She almost shed a tear as the bird tumbled limp trailing feathers through the clouds.

After the last step, Lillian found herself on a mountain ledge flanked by a low rise of boulders and flowered moss. She drew out the time weathered map and flattened it on the ground, tsking at a tear she made in her haste to abscond. Wuk Lamat had been correct, but why waste time and confirm to the child claimant what she already knew? She was haughty, naïve, self-absorbed, and above all, a fool who believed Lillian’s actions took her well-being into consideration.

Were you not similar once, and did you not learn better? The voice of logic nagged. Quiet. Never so much as she, Lillian thought back, smoothing the spot Thancred pointed out to the Second Promise; a wide pass dotted with the ruins of ancient walls

“Alisaie plans to harry us here. She’s a quick-footed little pest, but we’ve battled alongside long enough for me to know exactly where her faults lie, and I’ve been itching for the opportunity to knock her down a peg or four. I’ll have her in bed without supper and you your victory before the Third Promise realizes she’s been made.”

We’ll see if you can manage the same against me, she thought, stuffing the map back down, wind licking at her heels as she ran. Beastkin poked their soft, red noses from their dens as she passed and retreated just as quickly. Excitement made her ears unable to stay still. They beat a dangerous leather heartbeat against their coverings sewn into her cap. Her thoughts were smothered, but so were the land’s whispers.

The ruins were a short jaunt away. There, the ground was soft and pocketed with fist-width craters filled with tepid water. Vegetation grew verdant from the civilization’s desiccated corpse to cover the bones in green embrace.

There it was. Along the path to the mountain’s summit, a towering stone barrier stood solemn. Dutiful. For a Miqo’te clad in forest colors: easily concealed behind. Some great hand had torn a hole through its skin and left a passage from ruin to path providing the perfect redoubt from which to utilize a White Mage’s magic against unwary passersby. Lillian sprinted across the sodden field, her mind bursting with all the possibilities to slow down her opponents.

As she reached the hole, a white blur faded into the open space.

A reticent blur of white absent of sound, of tension, of presence and definition. The pressure of existence swelled gradually with each fifth of moment. Her brain fired desperately on every available detail.

Bulk; clothing; the jangling of canisters; his interwoven bandolier; plant musk hiding his scent.

Thancred?

Who could claim the greater surprise? Not he, who knew of a coming. Not her, who knew of an arriving.

But if anything, he didn’t appear surprised at all. In fact, he was even –

Smiling?

A strong, hardened jaw stared back at her, yellow teeth glinting from a light growing –

From below?

A tickle started in her brain. Understanding came before the knowing.

Water flew into her hand from the puddle below before growing outward in a blue, glass-thin sheen in the path of the gunblade’s edge, hardening into a shield faster than the blooming muzzle flash. The explosion sent her flying back in a trail of dust and smoke. Powder smell filled her nose. Her ears rang with a cannon blast. Wind gathered thick around in a shroud of green aether to carry her from danger, willing herself to land upright on stable ground.

But as she did, a sigil circled with arcane letters expanded across the stone.

Rolling in the air, her hand wreathed in blinding green tore across the space as a wave of wind struck her full in the side mere ilms from the sigil, lifting the Warrior of Light to send her tumbling bodily across the ground and out of the way of harm as the sigil vanished in a thunderclap of dust and heat. Coughing up more dust caught in her throat, she turned blazing yellow eyes to the cloud of soot obscuring her would-be assailants.

“Bastards… the both of you.” She rose on shaking legs. Shards of broken stone had ripped tears in the cloth of her garb. Blood sheathed from a deep, muddy cut on her arm, but nothing else felt broken.

“Come now, we’re all friends here, and what’s a scuffle between friends.”

Thancred sauntered out from the debris, a shite-eating grin ballooning across his handsome features. Following suit with a light chuckle was Urianger, his astrometer spinning at the ready with cards prepped for reading.

“Our comrade believeth her hand superior to thine own.”

“Count yourself lucky that Alisaie hadn’t been the one around that corner.” Lillian spat a globule of saliva laced with red. “You might have killed her.”

“And I would have been eternally guilty for the act, make no mistake.” Somehow Thancred’s smile grew wider. “But, thankfully, no luck was necessary. You came around just as I had planned.”

“Planned? Ha!” Lillian tossed back her head to laugh. The movement made her wince. “Unless one of you can divine the future, my being here is all luck. And where has the Second Promise gone?”

“Ahead,” Thancred said.

“Thou would beggar of us an explanation?”

“Please. I’m all ears – hold…” She held up a finger hazy with radiant white and plunged the digit into her ringing ear. As the aether healed the damage from Thancred’s attack, the plants around her feet withered into brown husks and crumbled to join the dirt. “Apologies – Now I’m all ears.”

“Your Echo.” Thancred wore the face of a child swimming in an ocean of unwrapped candies. At Lillian’s widened eyes, he continued. “A most useful tool in our adventures, being allowed to witness past events as they occurred. But only as they occurred.”

“Of strength in sight does it boast, yet Master Thancred, awash in inspiration and long accustomed, privy to thine Echo’s potency, hath discovered the flaw in its making.” He held a hand to his lips and laughed lightly. Lightly and restrained. “Deceived we were, as means to deceive you.”

Lillian shook her head. “Somehow I believe this is just some trick to keep me here.”

“Oh, you were tricked, all right. Now your turn comes – what did the Echo show?”

“And why would I tell you?”

“You saw us discussing plans with Koana; plans to ambush Alisaie; plans in which I spoke of knocking her down a peg or four? You witness events exactly as they occur, so once we witnessed you succumb to the Echo’s effects…” Thancred placed a hand to his forehead.

“Into the fold were the Second Promise and I giveth allowance, and a trap thus lain for our dearest friend.”

Thancred’s fingers drummed along the gunblade’s handle. “Do pass on my thanks to Alisaie. Had it not been for her plot on Ultima Thule confirming you’ve density common with archon loaf, this endeavor may not have been as fruitful as hoped.”

The skin under Lillian’s left eye began to quiver. White aether burst at her wounded arm as the dirt crumbled into fine powder under her boots. “I hope you realize what you’ve earned.” Her words came out as a low hiss, the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly upward.

“A prize, I wager! And a prize Urianger and I have wished so long to taste.”

“Indeed. We bringeth all our might to bear, that we may witness might worthy of song and notoriety, what bringeth even eikons to heel.”

With a malicious cacophony, like to an endless sea of keening glass, from Lillian’s back spread opalescent wings of aether aflame, size and ferocity swelling until she was rendered a silhouette before their crescendo. Sensation of needles prickled against the Scions’ skin, and the myriad wounds below notice across her flesh steamed forth white clouds until hale and closed.

“Try not to choke on it.”

[flowering-darkness]

I wanted to put together a quick selfship picture with Zero ^-^

I'm still getting to grips with the intricacies of posing in FFXIV, but I like to think I'm improving bit by bit! Lorenza and Zero may be voidsent, but.. we can still admire each other in the light of Eorzea too~

(comments/reblogs are appreciated, but never required!)

[killjoy-star]

Probably finalized designs for my Chaos Quest au! I love how these look! I'm going to talk about it now because it plagues my mind every second. So if you want more info read below! vvv

--

Chaos Quest is my au of Sonic which is basically set in a fantasy rpg! These five are the main "heroes" of the story with other side stories that tie into the overall story. The gist is the Master Crystal has been shattered and a prophesied hero must gather them along with the 7 Chaos Crystals to unite the 7 kingdoms and defeat an evil darkness plaguing the land. Very tropey but I love rpg tropes. :)

Below is some basic info about each character. vvv

there are probably typos and weird wording because my proofreader isn't with me atm so bear with me

--

~Sonic~

Class: fighter

Weapon: Ringblade - Multi-blade (can be a single blade, propeller sword, or dual sword)

Icon element: wind

Backstory: found alone and unconscious on the beach of South Island, Sonic was adopted into the Prower family with Tails becoming his little brother. He remembers little, but doesn’t let that bother him much. Sonic and Tails enjoy helping other islanders with menial tasks and taking care of occasional monster appearances. One day a storm wreaks havoc on South Island and Sonic hears a mysterious voice.

~Tails~

Class: artificer

Weapon: Cyclone Cannon (powered by chaos drives)

Icon element: lightning

Backstory: Tails was bullied for his abnormality of two tails but his new brother put an end to that quickly. He and Sonic quickly bonded after Sonic was adopted into their family. Despite being a little bit anti-social, he loves helping his neighbors with inventions and testing them out by fighting monsters. He usually follows along with Sonic’s adventures, but some seem crazier than others.

He can be timid and anti-social but he is ready to help where he can. Despite his gentle heart he had a habit of giving sarcastic remarks. He is very intelligent, but lacks street smarts and is very naive about the world.

~Knuckles~

Class: Brawler

Weapon: Iron Arms 

Icon element: earth

Backstory: After his parents died, Knuckles was left alone on the floating Angel Island. He takes care of the creatures and old ruins of his ancestors. His sole duty is to keep guard of the Master Crystal. He often prays and calls out to the spirits of the island but no one answers back. One day strange shadowy monsters attack the island and shatter the Master Crystal, causing the shards to scatter into the world. Without the Master Crystal, the island falls and Knuckles is left calling to his ancestors to find out what to do.

~Amy~

Class: Paladin

Weapon: Heart Smasher

Icon element: fire

Backstory: Amy grew up with a great sense of care for others, that’s why she joined the Heroes Guild. Despite her drive to help others, she is often underestimated and taken advantage of, which is why she hasn’t advanced in the ranks. She often takes circumstances at face value and sometimes it can get her in trouble. She still takes every small task she can if she believes it will make a difference. When Sonic and his party arrive in Stella City, Amy convinces them to join her so she can ascend the ranks help them with their quest.

~Cream~

Class: healer

Weapon: Angel Staff, Cheese the Chao

Icon Element: water

Backstory: Cream and her mother Vanilla manage a chao dragon reserve outside of Stella City. Her soft and kind heart for everyone pushed her to join the Heroes Guild with her best friend Amy. She’s usually the voice of reason for Amy when her ambitions outgrow her capabilities. 

--

Thank you for reading!

[classicanalyzer]

Final Fantasy 16 - Echoes of the Fallen Thoughts and Reflection

"The same enlightened souls forged great and terrible weapons called the Eikonoklastes—from which Eikons derive their name—and turned them against each other in the Magitek war." Harpocrates II Hyperboreios

This DLC finally gives a more in-depth look into the Fallen's "accomplishments" and their attempts to become God themselves. The Fallen had created their own artificial Mothercrystal (The shards being called Dusk Crystals) and artificial Eikon cementing their God-like ambitions. I wonder if the Fallen created artificial Eikons based on the summons Alexander and Ark. Thankfully, Clive and his allies were able to shut down the last Echoes of the Fallen by destroying both Omega-1, their artificial Eikon, and their artificial Mothercrystal silencing the Sagespire for good.

The Fallen's music theme fits these wannabe Gods incredibly well also serving as Omega-1's theme. The first couple of levels (The Worm Mounts) have a variant that uses the organs and operatic music to sell the ancient nature of this Magitek tower and its ambitions. The upper levels have a more ominous and urgent variant (The Secret of Its Laboring Heart) as you begin to see more of the horrific experiments conducted to overthrow Ultima.

Eikonoklasm, Omega-1's battle theme, is an epic battle electronic variant of the Fallen theme. It captures the epiphany of the Fallen's attempt to challenge Ultima by creating their own Eikon. It nearly defeated three Dominants, so imagine if the Fallen made more...a bit of a terrifying thought. A bit of a fun easter egg courtesy of Soken is how Eikonklasm also included eScape motif from FF14.

I love how the Sagespire serves as the final massive dungeon for Clive. Mysidia will serve more as our final explorable area but the Sagespire undoubtedly serve as our final dungeon.

Famiel, the leader of a trio of tribe miners and merchants, plays a thematic role in how the people of this world are tied to the Mothercrystals to survive. In particular, he shows how people who lost their lands to the Deadlands were forced to turn to any means to survive. In this case, they relied on the ambitions of the Fallen (their artificial Mothercrystal). In the end, he saw that a better future for his people would not come if this artificial Mothercrystal were to remain.

"I hope we did the right thing..." Famiel

A theme I noticed was how we see the difference between becoming free: Cid's and Clive's noble quest to free the world from Ultima by riding off the crystals (and later magic itself) versus the Fallen "freeing" themselves from Ultima by becoming "Gods" themselves.

"We don't want to be gods. We just want to be free." Clive Rosfield

Another theme that shares similarities with the Rising Tide DLC is how the wars for the Mothercrystals driven tribes searching for their own. In doing so, this serves to further Ultima's true goal with the exploitation of other Mothercrystals. However, he considers Leviathan to be a "profaned fragment." Ultima sees Leviathan as a heretic of some kind. To what end and why? There's also the fact that the land in Mysidia isn't affected by the Blight at all despite the lost tribe possessing their own Mothercrystal. Maybe Leviathan had a hand in this Mothercrystal's creation as hinted by the trailer?

With that, we shall travel onward to Mysidia and Leviathan in the Rising Tide DLC!

"If one does not learn from the mistakes of the past, one is doomed to repeat them." Harpocrates II Hyperboreios

[jessjustplay]

Currently Playing Final Fantasy XVI - 57 hours update (Part 1)

June 28, 2025

I have like 300 screenshots to go through for this multiple-part update. My PS5 says I am 84% complete with the main story. So I guess I'm entering the endgame?

The woes of the world may be monstrous and many, but there's nothing like a few good friends to keep the misery at bay.

"A sight so common that man is oft blinded to its wonder!" I think this is how most humans are.

The story reminds me of the Calm Lands in Final Fantasy X.

The medicine girl again!

This part was SO cool walking around at night. Obviously anything on a rooftop reminds me of Alexandria from Final Fantasy IX.

THE MOON!!! It has been really cool to see the moon cycle in this game. Related post: The Moon in Video Games

Immediately reminded me of that one part at Lake Macalania in Final Fantasy X.

I don't care what it wants. - Jill

You tell 'em Jill!!! 🔥

OMG so emotional!! Clive seeing Joshua again for the first time. He also said something like, "I'm here brother!"

The Mothercrystals are CRAZY beautiful. Every single one of them has been incredible to see up close.

Jill said "Not around me, bitch." Okay, she did not say that!! but she was being a total bad-ass again standing up for Clive, protecting him, helping him. THEY ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER.

Dude, the mom is insane. I find her fascinating, but not in a good way. In a "what the F is wrong with you?" kind of way. Wonder how her childhood was like.

Actually, there was a part where she explains why she did what she did. It was to protect her family or rather her bloodline/lineage. She said Clive's dad just wanted to protect the people of Rosaria, but she wanted to protect her lineage and make sure it kept going.

Anabella: ...It is to protect the source of his sovereignty! The noble blood that runs in his family's veins. Unlike him, I did my duty! I preserved my line! I bore a son of the noblest blood, to whom the whole world might kneel! That is why I gave Rosaria to Sanbreque! That I might join my line with the Lesages, and birth a savior of this benighted land blessed by both Bahamut and the Phoenix!

Jill: You sold your country for a child?

Anabella: You (Clive) were always your father's son - so very strong, and bold, and daring. And yet you failed to awaken! How the nobles laughed - that Elwin's firstborn was surely the son of a concubine, and my own not long for this world! The shame of it! The shame of being slandered by one's inferiors! It should have bee you! Why didn't the Phoenix choose you!?

Clive: Joshua's every waking moment was spent trying to shoulder the burden that you, and the Phoenix, and the duchy foisted on him! That's why I became his Shield! To help bear the weight! You betrayed your own blood, and surrendered your son to his fate!

Anabella: Joshua... My darling boy... I never meant to hurt him. The soldiers' orders were clear. He was to be spared... Why did you survive, when the only one I truly cared for died?

(Seriously lady?)

Shiva holding Joshua while Clive... does his thing.

Leave my brother... alone! - Clive

AHHHHHHHHHHH ~~~

We can... and we will! Together!

The reunion. <3

And this creepy boy just disappears!

And I guess she just gives up.

Ultima again, still giving Kuja vibes telling us his masterplan.

This was weird. We see Benedikta but it was just Ultima taking on her image. He then turns into Kupka and then, most disturbingly, Barnabas' mother. They're all naked btw. That's why it's weird.

Ultima: Men. You are as meek as all the others. Gifted the power of Eikons, yet slaves to fickle emotions which usher you to your doom. And so you bind your fragile wills with strands of consciousness. (We later find out that what he means by strands of consciousness is just love, affection, and care for someone else.)

I got Bahamut's powers now! They're pretty cool.

The world, in short, is in chaos. - Vivian

Vivian: Crystals that filled wells and fueled furnaces now nothing but pretty shards of rock... While most of the world thirsts for aether, the remainder drowns in it, spawning Akashic in droves.

Vivian: Rosaria and the Iron Kingdom teeter on the brink of collapse, while the tragedy in Twinside has all paralyzed the Holy Empire.

If that is what it means to be human, Clive... I wonder if we are even worth saving at all... - Vivian

Vivian: They are living beings, just as we are. Alas, their instinct drives them to flee from that which cannot be escaped, ushering them only to madness and death... and yet fear and bewilderment drive us to make war on our fellow man. To turn our ire at our own suffering upon those who suffer just as keenly as we do. If that is what it means to be human, Clive… I wonder if we are even worth saving at all…

Read Part 2 here.

[roxaseight]

I picked up Final Fantasy I again today and I can confirm that the adventure, in addition to being a complete mess, is a complete joke straight out of the game's creators' ass 😡.

Between the key items you have to obtain out of nowhere in COMPLETLY random locations and the poorly placed villages, as well as the series of dungeons that are supposed to be a side quest but apparently don't exist in my version of the game, even though I've completed all the bosses and restored the shards of the four crystals, I'm outraged by the quality of the game's guidance 😔.

Furthermore, battles are triggered after three steps, which makes the gameplay unplayable, and I even start running over bosses for no good reason.

All this to say that Final Fantasy I is a game with such poor handling that I decided to play Stardew Valley 🌸 with my friend Phoenix and my girlfriend ❤️. I may or may not write posts about it, we'll see ✌️.