#/ * MAGICK : i flicker from time to time.

[k-hotchoisan]

🔮 Divination with the Demon 🔮

Behemoth demon!San x fem witch! Reader

Synopsis: outcasted by your previous coven due to your overly sharp and dangerously specific divination readings of the fall of your coven, you were exiled to being alone for the next 562 years. Sick being in solitude and missing your deck, you summon a behemoth demon to make a new one.

Word count: 6K

Genre warnings: general Smut, San is an eldritch being so he has like a demon sized dick, ritualistic things (magic talk and lingo), demonic contract with San through unprotected sex, riding, multiple orgasms, creaming & cream pies, oral sex (f receiving) cum drinking (not a lot), bulge kink, finger pricks (only once), dry humping(?), biting and bleeding, San is a really sweet behemoth—just like the one in the game!❤️

A/n: loosely based off this wonderful game—The Cosmic Wheel, Sisterhood🔮 (please go ahead and support indie creators! ❤️). I was so inspired bc the behemoth in game is such a flirt hehehehe no please I’m down bad for enough people already. 😐

Enjoy!

“So you were exiled here due to treason within the coven, and concern of spreading panic via divination readings by the supreme”, the witch arbitrator announces as she reads out from the book. “You’ve been here for 289 years already?”

“Concerned is an overstatement”, you reply through gritted teeth. “She cursed me, banished me here for the next 562 years, and burned my deck. That’s pretty fucked up.”

The arbitrator raises an eyebrow as her gaze returns to the book. “Well I suppose I could grant you visitation at least because by the records here so far, you’ve been pretty-behaved.” Your temper cools off a little—just a little. It was a step forward, albeit a fucking tiny one. “Yes. I think that would be fine, Arbitrator. Thank you.”

She nods at you. “Behave well and I’m sure she can’t implicate anything else on you. Please take care”, she says before leaving the window on her flying stick. You stare as her figure quickly disappears into the starless night sky.

You sigh in annoyance. It was ridiculous how the supreme deemed your divination readings a threat, then subsequently accused you of treason and causing unrest within the coven, just because the other sisters had started leaning onto you for your accurate readings. Was she afraid of your prophesized dissolving of the coven, or was she simply scared of being overthrown? Whatever it was, being stuck here in solitude for 562 years, and your deck burned at the stake was not on your bingo list.

You nibble on your thumb nail, thinking of what to do. 289 years had passed since then, and all you had been doing was meditate and reflect on your actions. You had an itching to get your deck back—or least have a temporary deck or something. Your eyes flicker to your grimore lying at the bottom of your bookshelf and a lightbulb goes off in your head.

If you couldn’t get your deck back, why not make a new one? However the only issue is that a contract had to be made in order to breathe magick into the deck. You’ve never tried this ritual before but desperate times called for desperate measures—you really needed to do a reading.

You circle the wooden floor with your fingers, feeling the bumpy texture—each crease and indent. Retrieving your matchbox, you pull out the deep purple matchstick from the bundle, and began lighting the dark-coloured candles formed in a circle, and finally the incense sticks that were lodged in a miniature caldron, used for holding said sticks for your rituals.

Dabbing your your index finger with a black inky substance, you draw out a summoning rune onto the wooden surface, chants leaving your lips as you do so. It was a perfect full moon that night, just what you needed. You sit at edge of the summoning circle, with your grimore open at the side, carefully reading the spell.

Taking out a small silver needle, you prick your middle finger, letting the blood pool the size of a pinprick before letting the drop of blood splatter onto the middle of the black rune, reciting your final chant.

For a moment, the room is dead silent. Then the wind picks up, howling into the dead of the night, the flames on the candles dancing to keep burning, then being quickly extinguished one by one. Your curtains flutter violently, as you notice the full moon turning into a crimson colour. You stay seated as the wind whirls around you and the grimore’s pages flipping non stop. The rune activates, along with your blood which sinks into the black ink, and something slithers up to your window.

“Come in,” you invite, your gaze never breaking from the entity. It hisses at first before turning into a more human-sized creature as it enters your room, its feet gingerly touching the wooden floor.

The candles’ flames flicker back on, you look up at the entity standing before you. He barely looked like a behemoth demon—not like the one described in the book at all. Instead, he looked pretty fucking young—he has an appearance of a younger male actually. His eyes were silts as black and red markings smudged at the ends of his eyes. Speaking of his eyes—they were a glowing red, almost enchanting. Incantation runes were littered all over his arms and limbs, all visible since he was wearing a black vest. A third eye was present right smack in the middle of where his cleavage dived into, it’s iris a deep red as well. His hair is jet black with cream streaks and slicked back, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and facial features. His lips are stretched slightly wider than a human’s, and seemingly torn black wings extended out from his back.

He tilts his head at you in curiosity. “A witch summoned me?” he asks as he inches closer to you.

You nod, still seated. “I’ve summoned you to make a blood bind with you. I need a new deck.”

“Well, you’ve definitely summoned the right behemoth, that’s for sure. What happened to the deck you’ve been using?” he prods, his jet black fingers tapping on his chin.

“It was burned by my coven’s supreme. She banished me here because she was scared that the coven would dissolve because of my divinations”, you reply.

“Quite a bitch isn’t she?” the behemoth replies. You nod. At least someone fucking agrees.

He cracks his knuckles. “Well, you’ve definitely came to the right behemoth. They call me San”, he introduces as a smile spreads over his pretty face.

You smile. “You don’t look how what I expected you to look actually.”

And that cracks San up, his sharp fangs all visible. “I get that a lot. It’s just my secondary form I prefer to take on since the first usually can’t fit through windows.”

You surprise your laughter, amused at how casual this behemoth is being. “You’re pretty casual for a behemoth actually,” you point out.

San nods. “Well, I am an eldritch nonetheless, and I’ve been here since these universes were born—I’ve watched them be born and destroyed countless of times. I don’t really feel the need to be intimidating since I’ve been around for too long. You’re the first to have summoned me since the past 3 centuries.”

You nod in interest. “Must have been pretty fucking boring out there, huh?” San only smiles, and that slightly gets you. You look away and shut the grimore before turning back to him.

“So walk me through the process, San” you request. San moves forward and he sits across you, his boney wings tapping against the window panes at how wide they were.

“Well, you know the basics, but we’ll go through it together—the elements—fire, air, earth and water are always the building foundations of any deck. You get that, right?”

You nod.

He continues, “then we go onto the elements of each card—the Arcana—which will determine how you read and interpret the cards.”

Pretty basic deck stuff, but it was great that he was taking the time to refresh your memory since it had been way too long.

“I will go through each element with you per day—you’re basically going back to magick school again. Then once the final element is sealed, that’s when I’ll bind myself to you, through another ritual”, he concludes. “Any questions?”

“What’s the other ritual? Do I need to prepare anything?” You ask. San shakes his head. “The only thing you need to prepare is your consent.”

“Yeah, sure of course.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest y/n.”

Day one: Air

Sure enough, at the same timing as the previous night, San slithers into your open window, his serpent-like tail splitting into two, long legs as he climbs into your room.

“Good evening to the lovely behemoth”, you greet. San exposes his fanged grin. “I see you’re already prepared for the first lesson.” He glances at the empty deck of cards piled up on the small wooden table. Scattered around are more candles, another stick of incense, crystals and a bowl of ink for rune casting, and finally, a small crystal sword right by the plate.

He begins. “The element air represents the ability to reflect, communicate, to be aware and to perceive. Let that flow through your veins as you charge the card.”

You gingerly placed an empty card onto the selenite plate, and San sits across you, as usual as his fingertips touch yours, where he ends up linking his fingers with yours.

“It’s time to seal the card. Tell me,” San asks, “what do you crave for the most? Power? Love? Knowledge of the universe?”

You pause to think about your answer. And you tell him once you’re ready. He nods in agreement. “You seem like the type.” You roll your eyes.

“We literally just met yesterday, San” you joke. He shrugs, “feels like I’ve known you for an eternity.”

“Lying ass,” you poke. “But you did mention that the last time you did this was, what, three centuries ago?”

San nods. “It definitely has been awhile. To be fairly honest, I had an inkling we would meet soon, just not this soon.”

“And the universe brought you to me”, you hum. “Okay. Back to the Air ritual.”

He gestures you to shut your eyes and you do, so he follows shortly after.

It doesn’t take long for the magick to activate. You feel your energy getting sucked off by San and it feels though as if your body was about to be ripped into a million pieces. San throws his head back in pleasure as a low, manic cackle rumbles through his vocal chords.

“Yes, that’s lovely. Pour in all that energy into me, master”, he sings. He soon lets go of you, and you gasp for air, beads of perspiration clinging onto your forehead and temples. Your hands had slipped out his and you clutch your chest, taking slow breaths.

“Fuck, San, is it supposed to hurt so much?” You heave, eyebrows furrowed. How in Astaroth’s name will you be able to pull through the next three elements if Air is already leaving you clutching for your fucking life? Granted, witches are immortal, they cannot die, but they can still be gravely wounded.

San turns to you and pats your back gently. “I’m sorry my master, it is part of the blood contract. If it makes you feel better, you only have to go through this once per element.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unsure if you should be concerned or relieved. San materialises a silk handkerchief and dabs the sweat off your skin, and your heart flutters slightly at the gesture. Also, since when did he start calling you ‘Master’?

“Your first air card is ready”, he reminds you. “Now you can create more air elemental cards. Be proud of yourself, my master.” He points to the glowing card on the selenite plate. You reach over and flip the card, and sure enough—what you had envisioned on the card was imprinted onto the once empty card. It glimmers a gorgeous white at its accents. You feel the light and airy feeling surging through your hands as you touch the card, and your heart is racing at how many air cards you can begin creating.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, to steady yourself, and you notice that the third eye on his chest was white now. Your breathing has stabled now and you lie onto your bed where San hums you to sleep, telling you to get some rest.

Day 2: Water

“Are you feeling better?” San asks as he hops into your room. You nod, feeling a strange surge of energy after a night’s rest. The sky was always the same—dark and starless.

“We can start with today’s element”, you say, prepared for the class.

San smiles and nods, as always, he takes a seat across you, and you can’t help but get lost in his crimson eyes.

“Water is all about flow, dealing with emotions, fluidity, spirituality. It is a passive element, often linked with healing and love. However, most witches tend to forget that the calmest elements can be the most deadly when used right.”

Undoubtedly, water was always of both opposite spectrums—extremely calm or extremely malevolent if it wanted to be. Today, you had a small chalice decorated in jewels on the body, filled with moon-charged water. You take another empty card, and begin sketching out the rune you want, with your first water card in your head, clear as day before settling it onto the plate. Once you were done, San’s fingers snake in between yours, and you’re starting to get used to this feeling already.

“Now, the Water seal. Tell me; who or what do you hold closest to your heart? You family? Your intelligence? The coven?

It takes you awhile to think of an answer but then you’re confident when it comes to you. San nods as he lets the answer sink in. “I was kind of hoping you’d stray and say my name, yknow,” he teases. You laugh and slap his palm lightly. “It very well could be. It’s kind of hard to pick though honestly. Maybe I just want to feel something again.”

San cocks an eyebrow, quite touched by your passion. “May this lift any heaviness you feel then”, he says, drawing circles into your palm. Your heart only flutters even more.

“Take a deep breath, master. The element will be sealed soon.”

Just like the previous time, the magick activates, and again, you feel a sharp pain, as if struggling against rough tides of water, your breath sucked out of you. San, humming as he absorbs your energy again, his eyes glowing a pale shade of blue this time. You exhale to get a hold of yourself as the feeling washes over as quickly as it came, clutching the edge of your table. You take deep breaths, your vision focusing on the blue glowing card on the selenite plate. You flip the card over, the serotonin boost seeing how gorgeous the water card was—metallic blue covering the borders of the card and the elements within the card at perfect places.

“I should give you a reading for fun”, you suggest, your fingertips tracing the edges of the card. San’s eyes light up at the idea. “We should do one when you’ve got all four elements. I’d love that.”

You slip the card above the Air element card, clearing out the table, preparing to get some rest as San accompanies you through the night.

Day three: Earth

“Now, Earth is known to be an element of grounding, practically, foundation and stability. It reminds you of who you are at the present moment and gives you a place to stand on”, San explains, flicking the coins on the table. “Just like the ground, it is reliable because it is strong enough to hold you up. The only thing is that it’s hard on you as you are hard on yourself.”

“Tell me; what do you tend to harbour the most? Grudges? The past? Emotions?” He asks again. You tap against your lips, wondering about the answer, and then you tell him once you were ready. He nods in acknowledgement. “Interesting answer, as always from you. You’d probably have a lot you held in, especially in the past hundreds years in solitude.”

“Meditation can only get you so far, when you remember that you were exiled for telling the truth”, you say quietly, staring at the moon, which had turned into a shade of ivory. “My sisters were everything to me.”

San knew that very well. Witches treated each other closer than what a conventional family did. A coven was supposed to protect and bond the sisters, not outcast them.

“But do you still have sisters that you want to see?”

You nod, your eyes twinkling at the thought of two precious sisters who had been there through everything. And you yearned to see them again, now even possible that the arbitrator had granted visitation rights. Maybe you’d send a falcon to them once you were done with your deck creation.

“Now, shall we begin? You’d best prepare yourself, master,” San says as he takes your hand in his. You feel your hands moulding into his automatically, nothing but comfort being offered.

Again, San begins extracting your energy and this time was no different from the previous—it stung, it hurt and a wave of nausea hits you this time. Through the ringing in your ears, you hear San’s laughter as the magick seems to tickle him if anything. And then, it was over.

You tilt your head backwards, trying to get some cool air, trying to let the nausea leave your system.

You feel a warm hand pat your back, then rubbing circles.

“You know, most witches would immediately throw up after this round. You’re holding up really well.”

“Guess I’m one of the best witches then?” You find the strength to joke a little. San laughs and replies, “one of my favourites too.”

The nausea soon goes away and colour starts returning to your cheeks. By then, you were already holding the Earth element card up against the moonlight, admiring the sand-coloured decals lined across the card, as well as the border.

Day four: Fire

San looks rather chirpy tonight, there was a bounce in his steps as he settles himself onto the lavender carpet. “Someone’s excited,” you smirk, putting one of your spell books away.

“Of course! Fire’s my favourite element”, he exclaims, playing around with your unfinished deck. You’ve had created a handful of elemental cards already, 12 of each element, while San was both in and out of your room. All there was left was the Fire element and the deck could almost be complete—you could already taste it. You already did a couple of readings as a warm up with San and you found out a couple of things through the divination readings.

One, his true purpose—other than aiding in the creation of divination decks—was to destroy other universes and guide the dead stars to the recreation of a new one.

Two, despite his chirpy demeanour, the cards revealed that there was some kind of loneliness he harbours, being detached and left to watch over the cosmos for millenniums.

Three, you sort of deduce that he was summoned also to seduce you in some sort of way—and he finds that amusing, and he doesn’t deny it.

Needless to say, San is greatly impressed by your divination skills and offhandedly mentions that he’s in love with the cosmos for bringing him to someone like you.

Soon enough, the both of you were back to business—sitting across each other, a wooden wand splayed across the table this time round.

He begins.

“Fire—the element of willpower, ambition and energy. Those who are able to wield this, wield it well, those who can’t—it takes them awhile. Fire is for inspiration, drive, passion. One of the most beautiful yet difficult elements to control. In the beginning, mankind was the first and the only mammals to be able to manipulate fire.”

“No wonder you like this element so much”, you point out as you scribble the rune onto the empty card.

“If you’re able to handle earth, fire might be a level up in intensity. Don’t push yourself if you can alright?” San reminds you, and you could spot the excitement glinting in his eyes. “Now for the seal; who would you sacrifice to the cosomos for your divination deck? Your immortality? Your coven? Or your family?”

That question weighs heavily in your mind and San gives you the time to answer as he plays with your fingers. You finally give him your answer, and he nods in understanding. “You’re willing to let that go?” You nod.

He smiles, “as long as you know it’s the right choice for you. Let’s begin.”

The ritual starts as usual—the swirl of flames from the candles, the howl of the winds. You prep yourself for the burn and it comes—albeit painfully. San’s eyes are fully engulfed in crimson red now, glowing as he feeds into your energy.

“Beautiful! Your essence is beautiful master! I’ve never felt such extraordinary energy from a witch!” He cries out as red fluid leaks down from his eyes. The runes and symbols on his limbs start glowing and his wings expand, filtering the moonlight. That is all you could remember before your mind buzzes, your ears ring and your head pounds as you black out.

Day ??

Your eyes flutter open, and something is different—you feel it. All the pain you’ve felt has faded, as if it never happened. In fact, energy was surging through you—so much energy. You slowly sit up as you look around the room. Everything looks the same as when you finished the fourth ritual. Perfectly at that moment, San emerges from the darkness and appears slightly different—his hair was slightly longer, his eyes had red smudges, which for some reason made him look even more attractive, and the third eye on his chest was a bright red.

“Hey, you’re awake”, he exclaims as he levitates over to you.

“Was it successful?” You ask. San furrows his eyebrows.

“My master, you were out cold for a couple of days, and the only thing you’re worried about is if the Fire ritual was successful? Care for yourself a little more would you?” San pouts as he pulls a cup of cold water into your arms with his magic.

You thank him softly as you take small sips.

“I was out for a few days from the ritual?” You ask again. San nods. Apparently you blacked out just right after San had finished feeding you, and he had caught you in time before you hit the floor.

“How are you feeling though? Any pain?” He asks, concerned as he brushes his fingers across your forehead. You shake your head and tell him you feel a little more different—more powerful or something. San pulls out the beautiful Fire card, reminding you of your craft. You break into a smile as you take the card off his hands and embrace him into a hug.

Now there was only one ritual left—whatever it was. San hasn’t told you yet and you were too engrossed with creating your cards that it slipped your mind.

“The last ritual,” you say, and you notice slight red tinting his cheeks and your curiosity peaks.

“The last ritual, is to bind us together”, he pauses, “through sex.”

Your jaw drops. “Holy fucking shit. Are you serious?”

San nods. “Yeah I am a behemoth in contract after all. That’s why I uh, said the only thing you needed to prepare for for the final ritual was your consent.”

It wasn’t about that. It was about you being fucked by a demon. You haven’t had physical contact with a human for years, let alone a whole ass demon.

“It might hurt compared to a mortal’s but I’ll try my best to be gentle”, he continues. But you see his confidence slowly dwindle the more you stay silent. “I need to consume your blood through biting as well in order for the pact to be bonded by blood.”

You never thought this would be how the contract would finish. Butterflies filled your stomach as you realise how attracted you were to this behemoth who, despite existing since the birth of the cosmos, was gentle and a soft, even a flirt. If anything, it was almost an honour to be one with him.

“Please, San. We can start the ritual. I wouldn’t ask for anyone else to do it with,” you confess as you leave yourself vulnerable for him. That sealed your consent, and the markings on his limbs start glowing again. San held an expression of relief and affection. He reaches out to you and traps you on the bed, in between his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to hear that”, San confesses next, and his eyes glow a soft, dark red hue. You could see he was trying to hold back.

He leans in slowly and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He is lips are soft and there was a slight burn as you kissed him, but it only drives you to want to indulge in him even more. Only behemoth demons could taste this good. Maybe only San.

You feel his appendage hardening above you and your heart races. He wasn’t kidding—he was way bigger than any of your previous mortal partners. No way was he gonna fit in you. But at the same time, the challenge of trying to take him was exhilarating to think about.

As the kiss continues to deepen, San pulls off his vest, revealing it bare, and you realise that only his limbs were covered in symbols. He peels off your top and tosses it onto the floor as he continues to kiss down to your chin then to your neck. You exhale in pleasure as your fingers find locks of his hair. His tongue licks your neck and it drives you crazy from the slight pricks.

Your bare tits are out for him to gawk at and he dives into them, licking and squeezing them, only pooling the arousal in between your legs.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your soft moans increase in pitch.

“Does that feel good, master?” San asks as he shifts forward to give you a kiss.

You trace some of the runes on his muscled arm, recognising a few of it. “You’ll look even prettier when my rune is engraved onto you, San”, you flirt, and you feel his cock harden even more, pressing against your cunt. “Of course, only for you, master,” he hums as he rubs you against him, and your mind starts getting lost in the pleasure. He peppers kisses down from your nipples, to your abdomen, then your pelvis and finally to your pulsating pussy.

He spreads your legs, glancing up at you before licking your clitoris, the small barbed edges of his tongue causing your hips to jerk upwards. He dives in deeper, wanting to turn you into a mess.

San slowly plunges two fingers into your wet cunt, swallowing hard at how tight your pussy was, imagining how his cock would definitely fucking stretch you out perfectly. He glances up again, looking at you for a reaction before continuing to pump his fingers. Your moans fill the room as he finger fucks you in bliss, hitting the perfect spot. He adds another and your hips lift from the pleasure. It takes a while for you to adjust, and he pulls out his fingers, soaked in your essence. He gives his fingers a good suck.

“Witches tend to have good tasting essences, and yours just happens to taste the best.” Red creeps across your cheeks.

He removes his pants and underwear, revealing a girthy cock, red and angry, spilling with precum. You had to touch the sides of your lips to make sure you weren’t drooling too much. Fuck, how are you gonna take that in you?

“You’re gonna be fine”, San assures. “Tell me if it’s too much for you okay?”

You nod and San presses his tip at your entrance, and pushes in. Your eyes roll back as he pushes another inch in. Fuck, even the heavens could never compete with this feeling of pleasure. San pauses for second and your eyes flicker to his face, which is contorted in pleasure. He seemed like he was about to explode—and he wasn’t even fully in you yet.

“Y/n, you’re so tight. Gods, you’re squeezing me so good”, he pants, his grip tightening against the sheets beside you.

You decide to be a tease, and you shift your cunt deeper into your cock, and San fucking loses it. His eyes were flickering from crimson red to a lighter shade of red. “My master,” he pants in between. “If you’re gonna do it like that, the heavens won’t know what I’d do if I lost control.”

And that provokes you to tease him even more as you push yourself deeper, at the same time bringing your pleasure to almost a fever pitch. San groans as he pushes the rest of him into you.

“Fuck, San, you feel so amazing. If I knew you’d feel this good, I would have summoned you way earlier”, you cry out as he barely pulls out fully before rutting back into you.

San doesn’t forget to pamper you with kisses. It stings, definitely, but the pleasure is definitely overriding the pain. In fact, the pain was probably egging the pleasure even more.

His fingers trace the bulge at where his cock lies in you. “We fit so well, Master. Don’t you think so?”

You were starting to feel to fucked out to form any rational thought, but you nod, staring at him through hooded lids. He fucks into you a couple more times before you stop him. San’s face switches to an expression of concern immediately.

“I want to ride you. I want to feel your cock fully in me, San”, you barely say, rubbing his face gently with your thumb. He sighs in relief as he pulls out of you, causing you to cry in pleasure again, a string of precum connecting his cock to your pussy.

He takes your hand and guides you to his lap as the both of you get comfortable on his lap.

You adjust yourself to sit on his cock and you start grinding against him, the mix of his and your precum reducing the friction and enhancing the pleasure. You made sure you move forwards to reach the tip of his cock and grind backwards. San throws his head back, crying from pleasure as more precum leaks from his sensitive tip. Grinding up on his cock was making you even more soaking wet, sparking even more pleasure as your clit rubs against his wet cock. You continue to swerve your hips on his cock, loving the slight friction that tingles your core. It builds up from the previous time he ate you out, and when he fucked you in missionary.

“How does that feel, Master?” San asks, half lidded. He was starting to get lost in the pleasure every time you grind up to his tip.

“It feels amazing. I think I’m gonna cum-“ you fight to finish the sentence as you speed up, feeling your orgasm approaching sooner than you expected. You cry out in bliss, your orgasm flooding you as your pussy pulses against San’s twitching cock. San is doing everything in his power not to just lift you and fuck you like this, seeing how soaked you were in pleasure with him.

You feel his hands trail up to your ass as he lifts you up gently, angling his cock at your entrance, and slowly lets you go. Your hands press hard against his naked chest as tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes, while drool starts pooling at the corners of your lips as you sink onto his cock.

“You can take me, Master. I know you can”, he whispers into your ears. You sink in deeper to his length and your fingers dig into San’s broad shoulders. His hands snake to your thighs and he cheekily pushes you down and you scream from the fullness of his cock.

“There you go. There’s my good Master. I love how your pussy feels around my cock”, San encourages. He lifts your ass and drops you back into his cock. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod. “So good it’s almost sinful”, you mange out. San snickers. “Nothing too sinful if a behemoth is fucking you so well.”

You lean in for a kiss, and this surprises San but he immediately reciprocates, deepening the kiss quickly.

Soon enough, you are just mindlessly bouncing in his cock, every thrust sending you closer to the edge. San struggles to keep it together as well, as you feel him rutting his hips up.

“Master, I’m gonna cum”, San says, with an expression of desperation and desire.

“Go ahead. You’ve been doing so well”, you reply as you comb his hair back. He leans in, lips attached to your neck as he continues to fuck into you desperately. He bares his fangs and bites into you as his cock spurts into your cunt, filling you up to the brim. Blood pools at the base of your neck, and you cry from the simultaneous pain and pleasure, your second orgasm hitting you right at that point as you cream all over San’s cock.

San licks up the blood on your neck, and the skin heals almost as quickly as it broke just mere seconds ago, and he’s still fucking cumming in your pussy, his lower abdomen twitching.

He removes his lips from your neck and blood stains pool at the corner of his lips. You lift yourself off his cock, his cum just dripping out of your pussy. San holds you gently as he uses his free hand to collect the mixture of fluids on his fingers. He pushes his cum-covered fingers to you and you take it eagerly, savouring the taste albeit it being salty. He takes his turn to lick his hands.

“The contract has been sealed, master”, San confirms, and his eyes glow a bright red.

“That’s lovely. I wouldn’t ask for anyone else, San”, you smile as you plant a kiss on his lips, which takes him by surprise, but he seems nothing less of satisfied.

As the planet begins to shift from the blood pact being created, it shakes the universe. You don’t know what’s about to happen, nor do you care. A burst of energy enters you as you levitate into the air, feeling the energy of the cosmos, as well as elements of the deck. Your cards shuffle, and float around you, and you see all of your creations in its glory. Your own divination deck, bonded to you by blood.

You take a deep breath in, as you settle back onto the bed, your cards shuffling back into its deck, onto the selenite plate. Something catches your attention, and you walk over to the full length mirror leaning against the wall. Something is glowing. You gasp, looking at the behemoth’s rune engraved into your skin, a beautiful crimson red as the glow fades. San, right behind you, tracing over your rune fondly. You look up to him and you notice he has the same rune engraved into this skin—and the only rune around his chest.

“Now we’re official bonded. You did so well, my master,” he compliments, stroking your hair gently, understanding how taxing the rituals must have been, still admiring the shared runes you both had on your bodies. “I will make you happy, I promise.” Your heart skips at beat at his words.

“San”, you call out, even though he’s standing right by you. He hums in attention, his eyes now on you.

“Do you think we could do this more often? Like the fucking?”

San is stunned for a moment as he processes the question. No one had asked him that before. Usually the binding rituals were solely to bind the energies of the witch and behemoth, and it is never done again. He’s confused but he agrees, seemingly happy that you enjoyed the ritual with him.

And that’s what you drown yourself in—doing divination readings for others and San as well, and taking his cock whenever you felt like it. It was too good to pass on. Not to mention he was so good at aftercare—making sure you were alright after every session. Undoubtedly, San, himself, was really starting to enjoy having sex with you as well.

You couldn’t think of wanting anything else.

[cambion-companion]

Hey lovely! Can I request a Aemond x reader where the reader is also a princess, but it is said that she is a witch and in fact she is just a bit weird and intimidating, an outsider, also maybe fierce warrior (but indeed she has a gift for seeing things, has dreams and reads tarot, in really into astrology); she catches his attention and from there on you can develop the story further, like how their relationship evolves? I ADORE how you write to i trust you 10000% Also, thank you to all 7 Gods if you do this :D (and sorry if the request is a bit...all over the place? i suck at expressing my ideas)

I adore this idea, it took me a while to get to it because I want to write a longer oneshot for it. If any of you have seen Merlin...yes I am imagine Morgana and her powers. A little more magick than simply tarot and astrology, hope you don't mind Nonny :)

word count: 2516

Aemond x sorceress!reader

“Princess Y/N, it is a pleasure to welcome you to the Red Keep.”  Queen Alicent smiled at you from where she stood upon the steps leading to the Iron Throne.  

You curtsied low, your keen eyes flickering over the faces of the rest of the royal family, lingering only slightly longer on that of the tallest Targaryen boy.  He wore a black leather eyepatch over his left eye, a vertical scar running from brow to cheek, his hands clasped neatly behind his straight back.  

Your lips remained smiling as Aemond noticed your attention focus on him, giving you a short nod, his lilac eye flicking down to the ground before returning to your face.  He had the most lovely plush lips, you noticed, pushed together in a perpetual pout.  His long silver hair also gave you pause, only when Alicent cleared her throat delicately did you tear your eyes away, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Thank you, my queen.  It is an honor to be invited here for the Festival.” You gave her a winning smile before stepping to the side, allowing those behind you to have their turn to be greeted by the royal family.  

You felt Aemond’s gaze still upon you, Aegon’s as well, so you kept your eyes straight ahead, studying the seven-pointed star with forced interest.  Truth be told, you cared not for the new religion spreading across Westeros.  It held little power when compared to the Old Ways.  Though you were now forced to practice in secret lest you be discovered and held accountable for heresy.

Your feet ached by the time people started to disperse, Alicent descending the steps and motioning her children to depart the throne room.  You glanced surreptitiously to where Aemond and his siblings walked, following them out of the grand hall.  The Targaryen princess, Helaena, looked around, catching your eye.  She smiled and beckoned you to join her. “It’s so rare for anyone my age to come visit the Keep.  I do hope we will be friends.”

“As do I, princess!”  You were thrilled to make an acquaintance so quickly, having traveled to the Red Keep with only your retinue of servants to accompany you.

“I hope you also enjoy the company of many insects.”  Aegon noticed you walking with them.  He smiled ruefully as he appraised you with an appreciative eye. “My beloved sister knows more bugs than she does most people.”

The four of you had stopped upon reaching the courtyard hallway, standing in a circle together.  Aemond looked down his nose at Aegon, opening his mouth as if to reprimand him but you beat him to it. “When they are as charming as you, who can blame her?”

Aemond choked, hiding his laughter by coughing loudly behind a hand.  Helaena, who had been frowning, brightened slightly, looking at you with newfound fondness.  Aegon was gaping at you like a fish, it took him a moment to rearrange his shocked expression into a petulant glare.  “I am a prince and won’t suffer some insolent woman to speak to me in such a manner.”

“I am a princess and so is your sister…wife…Helaena. You will treat us with respect.”

Aemond placed a restraining hand upon Aegon’s arm as the latter moved menacingly toward you. “Brother, leave it be.”  He warned.

“Women are made to serve men, not give them lectures.”  Aegon snarled, trying to pry Aemond’s fingers off his arm. “Your pretty mouth has much better uses.”

A gout of burning anger flared in your chest, a familiar electric sensation coursing under your skin.  The cold torch beside Aegon’s head burst into suddenly into flame, almost catching his silver hair on fire as it singed a few strands before he had the time to leap away.  Aegon cursed, his attention completely diverted.  Helaena covered her ears and turned away, distraut.  Aemond, however, looked in confusion at the burning torch before looking at you with a calculating gleam in his eye.

“Might I have a word, princess Y/N?”  He stepped away from the wall, motioning down the corridor.

“I almost caught fire!”  Aegon continued to bat at his smoking hair.

“That would be appropriate for a Targaryen.”  You muttered, only Aemond heard you.  He frowned, taking your elbow non-too-gently and steered you away from his panicked siblings.

“Let go.” You yanked your arm free, the two of you facing each other in a narrow stone hallway.  

“What was that?”  Aemond asked bluntly, his eye intent upon your face.

“What was what?”

“That torch caught fire out of nothing.”

“I have no idea!  How would I know?”  You blustered, putting on a show of brushing invisible dust from your dress.

“So, your eyes turning yellow is just a normal occurrence?”

Shit.

You smoothed your expression into what you hoped was careful indifference. “What you are suggesting is impossible, my prince.  My eyes are certainly not yellow.”

Aemond’s mouth thinned into a line as he looked down at you, displeased. You raised your eyebrows at him.  The two of you stared at each other for several long moments before he relented, breathing sharply out of his nose, making a “hmm” sound in his throat.

“If you’ll excuse me, it is time for me to retire.” You gathered your skirts, moving to leave for your chambers.

Aemond nodded curtly, still looking you over with suspicious interest. You felt his gaze hot on your back all the way down the hallway, until you rounded the corner and out of sight.

That night sleep would not come to you.  

Donning your velvet nightgown, you slipped out of your chambers, padding down the labyrinthian halls until you found the great oaken door to the library.  It was late enough that the large book-filled room was empty, the door swung shut silently behind you on oiled hinges, a large fireplace the only source of light within the massive space.

You had lost control earlier with Aegon, the anger you had felt acted of its own accord, sparking your magick to life, quite literally in the case of the torch.  You twisted your hands together as you moved deeper into the library, looking around at all the dusty books.  Sitting at one of the many wooden tables, you pulled a candelabra over to you, looking at the cold wax of the candles intently.  

You closed your eyes, focusing your attention, arms resting loosely atop the table, on either side of the candle.  You felt your skin prickle, the familiar magick flowing through your blood to your fingertips.  You felt it everywhere all the time, but when you concentrated on expelling it into the world it burned at your fingers and behind your eyes more than anywhere else on your body.

A sound, like a sharp gust of wind through trees, and all six candles ignited, the flames spouting high into the air before they settled to flicker on the wicks.  You sat back, satisfied.

“Fascinating.”  

The chair clattered to the stone floor as you whirled from your seat, a ball of purple flame instinctively held aloft ready in your palm.  

Aemond Targaryen stood near the fireplace, his posture tense, on hand upon the hilt of his sword.  You straightened, looking at him warily, the magickal fire still conjured in your hand.  

“I knew it.”  Aemond breathed, stepping carefully toward you, his hand slipping off the pommel of his sword. “You’re like those I’ve read about in the Forgotten Histories.”

He was very close to you now; you could’ve reached out and set him on fire if you wanted.  He looked at you in fascination, still talking, his voice low and soothing as though he approached a dangerous creature. “A sorceress.”

“Most would name me ‘witch’ and have me executed.”  You snapped, still very much on the defensive.

“Do you plan to kill me here and now?”  Aemond asked, tilting his head, his silver hair falling across his shoulders as he leaned forward. “Murder me in cold blood when I mean you no harm?”

“I wouldn’t trust you if you were the last person in the world.”  Still, you let the lilac fire die in your palm.

Aemond watched it vanish, his lips parting slightly.  His expression was awed. “I thought your kind had all but gone extinct.”

“My kind?”  You scoffed, stepping away from him, just out of arm’s reach. “You should know of magic better than anyone, having the blood of Old Valyria running in your veins.”

“I do.”  He said softly, still poised as if he expected you to strike at any moment. “That is why you will find me more forgiving than most.”

“Forgiving.”  You sneered, a spark gold flashing in your eyes.

“You know as well as I the Faith of the Seven harbors no tender feelings toward magick.”  Aemond’s voice sharpened, almost as though he reprimanded you. “You would do well to temper your emotions before they get you in trouble.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be an outsider!”  You cried, your raised voice muffled by the many tomes surrounding you. “To have to be ashamed of what you can do, to have to hide who you are!”

“I know all too well.”  He murmured, a flicker of pain twisting his features.  “Please, princess.”  He extended a hand. “Allow me to help you.”

“How?”  

“There are many books, restricted as they are, that I have saved from being purged from the archives.”  Aemond explained, speaking quickly now. “They detail the use of Old Magick and how it can be controlled. My study of these texts is how I recognized what you did with the torch earlier today.”

“I didn’t mean to almost roast your brother.”

“No indeed, your cutting words did that quite well on their own.”  Aemond chuckled, the sound sending pleasant tingles across your skin, quite unrelated to magick.  

You hesitated a moment longer before reaching forward to accept his proffered hand.  Aemond smiled. “We will need to be discreet, if you are capable.”  His smile widened as you scowled at him. “The books are hidden safe in my chambers.”

“This isn’t some elaborate ruse to get me into bed with you, is it?”  You teased, Aemond rewarded you with another delicious huff of low laughter.

“I will admit you are…alluring even aside from your ability to wield magick.”

“How forward of you, my prince.”

“Don’t get used to it.”  

Aemond led you on quick, quiet feet up flights of stairs and winding through corridors.  You had to duck around corners, waiting together for patrols of guards to pass before continuing on.  Soon you reached your destination, Aemond leading the way into his lavish quarters.  “Make yourself comfortable.”  He instructed.

You sat down by one of the many bookshelves, the space of his chambers reminding you very much of the library as you watched him rummage under his large bed.  “I know they’re here somewhere.” You heard him mutter. “Aha!”

He retrieved two very aged books, they looked to be barely held together by the fraying spines, their pages crumpled and yellow.  You took on into your lap, leafing gingerly through, the smell of old book burning your nostrils.  “It’s in Old Valyrian.” You commented, looking despairingly up to where Aemond still stood. “I don’t know Old Valyrian.”

“I do.”  He placed the other book carefully into your lap for you to comb through. “I offered to help, and so I shall.”

“Teaching me Valyrian?”  Incredulity laced your tone. “That seems like a mammoth task for someone you just met today.”  You shut the book with a dusty snap. “Why are you helping me, really?”

Aemond was silent a moment, taking back the books when you offered them up to him. “There are few things I take interest in, and even fewer people.  You should be grateful.”  He moved to place the tomes gently atop his bed, sitting beside them. “I could just as easily be your enemy and give you over to the Faith.”

“You think so, do you?”  Magick fire sparked lilac along the exposed skin of your arms, gathering at your fingertips.

Aemond’s gaze dropped to watch the energy gather along your hands, his pupil dilating slightly.  “Focus your will, channel that emotion you feel into purpose.”

You did as he suggested, honing your attention on pinpointing the exact emotion you were feeling strongest.  Your focus settled on the growing hope swirling in your chest, the thought of a future where you didn’t have to be afraid of being found, where you could become powerful and practiced in who you were born to be.  

The fire dancing along your fingers flashed brightly, your eyes glowed briefly once more, then the magickal fire transformed from a violent shade of purple to a soft pastel yellow.  It felt different in your blood, you could taste it like citrus on your tongue.  “What…”  You wondered aloud, raising your hand to appraise the sparkling yellow light.

“I believe…if memory serves.  That is the color associated with healing magicks.”  Aemond remarked from his perch atop the mattress.  

“How do you know all this?  You aren’t a magick user too, are you?”

“No, I am not.”  Aemond shook his head. “I have simply studied…and I know what it is like to temper my emotions, to channel what I feel into action rather than reaction.”  He tapped his long fingers upon his knee. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Thank you.”  You said, finally allowing your guard to drop a little. “I still don’t know why you’re so intent on helping me, but I am grateful.”

“I’m not entirely sure myself, Y/N.”  Aemond rose, ushering you back to the door. “I do know, however, that dawn is soon approaching and if you are found in my room…there would be such an uproar not even your powers could save us.”

You laughed, raising your hands up in mock defeat as you stepped into the cool hall. “Thank you again, prince Aemond.  I…I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Please, Aemond is how I wish you to address me if we are to be friends.”  He said graciously. “As for repayment, I’m sure we can come up with something.”

You nodded, trying to fight down the blush rising to your cheeks. “Goodnight, Aemond.”

“Sleep well, Y/N.”  

You departed, artfully dodging the King’s Guard patrols as you made your way stealthily back to your rooms, still wondering how you’d gotten so lucky as to fall into the good graces of Aemond Targaryen.  Rumors had reached your ears of how harsh and cruel the prince was, but the man you’d met and befriended was nothing like what the gossipers whispered.  He had alluded to being familiar with hiding who he was, being ashamed much the same as you.

You mused to yourself as you slipped beneath the covers of your bed, perhaps it had something to do with the eyepatch and the scar that ran down his face.  You did not know the prince well, not yet, but you were eager to learn more about him. Especially since you found him so appealing to look at, and by the way his eye had trailed across your features, he felt the same. Your heart fluttered with something other than fear for the first time in too long.  Smiling to yourself, you curled up and soon drifted into sleep, dreaming of a silver dragon engulfed in lilac flame.

[forlorn-crows]

Compromise

Rating: M for Mature

Pairing(s): Aeon/Mountain

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, complicated relationships, emotional post-ritual hotel hand-jobs, some dry humping, and magick use. mountain and aeon need to figure their shit out. tonight is not that night.

Words: 2,905

Summary: He and Aeon haven’t talked, not really, about where they stand with each other. There hasn’t been time, especially not when he’s constantly plastered to Rain and Swiss’ sides instead. Mountain understands. He does. But the longing for familiarity was too hard to ignore tonight, tugging him to Aeon’s room after a sour night at a local dive bar. or Mountain misses Aether. Who he has is Aeon.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

There’s a pregnant pause, stale hotel air lingering between them.

“I’m not him.”

“I know that.”

“Mount—”

“Please, don’t make me ask again. I just thought . . . I just thought maybe I could be selfish. For once.”

“You don’t really want me, do you.”

Aether is the name that goes unspoken. Mountain swallows. Fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

“That’s not it,” he says at length. “You know that’s not it.” 

“But tonight?”

Mountain sighs. There’s a stinging at the corners of his eyes that he blinks away. He and Aeon haven’t talked, not really , about where they stand with each other. There hasn’t been time, especially not when he’s constantly plastered to Rain and Swiss’ sides instead. Mountain understands. He does. 

But the longing for familiarity was too hard to ignore tonight, tugging him to Aeon’s room after a sour night at a local dive bar. 

“Miss him,” Mountain whispers to his shoes, ashamed to say it. Ashamed to admit the reason he showed up was because he can’t get the itch for quintessence out from under his skin. “Miss . . .” he gestures vaguely, “ it .” 

Aeon nods and opens the door another inch. 

“Okay,” he says simply. A flicker of what looks like pity crosses his face, but it’s replaced with a kind smile just as quickly. 

Mountain contemplates turning right back around. He doesn’t need pity. He needs comfort . 

“Come on, big guy,” Aeon says, still holding the door open. It snaps him into movement, shuffling his feet through the doorway and pausing in the middle of the room while Aeon shuts and locks the door behind them. 

“It’s not my intention to insult you by seeking your company,” Mountain mutters, spinning to face the quintessence ghoul. 

Aeon shrugs. “We’re packmates now. If I can help then . . .” He reaches out to capture Mountain’s hand in both of his, smoothing over his knuckles with his thumbs. He speaks with such ease, such confidence, always. “I’ll help. But it’s me , not him. Okay?” 

“You,” Mountain agrees. 

Aeon turns his hand over, running lanky fingers along the lines of his palm. “What do you wanna do?” he asks quietly. 

Mountain watches him trace across his skin, guitar-roughened fingertips dipping into the valleys between his own callouses. In another circumstance, he’d lean into it. Let his fingers drift down the veins of his wrist, migrate to other places. Or, maybe he’d joke about him reading his fortune through the junctions of wrinkles, and Aeon would tease back about seeing himself in his future. 

Tonight, though, Aeon simply looks up at Mountain expectantly, fingers stilling. 

“Um, can we lie together?” Mountain finally asks. “You at my back and . . .” He glances down at their hands again. “I want to feel it,” he whispers after another moment. “You. Your magick.” 

“Use my quintessence on you?”

Mountain nods silently. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. But he’s already bared his underbelly to Aeon now, vulnerability on display. 

“Only a little bit.”

Aeon tilts his head, narrows his eyes in thought. Then he shrugs and lets Mountain’s hand fall back to his side. 

“Sure,” he says, stepping back some. But he offers a genuine smile, dark onyx eyes meeting emerald green. “I’ll let you get comfy first. However you like.”

Mountain attempts a smile in return. But it’s bittersweet, weary. 

“Thank you.” It’s a loaded statement, one he hopes Aeon can parse out the multitude of thanks that he really means. He toes off his half-tied shoes and shucks his flannel, setting them by the door. He hesitates, but takes his jeans off too, adding them to the top of the pile before heading back towards the bed Aeon’s currently turning down for them. 

Mountain sets his hands on the quint ghouls shoulders. “Will you let me help you with, uh, these?” he asks, pinching the fabric of Aeon’s hoodie between his fingers. 

He nods over his shoulder and steps aside. “Here. Sit down first.” 

Mountain obliges, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Aeon places himself between his legs, holding his arms out at his sides. Mountain slips his hands under the hem, slowly running his palms up his taut stomach, then around to the space between his shoulder blades. He rucks up the fabric in his hands, encouraging the smaller ghoul to duck so he can slip it over his head, minding his horns. 

Aeon blinks, shakes the hair from his eyes. “Hi,” he deadpans.

The earth ghoul huffs a laugh through his nose. “Hi,” he mumbles, pulling the rest of the garment down the length of his arms and off at the wrists. 

“Don’t know that I’ve ever seen you this close before,” Aeon muses after Mountain tosses his sweatshirt aside. Casual. Conversational. Like Mountain didn’t almost embarrassingly stomp away down the dingy corridor a few minutes prior. 

“It’s kinda like seeing you for the first time.”

Mountain looks at him then, picking out the tiny specks of lavender in his dark eyes. His eyes flit across the rest of his face; over the lighter blotches of gray skin, his angular nose, the deep indentation of his pronounced philtrum above thin lips, and all the way up to the perpetually messy layers of short, dark hair. 

“Suppose it is,” Mountain admits. “Can I . . ?” His hands hover over Aeon’s waistband, waiting for permission. 

“Yeah.” 

Mountain unbuckles his belt and undoes the fly of his pants, pausing ever so at the elastic of his boxers. But his fingers twitch away, grasping at the front belt loops and pulling down. Aeon hooks his thumbs into the side of the waistband and shimmies the fabric off his narrow hips, letting the weight of the belt take them the rest of the way down. He kicks them aside, and now the two ghouls match in only t-shirts, underwear, and socks. 

“Acceptable?” he asks, tail shaking out behind him. 

Mountain nods and scoots across the bed. Aeon climbs in after him and settles at his back, pressing their bodies together and draping an arm across Mountain’s middle. 

The earth ghoul wills his spine to unstiffen, to relax. He sighs heavily and feels those tears prickling in his eyes again, hot and stinging. 

Aeon’s other arm snakes under his neck, and his hand comes to rest on the bed next to his forearm. Making a fist and relaxing again. His other hand drifts up towards his sternum, pressing gently as Aeon’s arm melds into his torso. 

“Can you reach the light?” the quint ghoul asks, voice right against Mountain’s ear. He shivers, but reaches over to switch off the reading lamp attached to the headboard. Only the light from the lamp posts outside filters in through the gauzy curtain now, bathing them in muted tones. 

Aeon hums and rubs his thumb over Mountain’s chest. Lazy, slow movements that contrast the frantic beating of his heart just under his hand. 

“Relax, big guy,” he whispers, sending another shiver down his spine. 

Mountain makes a wet, almost pathetic noise at the back of his throat, tail winding around his own calf anxiously. 

Aeon hushes him, and finally he feels that telltale buzz of magick at the places they touch. “I’ve got you.” 

Quintessence bleeds into his skin and seeps down deep into his bones. His body loosens of its own volition, sinking into the mattress and into Aeon. Mountain squeezes his eyes shut and fights not to groan with relief.

He succeeds only barely. “ Fuck ,” he hisses. 

“There you go,” Aeon praises at his back, still rubbing his thumb over the earth ghoul’s sternum. “Better?”

Mountain nods fervently. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

“Good.”

He sinks down into the buzzing in his veins, letting his mind drift as quintessence floods every inch of him. It’s crisper than Aether’s; a cool and precise touch where his would be warm and syrupy. More like the shivers he gets when he listens to Dew’s Respite solo or when Cumulus combs through his hair with her perfectly scratchy nails. 

It hits his brain in waves, every follicle on his body tingling with sensation. Logically, he knows it’s not a lot of magick Aeon’s given him. But he can’t help the way his body soaks it up like parched earth in a rainstorm. Not even because he’s been away from Aether. It’s just his natural response, taking every last little spark into his being and happily letting it take him under. The essence of the universe, of the earth itself, seeping in methodically and euphorically. 

Any part of his brain that feels guilty, weird, or embarrassed about this shuts down in a matter of moments, finally leaving him with the sense of peace he’d been seeking in the first place. 

He can feel Aeon snuggle up even more behind him, feel his hand slip lower to rest on Mountain’s stomach. 

He groans for real then, almost bending in on himself as the quintessence dripping from his hand sinks directly into his core. 

“Feel good?” Aeon asks, voice a little husky. 

More than good, really. He doesn’t want to admit just how much it’s affected him, but he’s sure his body speaks enough for him. Aeon’s hand hovers just above where his cock pokes at the elastic of his boxers, hard against hip. It kicks hard as another shiver works its way down his spine, and Mountain’s sure Aeon can feel it. 

“Sorry,” he gasps, grabbing Aeon’s hand so it doesn’t shift further south. “Can’t help it, I—”

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Mountain’s eyes flutter, fingers tightening around Aeon’s hand. Something twists in his gut, but not from arousal. 

Aeon swallows. “We don’t have to. Just. Thought I might offer,” he says in an uncharacteristically small voice. But even through the haze settling over his senses, Mountain can feel how Aeon is hard too, his chubby length pressing into his ass. The two thin layers of fabric between them do nothing to hide it.  

“I think . . . I think I might like that,” the earth ghoul breathes, barely loud enough to be audible. As if stifling his voice he could somehow deny he didn’t want Aeon’s lithe hand to wrap around his cock and pull until he leaks and—

“Unholy—”

“ Lucifer, ” Mountain gasps, arching into Aeon’s hand. The quint ghoul lifts his head as Mountain’s tips back, hooking his chin over his shoulder to get a better look at his hand down the earth ghoul’s pants. 

“How’s that?” 

Mountain huffs a laugh, because obviously it’s good. It feels weird and wrong and right all at the same time, but he doesn’t know how to put that into words, so he groans out a good instead. 

Aeon lets loose a purr, a short, kitten-sounding thing. He tucks his face deeper into the crook of Mountain’s neck, pulling at him from base to tip with lazy strokes. 

“Does it feel like me?”

It takes a moment for Mountain’s brain to catch up to him, to realize what Aeon’s just asked him. He sighs and reaches a hand back to grip his thigh. “Just you, bug,” he promises. 

Aeon’s breath fans over his collarbone, ruffling his shirt collar. 

“Good,” he says gruffly. Mountain can sense a darker tone to it, but it doesn’t matter once his hand kicks up the pressure, twisting over the wet, wide head of his dick and gripping tight at the base on the downstroke. 

Mountain’s abs tense each time he reaches the patch of curls at his groin, twitching his hips and his cock into nothing. He lets himself get lost in Aeon’s touch, in his magick. Mouth going slack and eyes going glossy as he fucks slowly into his tight fist. 

The smaller ghoul throws a leg over Mountain’s hip, rutting his stiffy flush between his clothed cheeks. Another burst of quintessence hits him, likely not on purpose. But it dials into his arousal all the same, causing his cock to spit a glob of precum over Aeon’s knuckles. 

“ Shit ,” Aeon hisses. “How’re you so wet ?”

Heat rises to Mountain’s cheeks, coloring them with a ruddy blush. “You—your type of magick,” he whines. “Does something—makes me— fuck .” Another drop wells up in the slit. Aeon smears it with his thumb. 

“Damn,” is all he says before he starts stroking in earnest, groaning along with Mountain as he humps against his back. What started as languid and hypnotizing quickly turns to heavy and heated. Aeon’s hand steadily increases its pace, his hot breath huffing against the side of Mountain’s face as he humps faster and harder against him. Seeking his own pleasure as much as Mountain’s.

It’s good until it isn’t, Aeon’s enthusiasm bordering on frantic as his pace squeezes hard at Mountain’s emotional state. His head goes staticky, pinpricks of too much cutting through the haze. Suddenly everything is Aeon, down to the smell of oud and iron smothering the air around them. 

Mountain grips his thigh, whimpering and arching away from it all. 

“Not—Aeon, fast —too fast,” he stammers, wringing the sheets with his free hand. 

Aeon falters. Stills his hand at the base of Mountain’s cock and separates their hips. He clears his throat and tries to catch his breath. The only sound for a handful of moments is their shared panting, rapid and harsh against the backdrop of the droning AC unit. 

“You want me to stop?”

"No," Mountain groans, that pleasant tingly feeling turning into an itch under his skin. "Just. I need . . . slower, please." 

Aeon's about to speak, but Mountain interrupts. 

"Not like him," he corrects. "Slower. That's it." 

Mercifully, he feels the quint ghoul nod against his back. 

"Slower," he agrees. "Can I?" He runs his thumb along the underside of Mountain's cock, gone slightly soft because of the overwhelm. 

The earth ghoul takes a shaky breath and nods, covering Aeon's hand with his own. 

"Could you give me more first?" he asks quietly. "Your magick."

Aeon hums. "Yeah, okay." The itching stops within a few heartbeats, replaced again with cool tingles at the base of his scalp. They travel down to his belly, settling in a lazy pool that stirs up his arousal once more. He takes a deep breath, and another, ending with a relieved sigh. 

Mountain guides Aeon's hand then, up and down in a firm fist until he's fully hard once more.

"Yeah, show me," Aeon mumbles, melting his hips back to Mountain's ass. 

"Better," Mountain sighs. " Oh , that's better." 

"Like this?" Aeon mirrors the same movements as before, just in drawn-out motions.

Mountain nods. "Thanks," he whispers, letting his eyes close.

"I gotcha, big guy." 

It isn't perfect. But it's good. Every drag down the head tugs on his foreskin, enough to make him gasp but not hard enough to hurt. He's leaking steadily in no time, the quintessence aiding in helping him let go. Every once in a while Aeon reaches down to cup his balls, heavy as he rolls them across lithe fingers and squeezes them firmly. His own cock grinds steadily into Mountain's back. He’s definitely holding back, speeding up before remembering the earth ghoul's plea and slowing down again. 

It’s not perfect. It won’t be for a while, between them. But Aeon’s hand on his cock is good. His slight body pressed against his back is good. Lucifer below, the sharpness of his quintessence is good . 

Mountain whines when Aeon's free hand grabs his own, intertwining their fingers. The quint ghoul hooks his chin back over his shoulder, pressing his lips against Mountain's downturned ear.

"You close?" he asks. Curious, thankfully, not impatient.

The earth ghoul makes a pained hmmpf sound. "Almost. I—I don't know," he grunts, bucking up into Aeon's fist.

"S'okay," he soothes. “Lean into it.”

Mountain bites his lip and arches again, groaning when his grip shifts slightly. He dials into the steady trickle of magick bleeding out of Aeon’s palm, sinking right into his length. The more he focuses, the more concentrated it becomes, raising his arousal that much more. 

"Mountain?" Aeon questions with a moan. It's the first real noise he's made the entire time, and the fact he does it right against Mountain's ear makes him clench a little.

"Yeah?"

"Can I— shit . . . will you let me fuck you?" 

Mountain bites his lip, stifles a groan. There’s a flicker of ache in his heart for Aether again, but he does want Aeon. He knows he does. 

But not like this. Eventually, but not tonight. 

The earth ghoul whines. With effort, he shakes his head softly. He squeezes the hand intertwined with his own and reaches down to still the other, pulling it away from his body. Aeon makes a quiet, choked-off sound of confusion.

“How about like this instead.” Mountain turns around to face Aeon, regarding his flushed face in the dim room. “So I can look at you?”

Aeon’s dark eyes are nearly black as he stares back, big and round with want. 

“And then I can . . .” Mountain lowers his eyes and his hands, slipping one into the quintessence ghoul’s boxers to wrap his hand around his cock. 

Aeon groans, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut. “ Yes , that’s—”

“That’s okay? And you can touch me.” Mountain grabs his hand and puts it back around his length. “Like before,” he breathes, giving the smaller ghoul a hesitant stroke. 

“Okay,” Aeon nods. “Okay.”

Mountain rests their foreheads together, and a small crack forms in the invisible wall between them. 

[wulvercazz]

(... no art bc this site sucks<3)

🎃Halloween Town, Act 13: Claim🍓🫐

Back to Masterpost👻

Tags:  Pregnancy, Deepthroating Extra Tags: Possessive Behaviour, Mpreg

It was truly a surprise to have Ichigo himself at his doorstep, left with his fist in the air as Grimmjow opened the door with tired reluctance before the prince could bring himself to knock. But the awkward fixing of his posture was quickly overridden by the shock that Grimmjow’s distended belly brought. The witch sighed, it’s been several months since their last game, several months since he’d learned what the bug really used him for; the second he felt Ichigo’s energy outside the door he knew this conversion was inevitable. With a nod he invited the spirit inside, and closed the door quietly behind him, almost hearing the cogs turn inside Ichigo’s head. “You- Can– Can human males…?” “No.” He answered tiredly, “I am pregnant, though, … in a way.” Ichigo nodded dumbly, lost still in the surprise. “What do you want?” Grimm added with a sense of urgency, before the prince had any time to continue pacing his floor in his wonder. “Ah- Well, after you and Nell— helped me you just… disappeared. I was worried, I guess. I owed you at least making sure nothing had eaten you yet.” “Awe,” Grimmjow smirked, his voice a coarse tease, “I didn’t know you cared like that.” And with great satisfaction, Ichigo’s face heated up with a blush. “So who’s is it?” The Halloween heir rushes to ask, save himself from any more mockery. Grimmjow rolls his eyes, “it’s not mine, that’s for sure.” And before Ichigo can make any more questions, with a tight frown and childish confusion in his eyes, the witch clarifies; “Aizen came here. I’m nothing but his glorified egg basket.” The name triggers a growl, that Grimmjow drinks in with amusement and a strange tenderness that he’d rather chalk up to whatever weird hormones Aizen’s magick-made uterus is releasing in his body. “Aizen did this to you?” The prince growls in a dark coarse voice. “Yes, didn’t I just-” Grimmjow tries to answer with growing exasperation, but the flickering of flames atop Ichigo’s head distract him from his anger. “Alright– clam the fuck down, berry.” The flame dies out with an offended scowl, and it’s the perfect opportunity to manhandle Ichigo into sitting his ass down on one of the kitchen chairs. His thick arms bracket the prince, holding onto the back of the chair and leaning in to look right into Ichigo’s eyes. “I don’t care. This is one of the tamest things that have happened to me since I took up witchcraft; a few eggs aren’t gonna kill me.” “Y-You don’t want out?” “You felt my cock, there’s nothing down there for these things to come out of; whatever spell Aizen used I’m sure will only serve its purpose once the time comes. So as open as I am to a little knife play, I’d rather not cut my guts in half over a few bugs. There’s only a few weeks if my calculations are right, anyway.” “But–” And Grimmjow makes a shushing noise, bringing a hand up to hold Ichigo’s jaw in a slight show of dominance that the prince doesn’t take without a warning growl in his sternum— “if you’re so jealous you should just say so. Or is your breeding kink that strong that you’re letting your hormones fuck up your brain?” Grimm’s not sure what does it, but Ichigo’s eyes light up in both shame and indignation; his back pushed against the edge of the table where Ichigo cages him with his own arms and growls on his face. “I’m not jealous.” “So that kink of yours is going strong, huh?” He’s never learned how to stop poking the bear… but it gets him an armful of pissed off and possessive prince that he’s not about to pass up.

[enterwittyjokehere]

Here is Vouyer Gale as promised! I had a lot of fun writing this one, I am currently working on two requested fics and two more smutshots. So more will be coming soon :þ

No Apologies Needed

[Gale Dekarios (of waterdeep) x amab! Reader]

[⚠️Warnings⚠️]

[Amab reader]

[No pronouns used]

[Heavy smut 18+ only]

[Vouyerism]

[Exhibitionism]

[Oral]

[Anal penetration]

The moon hung high in the sky, stars littered the dark blue curtain of the universe, hiding the rest of existence from the people of Faerûn. The famed wizard of waterdeep, Gale Dekarios, laid in the midst of it all. His bedroll was taken out of his tent, laid in the open air, staring up at the beautiful sight, taking all of it in, based on news he had received the wizard had a new lease on life to say the least. Trying to take time enjoying life rather than wasting precious moments worrying and rotting away, a sharp exhale left his mouth as his lack of sleep had caught up with him, although he was not yet ready to succumb to the needed action of slumber. To Gale the night was still young.

He glanced around the camp, everyone else had gotten in their bedrolls and started sleeping, or meditating, or so it seemed. His well trained eyes spotted a small light radiating through the fabric wall of one tent, the tent of the so-called ‘leader’ of the little ragtag party. Gale rolled onto his stomach to get a better look, it didn't flicker like the light of a candle, it shone bright like a magick light. Thoughts of why you would need a light this late at night swam around Gale’s head perhaps you couldn't sleep and were reading a book or maybe you were practicing a trade, curiosity flooded Gale’s senses.

The wizard would never come to admit it to the rest of the party, but he had quite a few strong feelings towards you. Although, even now when he had a greater purpose, thoughts of missing you and what the two of you could share flooded his mind.

Standing to his feet he made soft steps towards the tent, only when he got closer did he understand why you were up so late at night, Gale stopped in his tracks when he heard a soft, stifled moan.

“..F**k- Yes..” 

Your voice was quiet, even with how rushed your breathing sounded, Gale's mind began to race as he got closer. Small slapping sounds and a rhythmic rustling sound, painted a clear picture of what was transpiring inside the tent. 

You grinded against your hand, thoughts of Gale’s pretty mouth suckling sweetly on your hard c**k made your stomach flutter. Trying your best to fight off the moans and yet you still failed, “Gods… -Gale!” 

Fear clouded Gale's senses when he heard your audible moan, fearing for a moment he had been caught. When more breathy and ragged moans were heard he knew he was safe in his voyeurism. The wizard of waterdeep paused, hearing his name on your lips in such an intimate tone… His mind was reduced to one sided putty, he had no drive for anything else in the moment but focusing on your actions.

The soft fabric of the trousers he wore suddenly got tighter and tighter as he fought against the emotions of guilt bubbling into his heart. He listened as you worked your er*ct*on away, moaning as you got closer and closer to that heavenly threshold.

Gale's mind raced, he ached to help you cross that threshold, he wanted to shove you over it and allow you to revel in it- in him.

Gale steadily listened as you hit your peak, swears littering your breathless demeanor as you pumped yourself slowly prolonging the descent from your climax.

The light you had been using extinguished and the figure outside your tent was shown to you. Frightened, at first, you hastily pulled your trousers up, quickly opening your tent, seeing a very frightened yet flustered Gale.

“I had a reason for coming over here-” He paused, taking his lip between his teeth, “and yet, right now I am blanking on that reason…”

Dumbstruck. You had no thoughts, only emotions that flooded your senses. Embarrassment heated your face, making you a red and sweaty mess. Fear of what Gale was thinking and feeling. Fear of rejection piled into your stomach like a heavy weight sat at the bottom of your torso. Relief that the shadow outside your tent was an ally and not some raider coming to kill and loot your camp.

Once your mind returned to you you noticed Gale was staring at you, “Gale- I… I can explain.”

“Oh, please, there's no need for any of that. It's not as though I'm the one who has any reason to be upset.” He spoke, a soft smile littered his expression.

“Y-You're not upset at me?” 

Gale's face dropped, “No. Of course not, I expected you to be more disgruntled at me…”

“Oh, I could never.” You said, your eyes tracing the wizard, it was only now that you noticed his slight er*ct*on, “Gale?”

Your eyebrow raised at the sight, he suddenly remembered his predicament. Throwing his hands down in an attempt to shield himself, “Once again, I apologize, (y/n).”

He attempted to walk away, but he stopped shortly after, turning around as you called out to him, “Gale, wait-”

He turned around slightly, you bit your bottom lip. A small simper now adorned your sleepy features, “I could help you with that, if you're comfortable with something like that, of course.”

It was Gale's turn to have no thoughts, his head completely empty as your words rattled around his head. Echoing through his skull, you could almost see the gears began to turn as he placed his thumb to his lip.

“... Are you offering…” He turned, glancing back to the other's tents, “What I think you're offering?” 

Standing to your feet fully, you approached the wizard, your head nodding to answer his question. Gale tensed at your sudden closeness, his reaction only grew when you reached up to smooth the fabric on his shoulders. 

“If you're comfortable with my offer, of course.” 

Gale slightly nodded, his big brown doe eyes clouded over in thought, before he actually took time to answer. He adorned a small simper, similar to your own lustful one, “Yes, I would enjoy nothing more.”

Gale's eyes widened as your cold hands traced over his jaw and up his cheek, cupping the stubble-covered flesh. Bringing him down kissing him softly, Gale's hands rested on your waist. As he deepened the kiss, his hands shifted to your lower back, resting Iright on the bump of your butt. 

Gale's firm hands pulled you closer, smiling into the embrace, “Shall we go inside then?” 

“Well, Gale, I thought since you're so keen on watching… maybe you should be the center of focus.” Gale stared at you, absorbing your words, pailing at them half a moment later.

“You don't mean” His worried eyes glanced around the sleepy camp, not a single soul was awake, “out here…?”

“Is that a problem?” 

“A very large one. Yes.” Gale retorted, grabbing onto your forearms.

“Kneel.” You said, pushing a finger to Gale's lips. Gale followed your hand, getting on his knees as you had said, his brown eyes traced up your body. Staring up at you Gale waited for you to speak, as you watched him writhe from above.

You hooked the hem of your trousers with your fingers and let them fall. Presenting Gale with your still sensitive c**k, the wizard hesitated fear of the others waking up clouded his mind. 

His fears were brought to an end as you pulled his head back to face you, “Gale! Mouth!” 

A quick hum was pulled from your mouth as Gale took you into his own, suckling sweetly around your length. Your hands fell into his long brown hair, pushing his face closer to your body. Groaning as Gale gagged around you, his firm hands gripped the backs of your thighs steadying himself.

You could feel yourself growing inside of Gale's mouth, the words you spoke were delivered in a huff, “Gale, that's good.”

Your hands pried the wizard off of you, tears littering his face as he stared up at you. You leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips before instructing him further, ���Up.” 

Gale followed you at your words, standing to his feet, you squatted down, palming his er*ct*on through his trousers. His hands grabbed onto your forearms, “(Y/n) thats-”

You pulled down his purple trousers, his length popping forward. Gale tensed above you as you slipped your hand around it, pumping the dry er*ct*on roughly, “lay on your stomach for me?”

With your words you moved away, standing back as you watched Gale. He laid on his stomach propping up on his knees, his ass fully in the air, his buried his head in his face.

“Be quiet, my love, we don't want anyone to stir.”

Gale trembled beneath you at the thought of being out around people during this intimate scene. While he would have truly enjoyed a more private setting, to Gale him getting to be this close to you was enough to see past his fear.

Gale nodded, almost buzzing in excitement, “Yes.” 

Moving behind Gale you gently pushed into him, stopping half way and stilling yourself. Gale huffed as he gripped onto the fabric beneath him, “damn-!”

When Gale had felt he was ready, he gave the ground a small tap, “I think I'm ready.

You moved out of Gale watching as he squirmed beneath your slow movements. You moved back into him, stopping half way again and pulling out. This movement continued, once your stomach tightened you forgot that rhythm.

Moving each time faster and deeper, it didn't take Gale long to writhe beneath you, moving his hips against your own. His hands buried in his face, the small sounds of his gasps and groans leaked through. 

You shushed Gale, biting onto his neck to hide your own moans. Gale snaked a hand down to pleasure himself while you worked behind him, roughly f*ck*ng into him, Strings of swears leaked from his mouth.

It wasn't long before Gale's hips stuttered back and forth, soon orgasming into his hand. Your grip tightened on his hips as you rocked against him, Gale cried out from the overstimulation creeping up.

A few more thrusts and your sloppy attempt at chasing your climax fill Gale thoroughly, groaning and moving against you when he felt the warm feeling. You pulled out grunted slightly as you fell to lay beside the wizard, looking up at the stars.

“Thank you, (y/n) and sorry.” 

“No, Gale I need no apologies. It was nice being close to someone again.”

“May haps we could do it again sometime…” Gale said, turning onto his back.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Survivor request is 'bed' for @calsdroid

Days after they first secure Tanalorr, dust slowly settling, the new rhythms of their unsettled lives hitting their harmonies, Cal finds himself on Tanalorr’s ground with absolutely no memory of how he got there. He feels off, exhausted energy flickering among the fumes choking his burning body. He’d been out for a simple climb, scoping out places to locate their first settlement and –

Every step harder than the last.

Every pull up a test of his will.

Every leap taking more and more.

Every echo scooping him out until –

Until he had nothing left to give.

Cal tries to sit up, only for the world to waver before his eyes, solid made liquid. He falls back, blacks out again, and suddenly BD’s there, standing on his chest, telling him not to move, help is coming.

Help? He doesn’t need help. He needs to help others. Tanalorr awaits, and the Hidden Path needs it now more than ever, their options so dwindled there is little hope remaining for them. If Cal doesn’t help bring them here, make Tanalorr actually liveable, they might –

Why is he so cold? He shivers, rolling onto his side, pulling all his limbs close to his chest. He’ll get up in a minute. He will, as soon as he’s warmer and –

–  And now Merrin’s here. Where did she come from? Her worried eyes take him in, her back of her hand pressing to his forehead. “You are burning up,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

Because he’s not sick. He isn’t. He’s just… he’s so incredibly… he can’t possibly…

She wraps her arms around him and levers him off the ground, pulling him into a hug. “You have burned yourself away to nearly nothing.” She sighs, pressing her lips to his hair. “What would Cere say?”

A note chimes in the Force, a melodic strum of a hallikset string.

Cal closes his eyes as Merrin’s magick coils around him, nearly dulling the echoes of all her travels clinging to her clothing. Vast oceans, cities hidden in the clouds, underground hives. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he feels a bed beneath him, his many layers peeled away, a damp cloth resting over his forehead and eyes.

“We’ve got you,” Greez says.

BD tells him to go back to sleep.

No, he was busy, he was –

“Sick, Cal. You’ve fought and worked your way into sickness,” Greez tells him. “You’re burning up. We need you well again. Please, just stay put and get some rest. Before you really do burn out for good. I can’t lose you too.”

He can’t stop now. He’s the last of his kind now that Cere is… now that Cere’s… Her name escapes him, his control shattered.

A hand brushes over his cheek, a thumb wiping away the tears. “I know,” Greez says. “I know. But even she’d tell you enough is enough, and you know it. You don’t need to keep running now.”

He drifts into memories and dreams, the Mantis crew, both crews, united and laughing. The twins inhaling everything Greez cooks, Bravo at the controls looping them through skies made of stars, Merrin and Gabs plotting all kinds of schemes, BD racing to record everyone, and Cere sat beside Cal, smiling as she watches.

“See?” she tells him, her hand so warm against his knee. “You’re not alone.”

“Cal?”

Merrin is suddenly ahead of him, her hand on his shoulder. Cal blinks, and it’s only Greez, BD and Kata sat aboard the ship. Tears fill his eyes. She was here. They were all here. And now –

Now, he’s still not alone. Not anymore. He never was, not really.

BD hurries over, hops on his shoulder, tells him he was sleepwalking, it’s time to go back to bed, get better, get well, so he can help build up Tanalorr.

Cal nods. “I’m going back to bed,” he announces.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.” Kata’s voice is quiet, nervous, and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Cal says. “I will.”

[riotwritesthings]

Hiii yellow or turquoise from the lovely pan flag If you want to <3

this is so dumb idk, I lost all control please enjoy

Fluttering Yellow and Turquoise

WinterIron - T, 1.8k - Crack, Banter

-

Tony blinks his way to consciousness and finds that he’s staring up at the warm glow of sunlight through a thick canopy of leaves.

“Ew,” he says, “why am I in a forest?”

The last thing he remembers is some kind of strange energy surging through the tower, the lights flickering and his hair standing on end, and then-

He woke up here. Tony really wishes he was more surprised.

“It’s always a portal,” he sighs as he climbs to his feet, brushing leaves and twigs from his clothes. “I better not be the only one who got caught up in this bullshit,” he grumbles, looking around.

He’s surrounded by massive trees, thick underbrush, and he doesn’t know nearly enough about plants to have a hope of figuring out where he is. He also doesn’t see anyone else around, and worst of all, the portal just had to scoop him up in the middle of getting dressed. He can already feel all the bugs coming for his bare chest and the countless parasites digging their way into his bare feet. Awesome.

After a couple seconds of mental debate, he decides to hell with the risk and shouts, "Hello?! Anyone else here? Even a rude portal-creator, maybe?"

The only reply is the soft rustle of leaves above him and the drone of insects.

“Rude,” he mutters, “they could have at least been around to pick a fight or something after magicking me here.”

He looks around again, but every direction looks the same, just trees and bushes and more trees. He’ll have to just pick a direction at random if he wants to go looking for… anything. He’s also pretty sure that the general rule is to not move when lost, but does it really count as lost when he’s been transported here against his will? And then just left alone to be eaten by insects?

“Ugh,” he groans as he swats at a bug that’s hovering around the light of the arc reactor, "this is why I hate magic. And anything even magic related, it all sucks."

From above him comes a chuckle, then a pained groan, and Tony whips his head up to find Bucky tangled in vines and dangling from thick tree branches about thirty feet above him.

“Oh hey,” Tony calls in greeting, “the portal got you too?”

“Looks like,” Bucky sighs, then starts to struggle against the vines and only accomplishes making himself swing and sway in place. “Why don’t I get to be on the ground?” He groans as he stills again.

“The portal likes me more I guess,” Tony says with a shrug, then wrinkles his nose and adds, “I’m not actually sure I’m happy about that.”

“Least you didn’ have to fall through th’ canopy,” Bucky grumbles, just loud enough for Tony to hear.

"Ooh, look who knows his forest terms," Tony says and then laughs as Bucky starts struggling uselessly again. “Do you not have a knife to cut yourself free?!”

Bucky stops wiggling to glare at him, and then reluctantly admits, “I don’t have one on me.”

“What?” Tony demands with another laugh, temporarily distracted from his anger at the mysterious portal, “Who even are you?!”

“Ha ha,” Bucky says dryly, “You know Sam won’t let me spar with concealed weapons anymore.”

“We’ve all heard the argument,” Tony says with a roll of his eyes, “One time he breaks his toes kicking you in the boot knife, and he’ll never let it go.” A thought occurs to him and he looks around the thick forest again as he asks, “So you were with Sam when the magic hit? I guess step one is figuring out if anyone else has been personally victimized by teleportation.”

"Step one should be you get up here an’ help me," Bucky says grumpily.

“Bold of you to assume I have a knife,” Tony says, “I don’t even have a shirt.” He swats at the bugs buzzing around his chest again and then starts eyeing the trunks of the trees that Bucky is tangled in, trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to do this.

The thick vines wrapped around everything give him hand-holds at least, so Tony grits his teeth and starts climbing. It’s a slow process, the air is thick with humidity, making everything slick and his bare feet slip off of the vines as he tries to make his way up. He’s pretty sure he can feel Bucky getting more and more impatient, and when Tony pauses to glance up he also feels pretty damn impatient about how little progress he’s made.

“Is this a bad time to mention I’ve never climbed a tree?” Tony asks sheepishly, risking letting go of the vines with one hand so he can wipe sweat from his forehead.

“Nah, seems pretty relevant,” Bucky replies, and it looks a lot like he’s trying to fight down a smile, “fair warning, if you fall I am gonna laugh.”

“Great encouragement,” Tony grumbles and returns his attention to climbing.

He has a couple of close calls, but he doesn’t actually fall to his probable death and manages to make his way up to where Bucky is dangling with minimum embarrassment.

“Wow, you are really tangled in here,” he says once he gets a look at how thoroughly Bucky is wrapped in vines and covered with loose leaves.

“Thanks, I hadn’ noticed,” Bucky says, his voice as dry as the desert, and Tony almost loses his hold when he can’t help but laugh.

“Stop,” Tony says, “this is gonna be the most dangerous part, don’t make me laugh. I might fall, I might cut you instead of the vines, who knows, anything could happen.” As expected, he nearly loses his balance trying to wiggle out the knife that, thank fuck, is still in the front pocket of his jeans, and Tony quickly adjusts his position so he can wrap his legs tightly around a sturdy branch. “Pole dance lessons, don’t fail me now,” he mutters under his breath, but apparently Bucky catches it.

“What?” He asks with a laugh.

“Nothing, you didn’t hear that,” Tony says quickly.

“I definitely did,” Bucky says, still laughing, “how has Rhodes never mentioned that in his ‘embarrassing Tony’ stories?”

"Because I threatened him with death," Tony hisses, “now stop laughing, I have a knife here.”

Bucky just grins at him, giving Tony’s admittedly small pocket knife a pointed look before his eyes go wide. “Is that the knife I gave you?” He asks, the teasing gone from his voice.

Tony looks at the knife thoughtfully even though he knows it is. It’s the only pocket knife he owns, because Bucky had gotten hilariously offended that he didn’t have one and had immediately pulled one out of his packet to all but force it into Tony’s hands.

“Impossible to say for sure,” Tony finally says dismissively, because it's that or admit he’s been carrying it pretty much constantly.

“Thought you weren’t gonna carry it,” Bucky says with a knowing grin that does dangerous things to Tony’s pulse.

“Shut up, I don’t know how it got in my pocket,” Tony grumbles, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks and pointedly turning his attention to cutting Bucky free. The knife is razor sharp, no doubt Bucky’s doing, and it makes quick work of the vines.

“Get my hands first,” Bucky requests, wiggling the only two fingers that apparently aren’t trapped, “I don’t wanna fall any more.”

“And here I was planning on dropping you right on your pretty face,” Tony sighs, then bites his tongue while Bucky laughs.

With each vine that he cuts through Bucky drops an inch or two, swaying in place, and every time he makes a barely audible sound that Tony is trying really hard not to laugh at. He cuts another vine and Bucky lets out a queasy groan as he drops a little further.

“Don’t throw up,” Tony pleads, and he’s only half joking.

“I do not like this,” Bucky groans and what Tony can see of his face is pale, “I changed my mind, jus’ drop me.”

“Didn’t Sam say you just- jumped out of a plane, once?” Tony has to ask as he starts slicing through the vines a little more haphazardly.

"Yeah, an’ I regretted it, but don‘t tell him that,” Bucky says with a weak huff of laughter, “‘sides, that’s different, a quick fall an’ its over. This is- ugh, jus’ hanging here- if this takes much longer I really might- Fuck!”

A bunch of the vines snap at once with a surprisingly loud sound and Bucky drops further, jerking and swearing loudly. Something catches the branch that Tony is clinging to, and he only has a split second to feel it tip with a deep groan before it breaks and Tony falls too. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to prepare himself for an abrupt meeting with the ground, but instead he feels familiar metal fingers wrap around his wrist before he comes to a sudden stop.

Tony dares to squint one eye open and finds that he’s still dangling about ten feet off the ground. The branch he was on has landed in a massive bush that Tony is very glad he’s not also in, because the leaves are rustling aggressively with the stirring of countless bugs.

“Do not drop me in the murder hornet nest,” Tony demands as he shoots a quick glance up at Bucky, who’s clinging to another branch with one hand and Tony with the other.

“It might not be anything murderous,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t sound very confident. He does tighten his grip around Tony’s wrist at least, even when Tony jerks with a yelp as an explosion of color bursts out of the bush.

“Don’t let them eat me,” Tony says in a panic, trying to pull himself up and climb Bucky’s arm as wings flutter all around him.

"Then stop moving," Bucky returns as they both swing wildly, and Tony reluctantly does.

“Oh,” he says when he finally stills enough to see the bugs, “it’s butterflies. Butterflies don’t eat people, right?”

“Pretty sure no,” Bucky replies with a snort.

Tony looks up at him again as the butterflies continue to swarm past them in a riot of yellow and turquoise wings, making their way up towards the sunlight. Bucky has a small grin on his face as he watches it, and when he notices Tony watching him he smiles wider.

“Not th’ worst time we’ve ever been victimized by magic, huh?” Bucky asks, and Tony doesn’t think he notices that a butterfly has landed on his head, slowly flapping its wings.

Tony has to swallow his heart back down where it belongs before he can grudgingly admit, “Maybe second worst.”

Bucky laughs, sending the butterfly flying again, and Tony can only smile back.

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

Day 3: Mates

So, this is love?

Tamlin races to the Spring-Autumn border, spurred on by a mysterious message, unaware of what will meet him there.

《》《》《》《》《》

Tamlin yawned, flexing the fingers of his left hand as he finally set down his pen and tossed the last sheet of parchment onto the finished pile with a flourish. The mound of paperwork on his desk had taken the entire day to complete. He winced. Never again would he 'just set it aside for another time'.

He'd planned to finish earlier, so that he could at least take a walk around the gardens before nightfall to clear his head, but by now his limbs were so weary from sitting on his arse and writing page after page that he couldn't find it within him to do anything other than draw a bath.

Resolute in his decision, he pushed his chair back to do just that when a flash of flame appeared in the air, making him jolt as it disappeared to reveal a slip of parchment.

“What in the Cauldron…”

Trouble at the Spring and Autumn border. GO

He stared down at the hurried words, mind whirring. Distantly, he wondered if this could be someone's idea of a joke, meant to alarm him into useless action. But something roiling in his gut told him to go investigate. He folded the slip of parchment and tucked it into his pocket.

With a crack of magic, he winnowed out of the study.

He reappeared at the top of a hill overlooking the Spring and Autumn border. He strained his eyes, searching for any signs of disturbance. There was nothing. The land was perfectly still, the sun beginning to set low over the horizon.

False alarm, a voice chided. You've been played for a fool.

But wait, he turned his head. There was a rustling to his right, sharp cries of breaths… there.

It was a male, staggering through the wall of thorns that divided Autumn and Spring. He was obscured by a heavy cloak of cobalt blue, but even from where he stood, Tamlin could see the blood smeared across his face, the arm that hung limply by his side.

Something flared in his chest, and then he was moving. As he ran, he twisted his fingers and the tangle of thorns began to recede, winding back to create a hollow for the male to pass through easily. But even with Tamlin's magic, the male was still moving far too slowly.

Just as he was about to break through, two flame haired males appeared in the near distance, just visible through the magicked opening in the thorns.

“Oh fuck... HURRY!”

Tamlin skidded to a halt fifty feet shy of the wall, planting his feet as he drew his arms out wide, the wall of thorns shifting and roiling into an even greater barrier than before, forcing the two males farther back. All this not a moment too soon, as the strange male finally stumbled into Spring.

Tamlin ran to the male, golden light already flickering at his fingertips. He was barely moving, guttural cries of pain tearing loose from his throat.

“You’re alright now, you’ll be alright.”

By the mother... He was bleeding everywhere.

Tamlin sucked in a deep breath, then began with a blood slowing spell. The male writhed and cried out, his body instinctively seeking to shy away from the stinging effects of the healing magic soaking into his skin.

He gritted his teeth, "I'm sorry."

Slowly but surely, the pool of blood at his stomach began to recede. Then, all that was left was to knit the skin back together. Tamlin glanced up at the male. His head was turned to the side, ragged breaths punching free of his throat. His face was still hidden.

"I'm going to cut your shirt so that I can see the wound, is that alright?"

Tamlin touched a hand to his shoulder, nudging gently, "Alright?"

The male turned his head and jostled the hood of his cloak, then Tamlin was staring into golden eyes and suddenly his world was enveloped with nothing but light.

It tore the breath from his lungs and made his head ring, beat in his veins and sang in his ears, filled his heart with something lovely and devastating all at once. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to put into words the exhilaration that had just wracked his body.

"Who are you?" he asked instead.

His mate’s eyes were the most beautiful gold, and they were shimmering with tears. He closed his eyes, shaking his head softly.

"Lucien."

Tamlin's mind raced, his heart slammed against the walls of his chest, howling.

His mate was here, and his mate didn’t want him. His mate was here and he didn’t want him, his mate was here, here, here, here-

An ugly crackling sound reached his ears. The two Autumn males, they had broken through. They were burning down the wall of thorns.

A low, seething anger began to bloom deep within him. He could feel his claws extending from his fingers. These males had hurt his mate, had almost killed him, and now they dared to invade his lands.

He got to his feet, magic whipping at his fingers. Blind with rage, he charged towards them, allowing the beast to take over his body, enveloping his mind and roaring for blood.

<><><><><>

Beads of scarlet dripped through his fingers as he made his way back to his mate.

The slashes on his arms and chest began to weave back together, healing within a matter of moments. He ran his tongue around his mouth, dislodging small slivers of bone and gristle that he spat out in a bloody gob. The flame haired males had put up a fight, but they had been doomed from the beginning. They were nothing more than tatters now.

Tamlin dropped to his knees beside him. Lucien's face was scrunched, sweat beading on his brow.

He held his breath and laid a hand on Lucien's chest, closing his eyes as he strained to hear the mating bond.

Tamlin's heart dropped into his stomach.

They needed to get back to Rosehall.

He gently guided the unconscious male up into a seated position, letting his head fall into the crook of Tamlin's neck as he slowly stood.

Lucien made a small sound at the back of his throat and Tamlin's arms tightened around him.

"You'll be alright. You're safe now."

Alis started with a cry as he winnowed into the kitchen, stumbling backwards into a rack of utensils.

"Tamlin! Oh, you're a mess, what in the h-" A sharp cry escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth, rushing over as he gently laid the injured male onto the large preparation table.

"Is he-"

"He's alive, but I had to put him under a sleeping spell. He was in too much pain otherwise."

"Good, good, but what happened? Tamlin, tell me."

Tamlin couldn't tear his eyes away from him, could barely keep himself from taking his mate's hand in his. He forced himself to focus on Alis's words, to answer her question.

"I- I was near the Spring and Autumn border. He was being hunted. Two males. I dealt with them."

"He is of Autumn, then?"

"Yes. He is Lucien Vanserra, son of the High Autumn family."

His voice began to waver.

“He’s my mate."

<><<><><><><>

Some extra? I felt that that was a good place to end the ficlet, but I couldn't NOT include some soft Alis moments.

<><<><><><><>

"Oh, sweetling." Immediately, Alis was by his side, tugging him down into a fierce embrace. One hand stroked along his back, the other wrapped firmly around his shoulders. He buried his nose into her small shoulder, breathing in the scent of earth and rain.

"What am I going to do, Alis?" he asked hoarsely. "He doesn't want me."

She cooed soothingly, squeezing him in her arms even as his tears seeped through the fabric of her bodice. Suddenly, he was a little boy again, crying into Alis's skirts, and all of his hurts could be shooed away with a kiss to his brow and a mug of warm milk.

"Patience, sweetling. You must have patience. These things take time, you'll see. He will grow to love you, just as I do."

[dewedup]

scars inside you (swiss ghoul)

His body would feel exhausted, unable to manage the strength to make it out of bed. He would feign an illness, though ghouls rarely get sick, let alone to the extent of being immobile.

It was a process with an unknown duration. There were times when he was down for a week, and other times he would bounce back within a day. It didn’t matter what anyone did, though he appreciated each and every single one of his ghouls with his entire being for trying.

or

I am having a rough day and I headcanon Swiss as being slightly bipolar, he gives off such high energy I just picture the lows being extremely rough. This is one of those times.

words: 1,089

under the cut but can also be read on AO3 HERE

everyone gets low sometimes, but it gets better

if you're struggling, this might not be the thing for you, mentions of feeling unwanted, like a burden or inconvenience and a depressive episode

TW: DEPRESSION

It wasn't often that Swiss felt off, like a black cloud of doubt was hovering over him. He usually overcompensated for those nagging feelings by being more boisterous than usual, grinning hard enough it hurt, blurting out the most ridiculous things he could off the top of his head to make his pack laugh. Faking his way through the day, he would wake up feeling normal.

Some days, though, it was hard to even do that.

His body would feel exhausted, unable to manage the strength to make it out of bed. He would feign an illness, though ghouls rarely get sick, let alone to the extent of being immobile. His pack would check on him, popping in throughout the day, seeing if he needed anything or just wanted someone around. He’d deny it all, wanting desperately to take the worry out of their expressions, but couldn’t even try to hold himself together enough to be in the presence of another person.

Sometimes he’d cry, full-body sobs into his pillow, or just tears streaming down his face as he silently stared at the ceiling.

His mind would fall into a spiral, a highlight reel of every moment he’d ever felt sad, worthless, unwanted or like a burden. He’d relive every terrible moment, punishing himself for being so weak. His room would fill with a rotten smell, like milk gone bad, sour, a foul scent clogging his nostrils.

He’d finally exhaust himself of feelings, mentally, physically, and emotionally drained, falling into a restless slumber.

He’d wake up feeling exponentially worse. Like he was stuck in a time loop that just got progressively more depressed. Days he’d wallow, stuck in the same clothes, his skin starting to stink with sweat and sadness. The concern of the pack would get almost tangible. He could taste it in the air, it only served to make him feel like more of an inconvenience.

He wishes he knew what he needed to break the cycle, when Dew would kneel beside his bed and beg him for a solution. He’d stare blankly in return, seeing the expression crumble from Dew’s face and his entire body slump like he was the one disappointing him.

Cumulus would knock lightly on his door, quietly announcing her presence without waiting for an invitation. She’d leave the door open for a minute, using her air magick to pull some fresh air into the dark room. She’d even bring in a candle of his favourite scent from her secret stash, placing it on the dresser and lighting it. She’d stop by his bed, sit beside his head and pet his hair for a while, softly running her fingers through the greasy strands. She’d whisper words of affirmation, that he was good, he was loved, and to take all the time he needed. She would then place a soft kiss between his horns and leave him to his thoughts.

What felt like hours of watching the flame from the candle flicker, Mountain would come to visit, a plant from his greenhouse in hand. He’d make it a nice home on his bedside table, replacing the one from the last episode without scolding Swiss for its poor condition. He’d crack the blinds slightly, just enough to shine a tiny bit of sunlight on the new life. He’d crouch near Swiss and relay some of the drama he’d been privy to. For such a tall ghoul, people seemed to overlook his presence frequently, making Mountain the best source of news within the abbey. He wishes he had the strength to laugh at the mishap of a new sibling of sin, involving some inappropriate usage of the confessional, but Mountain doesn’t take offence to the lack of reaction. He’d finish his story and grab Swiss by the hand, placing a kiss along his knuckles and letting him know he’d fill him in on any updates before taking his leave.

It was only a matter of time before the sun Mountain let in went down, leaving the room in its darkened state. Rain and Dew would enter together, Dew relighting the candle Mount had extinguished on his way out of the room. Dew had the hardest time of them all when Swiss got like this, feeling helpless against his friend’s own head. Nevertheless, he still came over, lifting the blanket to blow some hot air into Swiss' cocoon, running his fingers over Swiss' grown-out stubble, before resolutely walking out of the room. Rain would stay longer, depositing some easy-to-eat food on his bedside table and curling up beside him. He’d hum softly in Ghoulish as he held him close, dusting kisses over his cheeks and forehead as he was just there. And if Swiss let out a tear or two, he’d say nothing, kissing them away and humming a little louder so that his chest would send vibrations through the multi ghoul.

Swiss would wake up to an empty bed, the water ghoul’s warmth still lingering along with his scent. If he looked over, he would see the plant beside his bed freshly watered.

Phantom would come in the early morning hours, sleep still heavy in his face as he dropped into the bed beside Swiss. He’d worm his way under the covers and attach himself to Swiss’ back, letting off soft waves of quintessence magick until he was fast asleep, soft snores falling against Swiss’ neck.

It was a process with an unknown duration. There were times when he was down for a week, and other times he would bounce back within a day. It didn’t matter what anyone did, though he appreciated each and every single one of his ghouls with his entire being for trying.

He’d wake up one morning, the feeling of dread still lingering slightly but he could breathe.

A shower would have him feeling cleaner, like he was washing off the depressive episode with water and soap, watching it all swirl down the drain. Everyone would look up from their breakfast, eyes shining happily as he took a seat at the table.

No words needed to be said. 

Aurora would place a bowl of his favourite cereal before him with a kind smile, her hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Cirrus would inhale her breakfast like a wild animal, quickly taking her leave and flying down the hallway to the dorms. She’d disappear for quite some time, but when Swiss retired for the night his entire room would be clean, curtains pulled wide open and fresh sheets for him to fall into.

[wylldebee]

Ye Olde Magick AU Part II: More Houses

As always: thank @books-n-guns for the existence of this AU :D Basic lore (and the first bunch of houses): X Without further ado, have some more houses~!

The Arryns: Wings, wings, wings. They have the most beautiful feathered wings you'll ever lay eyes on and back muscles because damn their wings are heavy. They need special oils and soaps, and are almost constantly grooming. And they have echo voices (X). If the song Hallelujah existed in ASOIAF they would own it. The skies of the Vale always has at least one Arryn or one of it's cadet houses The Boltons: Like books-n-guns says, they're vampires with an interest in blood magic. Legend says the Boltons actually used to be able to shed their whole skin—and I mean their whole skin—until one Bolton got into blood magic and suddenly vampires. The northern weather is perfect for them. The Mormonts: Werebears! Werebears! Werebears! You think Bear Island was named after the bears that inhabit it? No. It's the werebears of House Mormont. Were as wild looking as the Starks of old just bear themed; claws and teeth and fangs and thicker hair, and were generally bigger and stronger. Now they're just strong. Lady Maege Mormont can still crush a man's head between her hands.

The Tarths: Giants. For some reason the magic has been absent from their bloodline for a few years until Brienne was born. While not as big as her ancestors, Brienne is still big and has great strength. She didn't defeat those who had a bet on her maidenhead so much as she sent them flying. People held score cards. Loras was sweating in his armour and allowed Brienne to grapple him instead shut up you drunken archer of my family I allowed it because I didn't want to fucking die. The Hightowers: Flame hair. Think Hades from Hercules. It's safe to the touch and doesn't set anything on fire...unless the Hightower it's attached to wants it. Just like when they turn the beacon's fire green to call their bannerman, a Hightower's hair can turn green at will. Please imagine Alicent entering the room not only in her green dress, but with flickering green flame hair. The Baelishs: Fiery eyes. Look up Lucifer Morningstar red eyes and you get what I'm imagining, though the pupils are a glowing flame coloured. It's hard to look like a friendly and powerless man to be underestimated by all the high lords with these eyes, but Littlefinger manages it. The Greyjoys: Krackens. Honestly I'm just imagining a kracken version of Davey Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean. But they can only get that form when wet with seawater. Can remain in that form so long as a part of their body is still in seawater. Rare times does it skip a member of the family, so sorry Aeron. The Karstarks: Since they are a cadet branch of the Starks they also benefitted from the same wolf magic—however instead of fangs they've got the claws. Sharp and deadly, the Karstarks are best at being frontline fighters where even if they lose their swords they can still maul a bitch. No, seriously, they will maul someone with their claws. They have mauled people with their claws. Rumors say they use grindstones to keep their claws nice and sharp. The Freys: Trolls, specifically bridge trolls. And not the dependable kind that they used to be back in the day. Still having that weasel look to them, they have granite skin that makes normal swords break against them and above-human strength, thus still making them the most powerful bannermen of House Tully. The Reeds: Lizard-lions or frogs. Actually, nobody really knows what the Reeds are—not now or back in the past. Not even Ned knows what Howland Reed looked like because he kept his entire person covered from the top of his head to his hands to his feet. The only thing he saw was a super long tongue jab hard at Arthur's neck that killed the knight and save him. And that's what I've got for now. Again ideas of other houses are welcome!

[kagedbird]

Cicero Loves You, Listener! TESSDE AU - Dark Brotherhood route

~ [First] ~ [Next] ~ [Prev] ~

I've been bedridden for a few days now. Feeling was slowly coming back into my arms and legs. I could sit up without too much help, though Cicero was always there to lend a hand. He chattered endlessly about trivial things, like taking care of his mother or doing basic cleaning duties while his family was out doing work while feeding me meals.

Though some deeper part of me was incredibly embarrassed at being taken care of in this way, I mostly felt relief that he took such meticulous care. I could have easily ended up in someone’s house who didn’t give a damn— or even worse, have never been found.

I make sure to tell Cicero my thanks after everything he does. He still finds it incredibly funny for whatever reason. I don’t bother asking why. Something inside feels like it would ruin his joke.

I could only hope he was just laughing because he thought it was sweet and not because he thought I was an idiot.

Around the third day, someone had come knocking on the door in the middle of meal time. It was the first time I’d seen the jester drop his usual jovial attitude into something more… menacing.

I stayed quieter than a wall when he carefully set the bowl to the side and hopped up to answer whoever had been there.

I never said anything when he returned either, muttering darkly under his breath and sharply grabbing the bowl and spoon once more as he plopped back down on his seat. Merely persevered through his more forceful feeding methods.

He seemed to calm down enough over time to realize his near stabbing motions towards me and apologized, but I just waved him off and gave him a weak smile.

“It’s rude to be interrupted… I can understand the frustration.”

He paused at that, staring intently at me, before a wide grin broke out over his lips. It damn near split his face.

“Oh yes, oh yes! Miss Allora understands. Cicero has a duty to fulfill, to get his dearest friend back to tip top shape! It cannot be interrupted, save for his duties to Mother!”

“And I would be mad on her behalf if I came before her.” I nodded. I was a stranger, she was his mother. Obviously she came first.

He was all smiles at that. Hummed endlessly as he carefully rubbed salvants all over my wounds that he could reach— the ones that hadn’t healed up from the potions anyways.

And yes, potions. Magick was real. It was very, very real.

Cicero had taken it unto himself to teach me the basics of his religion after we had discussed more generalized aspects of the world. The tenets, the father and the mother, his position. He kept it rather vague here and there, but I guessed it was either something he wasn’t allowed to discuss with outsiders or he thought it might be too much for my broken brain to handle.

Now on the fifth day, I was sitting up in bed, watching him make a salve with a mortar and pestle, smiling at the motions he no doubt went through often enough to have such a confident air about it. Something in me was soothed at the sight, finding comfort in the familiarity.

“Cicero is certain he is very handsome in the low lighting, but it is rude to stare!”

I jolted, looking up to his eyes to see them twinkling mischievously. I felt my face burn as I turned my head with a huff.

“I was watching you grind the ingredients. I… it…” I hesitated before admitting, “It’s familiar… and soothing.”

There was silence in the wake of my admittance, but only from his mouth. Round and round the pestle moved, dragging the ground pieces of flowers and whatever else he chose to place into the mixture.

“Cicero also finds it soothing. He is happy to have so many things in common with Miss Allora!”

I glanced back to see him smiling softer down at the mortar, seeing his eyes flicker my way.

I had to look away as the heat on my face became too much, especially at his following low laugh.

Mean jester.

Per my request, I was given an empty journal to use at my leisure to try and kick start my brain to remember anything by just letting my hand roam across the page. Many swirls came about as I just zoned out, filling the pages with endless incomplete circles looping from one end to the other in an attempt to jolt something.

The act of drawing was familiar. As was writing. I wrote my name many times on a few pages, eventually remembering my last name was White.

“Pretty, pretty!” Cicero had complimented, holding his hands together to his cheek. “Pretty name for a pretty lady! It suits you!”

It felt like he was trying to get a reaction from me at this point. Maybe that’s just what he did though.

Because as soon as he made me laugh once, he had spent the whole day trying to get me to laugh again. There had been a certain light in his eyes that flickered on at the sound. Less manic, more… eager.

It was quiet in here without him to fill the silence.

I had never hummed with him around, but I felt the urge to do so swell up in my chest multiple times while I’d been here. Songs faintly on the tip of the tongue, fading if I focused too hard. It drove me insane.

Any time I tried to write the words, they would disappear before I could put my charcoal to the page. And half the time, I wasn’t even sure they were the right words.

Depression was only scratching the surface of what I felt every time it slipped through my grasp.

Looking down at my page, I was surprised to see I had drawn two winged serpent creatures facing each other in the shape of a heart, wings outstretched, and claws holding onto one another for support.

Was this a sigil? Or a simple doodle from my mind?

I turned to Cicero, who had been packing up his things, and chewed my lip. There was really only one way to know…

“Cicero?”

“Yes, dearest friend of Cicero’s?”

I smiled and held out my journal to him. “Is this a symbol you recognize at all? I… I’m not sure.”

Perking up, Cicero dutifully plucked the journal from my hand and looked over the page, his smile widening with every second that passed.

“Miss Allora is very fond of swirly lines!”

I pouted. “It’s just what naturally came out. But I meant the serpents.”

“Dragons!” Cicero corrected with a grin. “Miss Allora drew dragons! But this isn’t any symbol Cicero recognizes. He is so very sorry.”

“No, that’s okay, I just wasn’t sure.” I laughed softly, taking the journal back in hand.

Dragons, huh?

…My brow creased in thought. Something thumped inside my chest as I focused on the drawing. Why did that feel so… pointed? Was something wrong with my heart?

Or—

I flinched lightly as a hand came into view and a finger poked my forehead.

“Miss Allora will gather too many wrinkles if she continues with that face!” Cicero sang out, gently herding me to lie down. He plucked the journal from my hands and set it carefully to the side on the nightstand, tucking me in.

I let him motherhen me, knowing it was fruitless to try and tell him otherwise.

“Cicero must go tend to Mother now, but he will be back to check on you afterwards!” He promised, patting my head softly. It was like a ritual for him at this point.

“All right. Thank you for keeping me company.” I smiled up at him, trying to put the thought of dragons out of my mind.

They weren’t real after all.

[alexanderlightweight]

Anything in pray to the hunters or a continuation of the hair prompts would simply slap so hard they both itch my brain in very good and very different yet also vaguely similar ways 1000/10 i hope you’re having a good one

i get that because they're both a very different mood and vibe to write ^_^ so i'm glad they're good itches!

hope you enjoy pray to the hunters (cannibalism and necromancy/death magic in this verse)

<3 lumine

-

Magnus lets his shadowhunter leave with the promise of another meeting between them, the taste of Alexander on his tongue and death magic in their bellies.

It takes everything for Magnus not to call upon the death magick that dances sensually around him, begging him to reach out and harvest it.

He will harvest it, but first Alexander needs to retreat to a place where Magnus’ magick will not reach for him. Because if Alexander is anywhere other than an Institute’s hallowed ground, then Magnus will call and he will call for Alexander and his magick will bring his boy to him.

Alexander didn’t know what Magnus was when he offered that heart.

His boy doesn’t know the craving he’s unlocked, the path he’s set himself upon now. Magnus can still taste him, feel the press of him and the skeletal palm of Alexander’s ancestors around his heart. It’s a bitterly cold bite, nephilim necromancy isn’t a type of Magnus has ever truly seen or been immersed with until now.

Magnus sighs and licks the pointed tips of his teeth and relishes the rare flavor of nephilim blood on his tongue. It’s been far too long since he’s feasted with this particular ambrosia and Magnus wonders what kind of rituals Alexander does on the regular, for this one to be so intense.

Magnus summon a drink and then frowns, putting it aside, unwilling to lose the flavor and feel of his boy so soon. Magnus crosses to his balcony, where he’s allowed himself a view in the direction of the Institute. While he doesn’t open the door — the temptation would be too great — Magnus watches in that direction until he can no longer feel Alexander’s footsteps on the ground that Magnus rules.

Soon, Magnus reminds himself as he carefully begins to harvest the magick that is so eager for his touch, Magnus will get his boy where he wants him. Once he has him, Magnus can merely sip from Alexander’s own lips again, as he did earlier and as often as he wishes.

Magnus wraps the saturation of death around him like a cape and welcomes it into his core.

New York was not an idle battleground, Valentine was too desperate to gain control of such a powerful Institute and too mad to care for anything other than his own cause.

The deaths of thousands have lingered for years now, enemies and allies alike. Magnus calls them to him, sings them into his presence and then weaves their powers through the galaxy of his magic until he’s creating constellations of death in his core.

While his blood is powerful enough to bind the rest to him, Magnus has been waiting for the opportunity to claim the nephilim deaths as well. The ones not consecrated to their angel but burned so that no one could be used for rituals in the rush of retreat. Sometimes they’d light their own people on fire with runes that magick couldn’t extinguish, wounded enough to heal but not healthy enough to escape on their own. Left behind like the cannon fodder Valentine used them as.

Alexander has given him such a lovely, unexpected gift and Magnus uses the deep, aching reseves of frost to coat his magic so that the angelic souls he calls will not tear through his core. Alexander’s own necromancy wraps around him in a chilled embrace of protection and Magnus claims the rest of the souls without a flicker of pain. When his father first taught him this, he had brought Magnus the hearts of many nephilim with which to practice with.

The strength and obsessive claim of death on Alexander makes Asmodeus’ ritual seem like child’s play and Magnus croons a song, weaving it into his wards and he lets himself look one last time to the Institute.

It would happen soon enough.

[sovaghoul]

I wrote this many years ago, prose to convey the Beltane myth. It's sensual and erotic but not explicit, implied het!sex. Please enjoy.

💝 Joyous Beltane 💝

The Maid waited anxiously in the Grove, knowing soon that Her Love would emerge from the trees. Although She knew exactly what was to happen this night, She was no less excited. To be reunited with the Lord She loves above all others after His death in the Fall, the cold lonely Winter, and the teasings of Spring, this first day of Summer was remarkable indeed.

When She at last heard the approaching footsteps, She dropped Her shift to the ground, Her pale skin radiant in the rising Moonlight. The Magick of the Full Moon sparked, sizzled, and cracked around Her as Her Love drew ever closer. Finally, after seemingly endless moments, a form silhouetted against the setting Sun at the edge of the trees.

Her breath caught as He stepped forward, His beauty far greater than She remembered (as seemingly happened every year). She took in His defined, lean muscles, the grace in His stride, the passion in His eyes. The ends of His dark tousled hair barely brushed the ruddy flesh of His shoulders, His budding antlers peeking through the mass above His forehead. His desire for Her was obvious as He continued His advance, and the Maid let loose a peal of joyous, inviting laughter.

Seeing Her, the young buck of a God broke into a run, His hunger now barely contained. Her silken hair fell in delicate waves to the middle of Her back, a fawn-colored waterfall from the crown of Her head. Her eyes glowed at Him even from a distance, and the rapid rise and fall of Her bosom only excited Him all the more. Within moments He was in arms’ reach of the Maid, and His hands nearly itched with the anticipation of caressing the soft, supple curves of Her body. A flittering déjà vu flickered in His mind, a faint memory of another tryst not unlike this one. He shook it from His thoughts though as He stopped, leaving little more than a hair’s breadth between Him and His Love.

His panting breath was warm and bore the lush scent of the woods as it met the Maid’s face, His eyes flashing and His heart pounding from more than just the sprint. She remembered His face, of course, even though the last time She saw Him as Her Consort, He had been old and weathered. She knew that only His Divine Soul remembered Her, not His young conscious mind; He always lost His powers of recollection on His yearly sacred journey to the Underworld. She, however, is eternal, and so while Her age cycles as well, She never leaves as He does. The Dark of the Moon obscures Her face, and the Winter months take their toll, but She still remains. It didn’t matter though that the memory was gone from His mind, He still knew and understood His destiny, and tonight would be the first of many milestones as this Once and Future King traversed His path in this incarnation.

For a moment, both were still, each drinking in the naked form of the other. She drew Her breath, He licked His lips. She smiled, and He spoke;

“My Lady, will You come dance with Us?” His deep, gentle voice carried all the raw power and promise of fulfillment proven by years past, stretching back to the beginning of time. It shot sensuous lightning bolts through the Maid’s thighs, as this hallowed ritual exchange did each year.

“With joy, My Lord,” She answered, Her words chiming like silver bells, Her breath sweet and cool as honeyed wine. The God smiled, showing His white teeth, and grasped the Maid at Her waist, lifting Her and spinning about. He laughed full in His throat, a sound like the harmonious choir of the forest creatures. When He set Her on the ground again, She still smiled, and He held Her close to Him, His lust evident against Her bare hip.

Her eyes, bright with seduction, gazed up at Him through Her lashes, and She whispered, “My Lord, will You come love with Us?”

His blood boiling and His need spilling over, the God growled His answer, “With joy, My Lady.”

Before the final word left His lips, They had tumbled, limbs entangled, to the soft grass of the meadow.

[churchobones]

DWC Day 4: Vengeance

<<PREV | NEXT>>

“And then... I remember...”

Bruce looked down at his arm. His skin was pale as the waning moonlight, black veins writhing with every weakened pulse of his heart. His head swam, vision dim and distant.

Bruce looked up. “The Red Witch. What do you know of her?”

The little lord pursed his lips.

“The legend of E’Andusore… The whore told you, did she?” The shards of whispering shadow framing his head began to spin, building momentum.  “It’s a tale lost to most of my people.

“She was a vicious crone who haunted a powerful magic circle; she and her nightmare hound, Narral’thix.  The sacred site held the key to Life after Death; the natural cycle made manifest in mana.  A power she used to butcher innocents and turn farmland fallow.

“As the story goes,” the lord smiled grimly.  “She ate the dog’s heart to tap into the circle’s power, raising a mighty tree surrounded by a bramble thicket miles wide that only she could pass through unscathed.

“Until the Lady came with fire.  A mother desperate to save her son.”

“Three times I've asked about that story now. The first time I heard it, She shared Her memory with me-- that old Oak Tree.”

Bruce's jaw set as the plaintive mew of a kitten long passed echoed in his mind. In that mansion, where Zelion’s family portraits lined the walls and an Oak Tree split the marble floors, he'd heard her cries.

Her coat was mottled brown with camouflage not yet shed. Milk teeth flashed in the darkness. Paws too big for her scrambled, begging purchase.

Emerald magicks flared outwards from his touch, along the grooves of the Oak’s bark, scrawling up and down the trunk.  A whistling shimmer grew twice as loud from below, a tremor taking the ballroom floor felt up through the soles of his feet to his knees; enough to require bracing but not enough to steal his legs out from beneath him. The floor splintered beneath the kit’s paws, a desperate cry falling away into the darkness below until there was nothing left to be heard but the burgeoning hum of the awakened tree.

She regarded him with a tingle that remained in his fingertips and pricked at his thumbs.  The Oak spoke only by willing a single word to the forefront of his mind: Vengeance.

Her bark served him as second eyes, racing down Her formidable length past the vine covered, stone walls of the cellars, deeper still past crypts, dirt, stone, bone until they reached where Her strongest roots anchored.  She was framed by a circle of fallen trees, Her roots wrapped protectively over an ancient altar of jasper.  The dead lynx cub’s broken back never made it to the stone.

And then the Oak stood silent.

  “I was wondering if I’m no better off than that kitten when Kallarel--”

The smell of sulfur filled the worgen's lungs. Hellfire: the scent which lingered as the bramble brands crawled into skin; the scent which pierced the air with every lit cigarette. He focused on the sickening sweetness alone.

One by one, the arch over his heart gave way as Kallarel tore into the hallway, a manifested monster hot on her high heels with a blazing green gem alight in a chest once empty.

By the third spout of blighted blood, the witch was upon them; beauty, beast and burden all.

By the fourth, her hands were alight with a green fire to match the flame licking the demon’s panting tongue.

By the fifth, the lord’s prone figure was cloaked in cold shadow, absconded without a trace apart from the faintest flicker of rot against the nostrils before the witch could claim him.

And as the last of Zelion’s void crystals burst in Bruce’s chest, the haphazardly placed shard split in two with a deafening crack.

“I can’t... I can’t have died that night. I didn’t. But I dreamed. I dreamed... I was in a house-- the house in Gilneas. With my wife-- with my dead wife, Sophia.”

It was shamefully small, that old cabin in Gilneas. Sophia had given up everything for him-- lands, titles and inheritance. In exchange, Bruce had built a shack with leaky walls and slept with her on the far side of the kitchen for fourteen years.

Now they sat across from one another at the dinner table.

“I thought it might come to this.”

Bruce felt sick. There was a teacup in front of him, which rattled quietly.

“I miss you,” he said. Her face was just as he remembered it; prominent cheeks smattered with freckles and a button nose.

She rolled her eyes-- big, stormy and blue. The same ones he saw every time he looked at his daughter. “You’re doing fine without me.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be. I mean it. I'm proud of how Lizzie turned out. But if you want, you can join me now. You can rest.”

The knot in his stomach twisted.

“You don’t have to,” she went on. “Not everyone gets a choice, but you will.”

The tips of his fingers felt cold as ice. The table trembled below.

She smiled. It was warm and remarkably genuine-- like a candle in the night. “I know this is what you want, Bruce.”

The support beams above his head cracked. Dust fell in a plume, rippling his tea.

“Just know--” she hesitated, expression soft-- “you’re messing with powers you don’t understand. The Gods may never forgive you for this.” 

His chest squeezed. He couldn’t breathe.

“But I'll help guide you home,” she said.

@daily-writing-challenge

[nokingsonlyfooles]

OK OK, Finish the feed and plug the thing

Been distracted by current events and guilty for lack of productivity, but you're not gonna look at it if I don't keep bothering you!

You clicked this yet?

YOU WILL! Oh-ho, yes. The water shall inevitably wear away the stone! Or you'll slip up while trying to scroll on your phone. I'll take either! Noooo, don't just close it out! It has found families and cool magic-punk shit and politics.... WAIT! COME BACK! I'M SORRY I MENTIONED THE POLITICS!

Known Readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10

Known supporters: Still not asking but I'm gonna come back with another six pack next week. I'm too impatient to wait indefinitely for my vision and illustrating ability to stabilize.

And you get a sample, under the cut! Let's see, what am I feeling proud of today...?

[How about something from Meet the Roll-A-Dance, my narrative-form cast intro. You can meet most of the main characters this way! And see how they play Steampunk DDR!]

“All right,” Hyacinth said, stepping onto the dance pad. “I’m not going to be good at it, but I know how to do it, so I’m going first. You all have to play,” she informed them, pointing a finger. “Except maybe Mordecai.”

Mordecai snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “What, because I’m old?”

“Because you don’t breathe very well and I’m afraid it might kill you. But yes, also, you are old.”

“You’re not exactly young, Hyacinth.”

“No, but I have regular meat lungs that work better than yours.” 

“And whose fault is that?” he cried.

She tipped up her nose. “Furthermore, I am more than willing to humiliate myself to have a good time — which is not required, but helps.”

There were a few snickers from the group of them, Sanaam and the kids especially.

“Okay!” she said. “Don’t stand on the frame. Stand on the buttons, the left and right buttons. When two arrows come up at once, you have to jump and hit both. You need to hit the arrows when they come up to the line. They follow the music. This looks like a newer machine, so they’ll probably light up and disappear. Songs are here, difficulty is here.” She left it on Normal, her pride would not allow her to dial it back to Easy. She had played these things before, damn it. “I think that’s all, but it’s been a while since I’ve played. If I remember anything else, I’ll say it.”

She selected “Nina, Pretty Ballerina.” A simple tune of five notes played as a metal arm bearing a thick scroll of paper slid into the gaping space at eye-level and spooled from bottom to top. A thin gold wire across the top of the page flickered to light.

Nina, Pretty Ballerina — ABBA was printed at the top of the scroll. The paper began to roll. One of the boxes lit up with a ping. Sing Along! it advised.

“You are forbidden from singing along,” Hyacinth said quickly. She was trying to remember the damn thing after maybe thirty years. She did not require vocal accompaniment, especially a goofy-ass song like “Nina, Pretty Ballerina.”

There were rectangular punches on the scroll, lyrics, and arrows. When the punches reached the top, the band organ cranked up and cheerfully began to play. There were drums, whistles, a xylophone and the organ itself available, as well as various sound effects, such as the boo and a cheer. The arrows were magicked and they glowed. When they reached the gold line, they flashed and vanished.

Oh, my damn dress, Hyacinth thought, as she landed two steps and flubbed a third. It wasn’t as bad as some of the numbers David had put her in, but it was ankle length and it interfered when she picked up her feet. She hitched up the skirt in both hands, then rolled it into her left and held it against one hip.

Boo! the machine admonished her, regardless, blinking the sign.

“You hear it?” she said breathlessly, grinning.

Sanaam was grinning back at her, he nodded. Milo was rocking back and forth with a vague smile; he liked the music. Lucy was dancing in place with a big smile; she liked it too. Maggie and Calliope were watching the scroll, Erik was watching her feet. The General had her arms folded and was examining the ceiling.

Mordecai said, “It’s deliberately annoying.” He winced as she missed another step. “And flat.”

“I told you!” she cried. The Boo! sign was blinking regularly now, warning her against further errors. Aw, come on, she thought. Let me finish! I’ve almost got it!

Boo! The sign lit up solid. The roll spooled rapidly to the top and ejected.

“Crap!”

She got a smattering of applause. Mordecai and the General abstained. Lucy was particularly enthused. “Play it again!” she demanded.

Hyacinth bowed. She shook her head and threw down the skirt of her dress. “I’ve had my turn. Someone else try.”

“I wanna!” Lucy cried, lifting a hand.

“Well, you might be a little short for it, but okay…” Hyacinth read off the songs for her.

“‘Butterfly’!” said Lucy. “I want that one!”

Hyacinth punched it in. “B… 6…”

Lucy had absorbed that you needed to push the buttons and look at the arrows. Everything else had gone over her head. She also did not seem to notice that the machine was chastising her. She smiled the whole time. Calliope also smiled the whole time. Everyone else winced. The machine gave her twenty seconds of missing every single step before it ejected the roll.

“Aw, it’s so fast,” she complained. “Can I go again?”

“Everyone gets one song,” Hyacinth said, helping her down. “To start. You can have another later if you like.”

“Okay…”

Milo had a go next. He wasn’t familiar with most of the songs, but he did like that first one. He selected “Intermezzo No. 1.” It was by the same group. Also, it had a number in it. The scroll slid into place. Sing Along! did not light up for this particular piece.

He stood on the left and right arrows and considered the scroll.

That’s a little stiff. It needs oil.

So, what am I looking at here?

The punches were for the band organ. Vertical axis for timing, horizontal for which note and which instrument. Simple enough. But some of the punches weren’t playing.

Is that supposed to happen? Did I screw up?

“Milo, you’re supposed to hit the arrows,” Hyacinth said.

Milo frowned. This music was unpleasant.

Oh, wait, I see. The punches it plays are contingent upon the arrows. If the arrows are entered incorrectly, then this set of punches engages. Correct entry plays a completely different set.

“Was he not here when I explained about the arrows?” Hyacinth muttered aside.

It’s meant to be unpleasant. The arrows are…

The scroll spooled and ejected.

Excuse me, I was looking at that!

Milo selected “Intermezzo No. 1” again. The scroll slid into place and began to roll.

Okay. I get it now. This is all code. The punches are code for the machine and the arrows are code for me. We’re supposed to compliment each other. It’s playing the music so I have an auditory cue for when to enter my part.

“Mordecai, do you think he’s hypnotized or something?” Hyacinth said.

If I enter my code properly, it will reward me with nice music. Let’s see, that means jump, and that means turn in a circle. Ah! And the arrows with trails on them are sustained. This is easy! I don’t have nearly as much to do as the machine!

The scroll spooled and ejected.

Milo selected “Intermezzo No. 1” again.

“Auntie Hyacinth, he’s had three plays,” Lucy said.

“He’s not playing,” Hyacinth replied.

Milo started to play. For the first little bit, he kept glancing down at his feet, but that threw off his timing so he quit it. The buttons were pretty darn big, anyway. It was supposed to be easy for him. It was a game. He landed his first jump partway on one of the spaces between the buttons and frowned at himself. He was disappointing the machine. He pulled back his shoulders and tried to be a little more machine-like himself.

Up. Down. Left. Right. Eighth note. Quarter note. Oh! The different beats are different colours! This is so simple. It’s telling me everything I need to know.

Except where the buttons were, but if he metered his motions and paid attention, they were no trouble either.

“Holy shit, he’s good at it,” Hyacinth said softly. This wasn’t a thing you were meant to be good at. You were meant to be sort of mediocre at it and just frustrated enough to keep feeding it coins.

The cheer engaged.

Hey! All right! Best possible code version!

What a nice machine. With all the information and the feedback, it was like it was holding your hand the whole time. He nailed the rest of the song, despite the code’s occasional playful attempts to get him tangled in his own feet.

When the roll ejected, it applauded him.

So did his friends.

He smiled.

That was really fun! I like doing code! Why am I tired?

He had just been pushing buttons the whole time. They weren’t even that far apart.

It’s rather fast, Milo.

He subtly shook his head. Ann, I work on an assembly line. Don’t talk to me about fast.

Calliope took his hand to help him down and she wrapped both arms around his waist. “That was really cute,” she told him. She planted a light kiss on his cheek.

He gazed longingly at the machine. Aw, I want to go again.

But, maybe breathe first. Maybe breathe for a while, actually.

Maggie wanted to hear “Butterfly” as it was meant to be played – not in punishment mode. She commandeered the pad next and selected the song. She was good enough to keep it from ejecting immediately, but she still lit up the Boo! sign at regular intervals. It did not help that Milo kept leaning in, pointing at the scroll, and saying NO LOOK NO LOOK, like she didn’t get she was supposed to be doing the steps on the scroll.

“I see it, Milo!” she snapped finally, and that got him to back off. She got through the song, but the machine was not overly impressed with her. It did not applaud. Yeah, well, screw you too. She offered it a sign of her own.

“Magnificent!” the General cried.

“What?” said Maggie. “What do you want me to do? Apologize to it?”

“Apologize to Lucy and Calliope!”

Maggie sighed. She dropped a sarcastic curtsy, with her fingers plucking empty air above her trousers. “I am so sorry Miss Otis and Miss Otis. I will warn you the next time I intend to be rude so that you may avert your sensitive eyes.”

“S’all right,” Calliope said.

“Huh?” Lucy said.

“That thing is a bad influence,” the General muttered.

Grinning and nodding, Hyacinth replied, “It’s meant to be!”

[You can, of course, read the whole thing at the site and meet everyone!]

[definitelynotshouting]

prompt for you: Devotion,Corruption, Fire

HI ANON FROM SEVERAL MONTHS AGO I HOPE THE WAIT FOR THIS WAS WORTH IT<3

ao3 link here

Conversion is a mangled corpse between the damp, moldy cracks of the Academy of Natural Magicks' stone basement; seconds dribble into hours, sloughing off time in snake-shed beats. Behind him, water drips from the ceiling– a slow, inexorable rhythm drifting forward to echo over waterlogged high beams. Each pass distorts them further, until the background patter fades into nothing more than a canvas of blank, white noise.

Scar's own whispers rustle within this gentle static. Tone soft, quiet– just low enough to parse over the filmy acoustics. Any louder and they too will warp, and this ritual requires more precision than his clumsy tongue can afford to fumble.

On a technical level, the rite he’s performing is paltry compared to what he executed all those heady months back– chalk-powder in concentric circles, a matchbook, the potential for flame. Simple. Too simple; any of his old professors (Academy-trained, tried, and true) would have failed him for presenting such a stripped summoning spell. But half the magic lies in intent– with enough bull-headed, scrabbling belief, you can claw anything into a shape of your choosing.

Grian had taught him that.

That belief is what brings him here now, sliding open his pilfered matchbox and drawing out a single stick. Scar shivers, chants through it with chattering teeth; they took his warm Academy robes when they cast him out, stripping him of all but a pittance of hard-won power. He suffers the indignity with raised gooseflesh, gritting his teeth against the urge to rub heat back into his bare arms.

Instead, for one long, slinking moment, Scar's eyes trace pockmarks in the match's head. Trails over its dips and curves, lungs fluttering, stomach clenched around a cold, bitter pit. Splinters dig beneath his fingernails as one last sibilant breath rushes from his lungs, carrying with it the final syllable that will mold his heart into an anchor. The Academy's basement wavers in response, as the weight of Scar's belief sinks into stone, wood, and skin alike.

One breath. Two. No room for doubt– no room for second chances. Scar strikes the match and, with a deft flick of his hand, tosses it into the chalk-powder.

A boiling wreath of fire bursts from the circle all the way up to the ceiling, licking hot and red as it kisses the high beams. Scar flinches– an ingrained response as heat sears against his skin in one sizzling wave– but roots his feet to the floor, straining against the urge to step back. Instead, he raises both hands, palms out in supplication, and threads his intent into the fire.

Scarlet flickers to gold; Scar's breath shudders to a halt as the flames twist in on themselves, molten and writhing. Shadows spin against the ancient stone walls, forming wild, manic shapes that spit and hiss as the water surrounding them evaporates. Scar pays them no mind. In his heart is an icy, begging chasm; he has never been inclined to pray before, but just this once–

But– there. Deep within the fire, a shiver; a conflagrant tongue splits off, forking into the crude mimicry of an elongated star. Scar's lungs hitch as the flames coalesce, forming thin, brilliant shapes. A head, neck, and torso. Stocky legs. Muscled arms. Gilded hands and feet. Until at last, the broad stretch of shimmering wings flares out from its back–

With a deafening rush, Grian steps forth into the basement.

The world, once hazy and undefined, sharpens: colors saturating, contrast blooming as his eyes adjust to the new, softer luminescence of the spirit before him. Grian is unchanged from the day they were separated; his hair is just as tousled, eyes just as dark and obsidian-deep. Behind him, his wings– pulsing with the inner fire that birthed them– unfurl, extending to only half their width before the tips of each primary brush the walls. Then they retract, trails of light following in their wake– a cascade of ribbons that dance before Scar's eyes.

The breath Scar sucks in is more tremor than actual inhale; layering beneath his pulse is an echo, razor sharp and burning, layering neat, barbed wire lines around his heart. It's done. It's done. The warm prickle of Grian's presence once again winds between his ribs, igniting his veins and crawling under his skin with the insistent thrum of power. And of Grian himself…

Grian's eyes are fathomless and ancient, but inside them is the vicious strike of flint and steel– his lips tug into a wild grin, honed teeth on full display. "Hello, Scar," he says, warm and fond, and at last, the ice that had crystallized beneath his sternum three months ago shatters.

Scar's rushing forward before the last syllable even rings out, arms open and reaching. They tumble into each other with the force of an earthquake; Grian snakes his own arms around Scar's back, clutching so tight his bones threaten to creak. The gooseflesh over Scar's arms dissipate– Grian is a solid line of heat against him, hair soft where it tickles his chin. Scar buries his face in it, breathes the charcoal, ashen scent of him; when Grian pushes his nose into Scar's clavicle, they both shudder, pressing impossibly closer.

"Y'know," Scar whispers at last, lips brushing the crown of Grian's head, "I was a little scared that wasn't going to work."

Grian pulls back to bark a raw, manic laugh that bounces off the walls around them. "That was genius, actually," he says, tilting his neck back to peer into Scar's eyes. Sparks of electricity jolt through him as the gravity behind that uncanny gaze once again drags him past the event horizon. "I should've known you were going to try something like this– I just didn't think it was possible."

"I didn't either!" An answering giggle tangles in Scar's throat; his lungs have filled with bubbles. "That was really nerve wracking, to be honest. I think I almost messed up a few words there, but–" he breaks off, too entranced by the golden shimmer of Grian's curls to continue that line of thought. It’s done; that’s what matters. With reverent fingers, he traces the curve of Grian's cheek, pushing back an errant strand of hair before tipping forward to fold a kiss into the supple skin of Grian's jaw. A sparkling tingle hums through his lips with the contact.

Grian clicks his tongue, one hand shifting up Scar's back to tangle in the long hair at his nape. "Risky," he murmurs, but threads of admiration weave between the notes of his voice. Scar sinks into it, eyes slipping shut as Grian's clever fingers begin massaging hypnotic circles into his scalp. "You're a crazy man, using a summoning ritual instead of rebreaking the seal. How on earth did you manage that?"

"Oh, with a little bit of this, a little bit of that." Scar keeps his voice light, airy, but the effect crumbles as his balance wobbles, swaying him on his own feet. Every sleepless night, every desperate plan, every biting grudge he'd tucked away in the interim between his expulsion and Grian's return to his arms rises up, snapping at his ankles– threatening to unspool him at his fraying seams.

Grian's arms tighten, steadying; with a gusty, tremulous exhale, Scar bends down to rest his head against Grian's shoulder.

For a long, simmering moment, silence holds court in the basement. Even the water plinking from the ceiling has volatilized; only the low beat of Scar's pulse, slowing from its hummingbird pace, remains.

"Did they hurt you?" Grian asks without warning, voice hoarse.

Scar stills. The memories of that night are etched into his bones, boiling within his marrow– it takes no effort to bring back the mocking bite of the shackles, the way every nerve had exploded in firework bursts as they stole the magick from him. Humiliation lingers in the cracks between memories, growing in thick, ramshackle vines– but this moment is too fragile for anything less than truth.

"It wasn't exactly pleasant," Scar admits, and shivers when Grian's hand flexes sharply in his hair.

"They'll pay for that," Grian says, bordering on a snarl that singes the air around them. Danger hisses along its edges; the thrill that shoots up Scar's spine is a familiar spike of jittery adrenaline, flooding his synapses with crystalline clarity. "For hurting you, and putting me back in that cage– never again, Scar. I won't be letting them get away with this."

And these are the words of a promise, spoken with scintillating power, sinking into the foundations of every brick and stone on the Academy's campus. Scar raises his head from Grian's shoulder, reaching up to cup his cherished, timeless face. Leans in; his lips mold to Grian's in a soft slide that firms from chaste to hungry within seconds, nipping teeth chased by the gentle swipe of a tongue.

"We'll kill them all," he breathes against Grian's mouth, and this too is a vow, painted against the soft, malleable flesh of Grian's lower lip. "Every last one of them."

"I'll hold you to that," Grian murmurs, and reels him back in for another heady kiss.