#OH MY GOD MAGICAL BOX POWERS???????????????????????????

[seafoam-taide]

i just watched the amphibia season 2 finale im freaking the fuck out holy shit holy shit holy shit oh my GOD FSDFSHFLSJDFJKSDGSDF THIS SHOW THIS SHOW THIS SHOW THIS SHOW THIS SHOW THIS SHOW AHFSJFKKJSFDHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA holy fuck. im. ohhh my god. fuck. holy shit. fuck. dude. fuck. i dont think im ever gonna recover oh my god holy  fucking shit

[peachesofteal]

The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends. 

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone. 

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera- 

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.  

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along? 

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this? 

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo. 

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.  

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

 “I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold. 

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods. 

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.  

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.  

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not- 

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.  

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment. 

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone. 

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand. 

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day. 

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core. 

Ungovernable Persephone. 

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.” 

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison. 

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still… 

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling. 

My darling… 

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.  

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort? 

No. 

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself. 

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away? 

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack. 

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?  

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth. 

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld. 

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try. 

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them? 

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you. 

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool. 

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What? 

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck. 

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from. 

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic. 

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town? 

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.��� He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have? 

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway? 

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them? 

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose? 

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.  

Fuck. 

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool. 

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always. 

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him? 

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods. 

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough. 

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more. 

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are. 

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

[jjunieworld]

── meet cute `🪄` . ִ ֗ 

pairing: kang taehyun x gn!reader

genre: fluff fluff fluff, strangers to ???, magician!taehyun, some crack ??? idk

synopsis: you had a thought and a dream, you were going to be a magician. so you did what one who wants to be a magician does next, you went to a magic store. and what did you do? accidentally knock over a shelf of bang snaps and came face to face with an actual magician.

word count: 1k┊v-day event masterlist┊masterlist

a/n: part four of my v-day event! cute and short little drabble after that heavy and angsty ass beomgyu oneshot! that episode of academy reincarnation really ignited a light in me. y/n also really reminds me of that one scene of rachel mcadams in the hot chick lmao.. i hope you enjoy! ♡

all your life you only wanted only one thing: to have magical powers. unfortunately, this was the real world. so, you had to do the next best thing—become a magician.

that’s how you ended up in the magic shop out in the outskirts of your town—the star seeker’s magical emporium—wandering up and down the aisles aimlessly. your fingers trailed along the various items. from cliché magical wands to stuff for making things “disappear,” this store had it all.

you were lost in your thoughts, thinking of how you could use all the items you saw when your eyes had caught on a product claiming that it could make you bend metal. in your distracted state, your legs had kept moving and in turn, you ran straight into the display of bang snaps.

the display and open boxes fell to the floor, loud snapping and sparks everywhere. you had jumped back in shock, a loud gasp coming from your lips, when an employee ran over with wide eyes. “oh my god… oh my god, i’m so—so sorry!” you sputtered, turning your attention to the employee.

he was wearing one of those stereotypical magician costumes, the ones with the top hat, cape, and tailored tailcoat. his gloved white hand held a thick, plastic looking wand. his dark hair was styled to the side out of his eyes. if it weren’t for the deep embarrassment and your face heating up, you would remark to yourself on how cute he was.

you got down to the floor as you began trying to clean everything up. “oh, it’s okay! don’t worry about it…” the employee said as he got down to help you. you looked at his name tag. taehyun.

“i completely destroyed the display, oh my god! how much does it all cost?” you asked as the two of you got everything cleaned up. you got to your feet at the same time he did, wiping the palms of your hands on your jeans. taehyun waved a hand in the air, “it’s really no problem! nobody really buys those things anyways except the kids who come in once in a blue moon.”

taehyun waved his plastic wand in the air and you chuckled. “see? abracadabra! now it’s like none of it ever happened!” he gave you a big smile as you returned the favor. “really? thank you so much!” you exclaimed. he rolled back and forth onto his tiptoes for a moment. “is there anything else i can help you with?” taehyun asked.

you hummed for a moment in thought, “no… but you work here! can you show me any magic tricks?” taehyun scoffed playfully, “can i show you any magic tricks… follow me!” he led you back to the counter and made his way behind it as he dug into the cash register.

taehyun pulled out a quarter and held it up in the air to show you. “watch as i make this quarter… disappear!” he beamed as he waved his other hand in front of the quarter. your eyes widened in shock, a smile creeping its way onto your lips as he held both of his hands up in the air. they were both empty.

“let me guess, it’s it your glove?” you said with a smug smile. you had watched hours of magic videos on the internet and knew just about every trick there was. taehyun shook his head, chuckling, “that’s for amateurs, i’m the real deal!”

he reached behind your ear, his hand brushing against the side of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. you heard a slight “ding!” sound as taehyun pulled his hand back, quarter sitting in it. with raised eyebrows and a smile still on his face, he presented it to you.

smiling, you crossed your arms across your chest. “okay, okay! but i want something cooler!” taehyun’s smile turned to a smirk and he leaned over the counter towards you. “alright… but for this one i’m gonna need your id, please!” you playfully furrowed your eyebrows at him and reached into your bag.

when you got your id out of your wallet, you slid it over to him on the counter and taehyun grabbed it, doing a little spin in the process. you laughed at his display and he smiled at you. “are you ready… y/n?” taehyun asked as he glanced down at your id and you nodded eagerly.

taehyun did a little show of waving his hand in front of your id, making it disappear and reappear. his eyebrows raised slightly as he held it up in front of you, eyes shining, before flicking the card quickly. with wide eyes, you held your hand over your mouth as your id turned into a small white card you didn’t see him grab.

he slid the card across to you on the counter, then waved his hand over it so your id was next to it. taehyun gave you a shy smile. you grabbed the white card from the counter and turned it over. it had his name and number written on it. grinning from ear to ear you looked back up at him.

“let me take you to dinner sometime? i can show you way better magic tricks than this… the store kind of limits me,” taehyun asked, looking away from your eyes briefly. you giggled and nodded at his proposal. “are you free tonight?” you asked him, placing the two cards back in your wallet.

taehyun chuckled and nodded, scratching the back of his head and making his top hat fall into his eyes ever so slightly. “i am, it’s a date! i’ll see you tonight!”

© jjunieworld - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

permanent taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @rapmonie2047 @riaawr

v-day event masterlist┊masterlist┊request rules

[eve-reviews]

ㅤ Once Upon a Time is a thirteen-year old’s fanfiction that was found by the creators of Lost and stolen for a show in hopes of making some money off the teen population. If the half-formed faux-edgy characters or bad acting doesn’t sell you on just how poorly this show was made, the terrible CGI definitely will. The first season revolves around a character named Emma Swan, aka The Savior, coming to the town of Storybrooke where her son tries to convince her that the town is actually full of fairytale characters that are under a memory erasing spell. The show has a way of making you forget that you’re watching a fairytale story until later you realize that “Oh! They just had Prince Charming cheat on his wife with Snow White. And then The Evil Queen framed Snow White for the murder of Prince Charming’s wife by hiding that wife’s heart in a box in the place Snow and Charming would always meet.”

ㅤ While the first season seems Wild, each subsequent season tries to outdo itself. The following seasons follow a clear formula constantly trying to convince you that it’s a good show. The creator’s favorite persuasion is to twist the usual fairytale stories and then play a dramatic stinger underneath it as if to convince the viewer to say, “oh shit!” Each time it makes this attempt, I am met with an intense feeling, but not the intended one. It’s a burst of laughter, a burn of secondhand embarrassment, and the impulse to share it with a friend so I don’t have to go through it alone (and may I say, I think my friends are starting to get sick of me).

            The show is held together by attempts to be a show that makes the viewer sit at the edge of the seat waiting to see what happens next. These attempts often involve corrupting or redeeming a “good” or “evil” character respectively. While the show constantly brings in numerous characters from Disney movies or any other existing story for that matter (such as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea), it seems to forget this sometimes, so we are left with characters who have been corrupted and redeemed 6 times alone (in Rumpelstiltskin’s case).

            Might I also add that the show often does a twist saying that two fairytale characters were actually the same one. If we take Rumpelstiltskin as an example again, he is at least three different characters off the top of my head. He also happens to be the Crocodile from Peter Pan and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast. This isn’t even counting the family tree. Please feel free to skip the rest of this paragraph while I sort that out. Rumpelstiltskin is the son of Peter Pan (who’s evil) and the Black Fairy (who’s the origin of all evil or something?). He has a grandson, Henry, who is also the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming. Henry also happens to be the adopted son of Regina, aka The Evil Queen. Regina if the daughter of the Queen of hearts and the sister of the Wicked Witch of the West. She’s also Snow White’s step-mother. Regina also happens to be soulmates with Robin Hood, who’s previous wife was sentenced to death by Regina before the curse. And Robin also had a daughter with the Wicked Witch but he didn’t know it was her at the time because she was pretending to be his dead wife.

            I’m stopping myself there. If you read any of that, you now hopefully know how complicated the lore is and how near impossible it is to explain. You may have also gleaned how fucking stupid it is. That was all just a small section of the family tree. The actual lore of this show involves people who are definitively good or evil (but they can be redeemed) and authors who are all powerful gods who control Everything but are also just Some Guy. And of course, a being of pure light magic called The Savior (Emma Swan aka Snow White and Prince Charming’s child) and a being of pure dark magic called The Dark One (Rumplestiltskin). I forced myself through the show. High out of my mind if I had to. And I gotta say, folks.

            I kinda love this show.

            At some point it starts to get confusing what the creators were thinking while making this show. You drive yourself crazy trying to put yourself in their heads. Do they know how dogshit it is? Are they trying to convince me this dogshit is actually fucking ratatouille? Or do they know it’s bad?

            By the end of season 6, I started to get the feeling that the writers had finally decided to accept that no one in the universe would consider this a good show; however, the show must go on so they may as well have fun with it. They finally left behind the attempts and just leaned into how bizarre the lore they’re spun truly is. They timeskip and they say. “Hey. We know that we’ve gone too far. We know we crossed a line somewhere along the way. But buddy? We’re not turning around. We’re gonna find throw back some brewskis and have a little fun.” And they decide to say that, “Actually? All those characters you just saw? The seemingly infinite number of them? That’s just the start. They’re just one of an actually infinite number of that same character that exists in the multiverse. We’re gonna make a new main character and she’s gonna be Cinderella. Yes, I know we already introduced Cinderella in season one. But this is a different Cinderella. From a different thirteen tear old’s fanfiction. “

            And so it becomes a show that clearly knows it’s bad. And I sit there and realize I had fun. And I realize that I’m still having fun. And I realize that that was the point. I spent the whole show taking everything so seriously, and for that, I partially blame the show for taking itself seriously. But somewhere along the way, the show stopped. And I followed suit shortly after. And it was fun.

            I loved watching Once Upon a Time.

[starleska]

Have you ever read the Twelve and Toymaker comic? It gives a few more interesting looks into how the Toymaker thinks that aren’t touched on in the novelisation. Most interestingly (and the main focus of the comic) is that the Toymaker is terrified of the universe outside of the Toyroom — which seems to be defined by its walls, in the novelisation the Toymaker puts particular emphasis on the walls with the candy-striped wallpaper lined with dolls — because it has no walls and because he doesn’t (didn’t? He does in the Giggle) have much control of it.

(‘‘The Toyroom is growing old, Doctor. So ancient that it no longer functions, as either prison or playground. The barriers between the Toyroom and the wider universe are growing thin, and it is this that has allowed you to wrest control of the toys, as my power wanes. Soon, there will be no Toyroom and I shall be loose in a wild, unforgiving universe, a cosmos with no walls. I can hardly conceive of such infinite horror.’’)

(‘‘You’ve given a madman access to the entire universe! With that sort of power, think what he’ll do!’’ ‘‘That’s just it, Clara, he doesn’t want the universe. Didn’t you hear him? He’s terrified of it. He can’t bear the thought of losing his control. He needs his safety net.’’)

And that he doesn’t tend to accept help unless he thinks he’s won it.

(‘‘So you’re just giving him the TARDIS?’’ ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m building a new Toyroom!’’ ‘‘Inside the TARDIS!’’ ‘‘Precisely! I had to let him think he’d won. He’d never accept my help otherwise.’’)

And THESE PANELS lives in my head

(‘‘I had to help him, Clara. Can you understand?’’ ‘‘Let me see... a lonely God, drifting through space and time in his magical toy box? Yeah, I think I understand, Doctor, all too well.’’)

The EU tends to give the Toymaker more than his actual TV appearances (mmmm his rambles about being alone in the void and the cold in the novelisation). I need to dissect him and study him in detail so bad

hello love!!! oh my goodness thank you for sending this my way, because i haven't read this comic yet but the sections you've sent me have absolutely broken my heart 💔 what an interesting look into the Toymaker's psyche…it makes perfect sense. when you're a trauma survivor of any kind, especially if you grew up in a traumatic environment, the control you're able to have over that environment (no matter how minimal) is often all that keeps you together…you have to find comfort in that there and whatever small safe space you can carve out for yourself to survive. this has given me a lot to think about, because i wrote the Toymaker with what i think was the canonisation given when he spoke to the Sixth Doctor; that the Toymaker created his Toyroom after a very long time of aimlessly using his powers, when he didn't have a concept of gameplay. there seems to be some contention about whether or not the Toymaker is the creator of the majority of older games in the universe/the concept of games (The Giggle seems to allude to that?), or if he was inspired by other beings who created the games first. i like to think it's a bit of both; that he is the originator of many early games and gameplay rules, but it was the barriers between the voidspace (and his Toyroom) which let in the ideas from other beings 👀 the idea that the Toyroom is the Toymaker's island of safety against a universe which fundamentally doesn't make sense to him is so distressing 😭💖 i think a lot of us who've gone through difficult things can relate to that experience…of having your safe place slowly eroded as circumstances change and you grow older. but it makes sense!!! if he had no one, and the only thing he could cling to were the rules of his games (seemingly the only thing which brings him joy), the inherent chaos of the universe would be terrifying to him. no matter how much he tries to make it so, the universe just isn't a game with rules that can allow him to win: it's random, and brutal. is it any wonder that he has such tantrums when he loses, or when he perceives someone to be cheating? it isn't just that he's upset about losing or bad sportsmanship...it's the literal fabric of his entire worldview being torn apart. oh lord the bit about him not accepting help unless he thinks he's won it…how familiar does that sound to those of us who were traumatised early on? needing to 'earn' things like affection, shelter, food, etc. by working twice as hard, because we feel we don't deserve it inherently...the fact that the Doctor shows the Toymaker such compassion even though the Toymaker is such a dangerous, destructive entity is a real credit to their character. i really appreciate The Giggle replicating that and showing how the Doctor empathises with the Toymaker's terror by offering to play with him...i wish we'd had more time to explore the 'vastness that will never cease'. i don't think that good or bad mean nothing to the Toymaker...i think he's petrified of it. suddenly we understand why he's so boastful about his abilities, like an arrogant child...he's asserting himself against the universe as the only safety he's ever known crumbles. god. my heart hurts - that image of him sitting with the dolls of himself and the Doctor is killing me. i am going to go and read this comic and cry now, thank you so much 😭💖 yes please do!!!! your insight into the Toymaker is fantastic and i'd love to see more character studies of him 😭💖

[goodnightmemes]

THE CRAFT (1996) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ I can't stay home and watch daytime TV for the rest of my life. ❜

❛ The almanac says today will bring an arrival of something. ❜

❛ We need someone to call out the corners-- north, south, east and west. ❜

❛ I am sorry. My defenses are up. People here have been really rude to me. ❜

❛ He comes on to anything with tits. ❜

❛ Everything in nature steals, you know. Big animals steal from little ones. ❜

❛ Maybe you're a natural witch. Your power comes from within. ❜

❛ I had a dream about you. In my dream, you were dead. ❜

❛ Man invented God. This is older than that. ❜

❛ Do you guys worship the devil? ❜

❛ Sometimes I will want it to rain, and a pipe will burst in my room and it will just get flooded. Or I will want it just to be quiet, and I will wish for it, and I will go deaf for three days straight. ❜

❛ Nothing makes everything all better again. ❜

❛ Maybe he was just trying to save face then... because... he's going around the whole school saying that... you're the lousiest lay he's ever had. ❜

❛ Why'd you lie about me? ❜

❛ Look, I don't want to go out with you again. Okay? Please stop begging. It's pathetic. ❜

❛ She's gonna cry, and then I am gonna cry. We're all gonna cry. ❜

❛ You girls watch out for those weirdos. ❜

❛ We are the weirdos. ❜

❛ Did you tell your friends? That you're a lying sack of shit. ❜

❛ Did you ever play that game, light as a feather, stiff as a board? ❜

❛ I think she doesn't want to be white trash any more. And I told her, "You're white, honey. Just deal with it." ❜

❛ Ever since I was a little girl I said, “All I want in life is a juke box that plays nothing but Connie Francis records.' ❜

❛ It's just that I can't stop thinking about you. I don't know why, but I think I love you. ❜

❛ I don't know what's happening to me. I can't eat. I can't sleep. ❜

❛ When you open a floodgate, how do you undo it? You unleash something with a spell. There is no undoing. It must run its course. ❜

❛ You should let him suffer. ❜

❛ It's not for you to judge suffering. ❜

❛ True magic is neither black nor white. It's both because nature is both. Loving and cruel, all at the same time. The only good or bad is in the heart of the witch. ❜

❛ Whatever you send out you get back times three. ❜

❛ You want to invoke the spirit? You must be experienced to do this. It's very dangerous. ❜

❛ You know, the serpent is a very powerful being. You should respect it. ❜

❛ Listen, all I am saying is I think it's enough already. ❜

❛ I know you think we're getting what we want now, but it's going to come back to us threefold. ❜

❛ Are we actually having a theological conversation here? ❜

❛ I mean, it's fun, it's scary. I mean, who gives a shit? ❜

❛ Stop trying to win them over, because it won't work. ❜

❛ How do you know what I look like? We're talking on the phone. ❜

❛ I disagreed with them once, and they turned their backs on me. That's not friendship. ❜

❛ Sometimes it's like we're one person. Know what I mean? ❜

❛ You should have seen the look in his eyes. It was so weird. They seemed empty, like it wasn't even him. ❜

❛ You're a witch! They were right. ❜

❛ The only reason you're in love with her is because she cast a spell on you. Sad, but true. ❜

❛ You don't even exist to me! You don't even exist. You are nothing. ❜

❛ The only way you know how to treat women is by treating them like whores! ❜

❛ He's sorry? Oh, he's sorry! He's sorry! He's sorry! Sorry, my ass! ❜

❛ Don't touch me! Everything I touch turns to shit. ❜

❛ You know, in the old days if a witch betrayed her coven... they would kill her. ❜

❛ I know I don't know you very well, but I just didn't know where else to go. ❜

❛ And now, it's like everywhere I turn, they're all around me. No matter what I do, ❛ they're still there. I don't know what to do. ❜

❛ She's inside my dreams. She knows what's going on inside my head. She can read my mind. ❜

❛ I can't control it. I always end up hurting somebody. ❜

❛ You must invoke the spirit. ❜

❛ If it isn’t real then why are you still bleeding? ❜

❛ Run! Run back up to your room like the little coward that you are. ❜

❛ What's going on? Why aren't you dead? ❜

❛ He came to me. Saved me. And he wanted me to give you a message. You're in deep shit. ❜

❛ By the way, what happened to [name]? They rushed out of here without even saying good-bye. That's bad manners. ❜

❛ Relax. It's only magic. ❜

❛ Look. I know I am a little crazy. I don't mean to be. ❜

❛ It all got out of hand, and I am sorry. No more games, okay? ❜

❛ We were just wondering, do you still have any powers? Because we don't. ❜

❛ Hold your breath until I call. ❜

❛ Be careful. You don't want to end up like [name]. ❜

[silver-pieces]

she loves it

Pairing: dom!Wanda Maximoff x (afab) fem!reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Synopsis: Your secret arrangement with Wanda is getting harder to hide in front of the others. Wanda pushes her control over you to new limits.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (sex w/ magic, fingering, orgasm denial), spanking, dom/sub, consensual mind control, roleplay, heavy exhibitionism

A/N: Part 2 of You Will Beg. Shoutout to my ⚡️ anon for giving me ideas for our reader’s superhero name. Name idea came from her OC’s superhero name, Voltage 🥰 I’m so happy with how this turned out and so nervous to share it to the world! Reblogs & comments are especially appreciated. I hope you enjoy... 

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Wanda ❊ Taglist

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“You’re really killing it out there, Sparky.”

You shoot Natasha a look that says seriously? but she just grins and leans back, swiping her drink from the table.

“I really hate that nickname.”

“What? It’s cute, right ladies?” she insists, looking to the others for support. To Wanda, who has been sitting across from you all night.

Mouth suddenly dry, you down, twisting your hands in your lap.

From beside you Maria snorts and mutters, “sounds like a dog’s name,” to which Natasha makes a sound of outrage while the rest of you break out into giggles.

“Wanda, back me up on this.”

Shit. You look up sheepishly.

Wanda meets your eyes and shrugs nonchalantly. “I like it.”

“Yesssss!” Nat claps her hands in victory, but you barely notice, rooted in place by Wanda’s gaze. She lifts a bottle to her lips, not breaking eye contact with you until she has to tip her head back to take a proper swig. You follow the movement of her throat as she swallows, before looking down at your hands again. A tiny pulse runs along your palm, matching the spark you feel inside.

When you’re alone with her, everything feels perfect. You can submit to her completely, knowing you’re safe because she’s in control. But the moment you’re around her in public, you go back to that shy, awkward novice that can barely meet her eyes.

As agreed, no-one else knows about the two of you, but you’re afraid you’ll give yourself away if you’re around her for too long. She’s trained you too well, made you too damn submissive.

Like right now, all she did was look at you and say she likes your nickname, and you’re undeniably wet.

God, you’re so fucked.

“But seriously, the media has like ten different names for you. You’ve got to have a preference right?” Maria nudges you.

You blink. “Yeah, I guess Voltage has a nice ring to it?” You glance towards Wanda on instinct. Seeking her approval on everything is quickly becoming a habit.

“Well, it’s definitely better than ‘Iron Man’,” Maria says, making the others laugh again.

The conversation shifts to other people’s superhero names, and you breathe a sigh of relief to be out of the spotlight.

All the fame and attention happened fairly quickly once you got control over your powers, and it’s safe to say you’re definitely not a part of the stealthier side of the Avengers anymore. These days, your name gets mentioned alongside Captain Marvel, Wanda, and Thor.

You might not like it, but you've come into possession of a wild power - one that demands to be unleashed. Nothing else works; meditating with Bruce, stretching with Nat, combat training with Sam, running, swimming, boxing, nothing stops the buzzing once it starts.

Nothing, except for Wanda.

This morning, she stopped by your room and spanked you over her lap before the day had even begun.

Afterwards, she teased you until you begged and promised you’d be good for the rest of the day. You swear you can still feel the orgasm she gave you, the stretch of her fingers inside your tightness.

“Fuck me, who has time for all that?” Natasha scoffs.

You look up. “Huh?”

“Relationships,” Maria says to you. “You know Miss Romanoff, some of us can multitask.”

“Oh? And who is this lucky person you’re ‘multitasking’ with?”

“Hm, no, I’m afraid you’ll have to pry that information out of me.”

Nat leans forward. “Oh you know I could.”

“I know exactly what you can do, Miss Romanoff. I’ve read your file.”

“Oh, shit,” you laugh. “Have you got some kind of mind reading ability we don’t know about?”

She shoots you a grin and shrugs. “I’m sure Wanda’s better at it than me, but I have my ways.”

“Huh...”

Maria sets her drink down on the table and points. “So: I’ve got someone, Romanoff’s too ‘busy’... what about you, Maximoff?”

Fuck. You stiffen in your seat.

Wanda barely reacts, simply regarding Maria with a blank look. “What about me?”

“Oh, interesting.” Nat leans forward, eyeing her up and down. An unwarranted flare of jealousy sparks within you. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Wanda shrugs. “No, I'm not actually.”

Nat doesn’t seem to get the message. “Ah ha! The only question is - are you top or bottom?”

Maria chokes on her drink.

Oh my god. You try not to squirm in your seat and give yourself away, ignoring the way your mind is racing. Nat is too smart for her own good.

Wanda’s jaw sets, a glimmer of steel in her gaze as she stares Nat down. “You do realise I could just read your minds and know exactly who you’ve all been boning, right?”

Nat slaps the table. “Definitely top.”

“Mm-hm,” Maria agrees.

Wanda’s steely demeanour breaks. She cracks a small, exasperated smile, and chuckles. “You two are away out of line.”

“What? Hey, we’re all proud of you for finally getting some!”

She raises her hand in defence. “I’m not - ”

“But if you were, hypothetically, then we’re all very happy for you. Right guys?” Nat gestures to you and Maria.

“Oh, of course!” Maria says.

You give a short nod. All that is going through your mind is the familiar sensation of Wanda bending you over her knee, her palm heating your ass, wetness running down your thigh. The feeling of ultimate submission - 

“So do you use your magic on them during sex?” Nat’s question interrupts your thoughts.

“I would,” Maria intones, sounding just a bit tipsy, “If I could. Really make them feel my power, you know?”

Nat nods in agreement. “Come on, Wanda, you know you want to share.”

You sink down in your seat.

Wanda’s gaze catches on you for a brief moment, before she looks away, folding her arms and sighing. “If I tell you some things, will you finally leave me alone about it?”

Nat raises her hand solemnly. “What happens at ladies’ night stays at ladies’ night.”

A knot forms in your stomach. You don’t know what’s worse - if she’s about to talk about you, or someone else that you don’t know about. The arrangement you have with Wanda isn’t exactly a ‘relationship’, but the thought of her being with someone else... your heart sinks.

She shrugs. “There might be someone.”

Nat claps and whoops and Maria leans forward in interest, while you just keep your eyes lowered, wishing you could be anywhere but here.

“Do you... use your magic on them?”

Wanda flicks her gaze to Maria. There’s a glimmer in her eyes, her head tilting as she considers the question.

Don’t, you think, but you can see it already - her demeanour has shifted; no longer laid back, but proud and powerful, and perhaps a bit cocky too. It’s like Nat and Maria have flicked a switch inside her.

She concedes with a nod. “I have.” 

“Oh shit! And they let you?”

“She loves it.” She says the words so smugly it sends a prickle down your spine, and she briefly glances at you before leaning back in her seat, chin raised and a smirk on her face. “She’s very submissive.”

Heat pools in your core. You bite your lip, holding back the curses you desperately want to let out.

“Damn,” Maria breathes, clearly impressed. “I’m jealous.”

“I thought you had someone?”

She waves her hand. “Yeah but not a submissive.”

“What about mind stuff?” Nat waves her hand around her head. “You know, like the shit you pulled on us.”

Wanda tilts her head. “Not yet.”

A thought flickers in your mind - your dreams. The vision of her, standing across the room from you, lit up by the red sun. You never asked her if she put them there.

Maria laughs. “Girl, if I had your power, I would be exploring the shit out of my fantasies. I mean, if you’re both into roleplay, imagine the possibilities.”

Wanda gives her an assessing look. “Like what?”

“Yeah are we speaking from experience here?” Nat adds, grinning at Maria.

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?” Nat prompts again.

Maria shrugs. “You could... make them say the things you want them to say, you know? Give them the freedom to actually live in the roleplay without having to, you know, act,” Maria says. “And with the visions you can make others see? I mean...”

Your eyes dart between the three of them, struggling to keep up. Roleplay with mind control? Fucking hell. The heat is flaring beneath your skin now, an ardent mixture of mortification and electricity. Your power buzzes beneath your skin in response.

“So how serious is this?” Nat asks, lowering her voice. “Are we ever going to meet her?”

Wanda’s smirk becomes fixed, and she pulls out her phone, as if to signal she’s done with the conversation. Her brow furrows as she begins typing. “I don’t know about that.” Your heart sinks just a little, before she continues, “she’s very shy.”

“Aw, cute.” Nat scrunches her nose.

“Bring her around!” Maria says with a dismissive wave. “I’m sure she’d fit right in.” And she nudges you, as if to say right?

You stiffen and nod in agreement. “Yeah.”

Nat turns to you as if a thought just occurred to her, her face alight with excitement. “What about you?”

“Me?!” you squeak.

She nods. “Your love life! Tell us all the goss.”

“Right.” You look to Wanda, who barely glances you way as she puts her phone away. “Uh, I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“Yes!” Nat raises her hand to high-five you. “Singles for the win!”

You force a smile and slap her hand, somewhat amazed she didn’t see right through you. “It’s like what you said - I just get too busy.”

“You know you’ve got folks lined up though, right?” Maria asks. “Being The Avenger’s new darling and all. Voltage.”

You duck your head, just as your phone buzzes in your pocket. “I suppose.” You’ve never really thought about it, between learning how to handle your new powers, and your time spent with Wanda, you haven’t had the time or mental capacity for much else.

You check your phone in your lap, and lose your breath when you see it’s from Wanda. You open it under the table.

When we get back, I will find you in your room naked on the bed with your ass in the air.

You almost drop your phone. Instead, after swallowing your sudden shock, you look up, across the table, to Wanda.

She’s leaning back in her seat, paying attention to their conversation and ignoring you completely.

Slowly, you tuck your phone away, and try to ignore the sudden rushing in your ears.

Wanda takes her time.

At first, you debate whether or not to obey her instructions. This whole night has thrown you off guard and you’re not sure if Wanda deserves your submission. She told other people what she was doing to you, and she was smug about it.

You know you should be mad at her. Instead, you find yourself eagerly stripping down and laying on the bed after only five minutes of deliberation. Maybe it’s fucked up, but you need this.

She makes you wait on purpose, you’re sure of it. It’s a mind game she likes to play - a way to remind you who’s in charge. Your mind races, wondering what you did to deserve this extra punishment.

The room is silent, but somehow you can sense when she arrives, as though her magic reaches out to you on instinct.

Eager to be good for her, you keep yourself in position on the bed, completely still. Your naked ass shivers in the air.

Finally, you feel the skim of her hands over your back. A sensation of warmth spreads through you as she begins to adjust your posture; spreading your legs a fraction farther apart, pushing down on the small of your back, tilting your ass higher for her.

You bend to her will, loving how attentive she is, losing yourself in her presence.

She breaks the silence, her voice soft and low. “Tell me what you thought about, tonight at dinner.”

You’ve been submitting to her control long enough to know that she expects a quick, honest answer. “I was embarrassed that you were talking about me,” you say.

“Is that it?” she drawls.

You bite your lip, viscerally aware of the wetness growing between your legs. “I was wondering about that mind control thing. If we could... if it could maybe help me control my powers.” Honestly, controlling your powers was the last thing on your mind, but you had to scramble to find some excuse for the roleplay other than I just want to try it with you. “And... if you’ve maybe done it to me before?” you add.

Her magic twines around your wrists gently but firmly, pulling them together on the small of your back. “What do you mean?”

You swallow. “I sometimes have these dreams of you. Actually just one dream, the same dream, over and over. I meant to ask...”

She’s silent for a moment. “If I told you it wasn’t me, would you believe me?”

You nod. “I would.”

“Hm. Well, it wasn’t. At least, not consciously.” She sighs, tracing a finger up your thigh. “Sometimes, though, I think I don’t know half of what I’m capable of. Perhaps my subconscious reached out to you.”

Your mind races. If she did, then she’s been doing it subconsciously for a very long time. Weeks before the two of you started meeting like this.

She murmurs softly in your ear, “tell me the truth, solnyshko. Did I cross a line tonight?”

The hairs on the back of your neck raise on end, her low lilting tone brushing against your ear like magic. “No,” you respond. “I thought about it and I decided I trust you... I just don’t want you to tell them it’s me.”

She hums in amusement, smoothing her hand over your head. “That’s one decision I’ll still let you keep.”

You half-smile into the sheets, face pressed into the bed.

The mattress dips beside you. “You’ve been a very good girl so far. On my lap now.” Her magic bindings release.

Flushed with heat at her praise, you move to follow her instructions, placing yourself over her lap and trying not to keen too much when she strokes your head like one might a cat. Sometimes you think she likes to treat you like a pet, giving you one-word commands, praising you when you obey, forming magic collars around your throat. All in the name of controlling your powers, of course.

A hard spank jolts you from your train of thought, and you force yourself to start counting before she can scold you for being too slow. “One.”

“This time, after you count, you beg me for the next one.” She spanks you again, a firm slap on your bare ass.

The number comes out on instinct. “Two!” What did she just say?! Fuck.

You struggle to form the words. Heat flares between your legs in delicious humiliation, and you swallow down your remaining pride. “... please spank me again.” The words come out low and quiet, thick with embarrassment you can’t hide. It’s always harder at the start.

But she doesn’t say a word, merely obliging your request and heating your backside with another firm spank. The heat goes straight to your aching, needy cunt.

You tense your thighs. “Fuck... three!” And you bite your lip, rocking yourself over her lap to try and ease some of the tensing growing between your legs. The heat is enflamed and sore and unforgiving.

It’s the ultimate mental struggle. You have to beg her for the next one, because she’ll add more to your punishment if you don’t, but saying the words means you’re giving in.

You’re still struggling to find the words, when Wanda murmurs from above, “What do you say?”

A spark of electricity jolts between your fingers. “Just give me a moment!” you snap.

Then regret instantly washes over you as you realise. Fuck, you’ve disobeyed. “Wanda, I’m sorry, I was just - ”

She releases her magic from your wrists. “Off my lap. Onto the floor.”

You huff nervously, already cowed by the sharp tone of her voice, and obediently slide off her lap and onto your knees in front of her.

She cups your chin, tilting your head up. A beautiful, terrible goddess looking down at you kneeling before her. “You talked back.”

“I’m sorry - ”

“Ah ah.” She tilts her head, eyes glowing red in warning. “I didn’t say you could talk now.” And you feel a collar of her magic forming around your throat.

You close your mouth and look down in deference. And although you’re being punished, you can’t help that warm feeling inside you that glows brighter every time she exerts her dominance over you. You’re losing yourself in her again, and it makes you feel free. There’s no room for anything else in your head but her.

Her fingers creep up your face, pressing lightly against your temple.

You lean into her touch, her palm cupping your cheek.

“You said you wanted to try mind control, solnyshko. I think I’ll use it to punish you for talking back.”

Your eyes flare open and you look up at her, at the red glow simmering in her eyes. You want to speak, to ask so many questions, but you can’t, not unless she allows you to.

She draws in a shaky breath. “Remember, tell me if I cross a line.” The reminder is gentle, promising no anger or backlash if you do.

But all you feel is nervous excitement.

Keeping your eyes fixed on hers, you nod, and brace for her to enter your mind.

Wanda hesitates, her fingertips hovering over your temple.

You’ve put your trust in her completely, and she’s never been more high on her own power, yet cautious about using it. Mind magic is a delicate, dangerous skill to use on someone. To her, it’s always been a defensive instinct. To the Avengers, it’s a useful tool, occasionally a weapon. But to you...

Roleplay. Punishment. A million possibilities run through her mind, of the different things she could make you do, the visions she could make you see.

But none of them seem right. Your infraction is insignificant really, Wanda was just waiting for any excuse to get you like this. The way you had squirmed in your seat tonight, flustered and so fucking submissive, was an intoxicating, heady rush of power. She couldn’t think straight - she just knew she had to have you again.

So she sends tendrils of her magic into your mind with one path - to seek out your darkest desires and make them a reality.

On your knees in front of her, your eyes glow red, and your breathing shallows, as she invades your mind.

Your thoughts become hers, a rush of memories and emotions that centre almost entirely on her, on Wanda, her dark eyes and stern voice. She sees how you lie in wait for her every morning, how your eyes follow her during the days, how you dream of her at night.

A proud thrill races through her.

She clears her throat and pushes past that, to where she can find your darkest desires.

There are several, but one practically jumps out at her - a strong desire, one you’ve thought about recently. One where...

Oh, yes.

Wanda’s magic flares, and she makes your desire into a reality.

“Are you listening to me?”

You zoned out for a second, but, looking up at Wanda, everything becomes clear again.

Some part of your mind registers that you’ve entered an vision in your mind; a strange new reality all created and controlled by Wanda. It’s obvious, because you know for a fact you weren’t wearing clothes a second ago, but now you are.

You frown, trying to recall what led up to this moment, but the memories before this moment are vague, and a small voice in your mind whispers that it’s much easier to just accept your new situation.

The collar around your neck is warm on your skin. It’s connected to a red thread of magic that winds through the room and ends at Wanda’s fingertips. From behind her, the sun is setting behind a wall of glass.

It’s your dream. Only Wanda isn’t standing this time, she’s lounging on a throne, elevated over a simple stone dais that overlooks the scene.

There are people in the room, even though you’re caught in Wanda’s gaze, you can see them in your periphery, in beautiful dresses and tailored suits. The buzz of people talking, the clinking of glasses, the swell of laughter from one group or another, echoes around you. None of them seem to care about the collar around your throat.

"Come here.” Wanda speaks from across the room, but you hear her voice in your mind as clear as day.

The urge to obey her compels you forward on instinct. You mind tells you she is the ruler of this strange place - a dark conquerer to be feared, and obeyed. And she’s giving you an order.

Heart in your throat, you approach the dais. Some people give you a passing glance as you weave your way through the crowd, but no-one outright stares, despite the fact that you’re wearing a collar of Wanda’s magic.

You walk up the steps and stand in front of Wanda, hands clasped behind your back - for some reason, that feels like the correct position.

Her face is unreadable as she takes her time looking you up and down.

You try not to squirm beneath her gaze, but you can’t help the feeling that you’ve done something wrong.

Her eyes soften. “Relax.”

You open your mouth to speak, but find that you only have a select few phrases you can choose from. It’s a strange feeling, having Wanda’s magic in your head, dictating how you can act in this world. For a moment, you panic, but the words the line is there, in your mind, ready to be spoken just as she promised.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and remind yourself that this is all just an illusion, and from the context, you seem to be playing some kind of servant. This is your punishment.

“I’m sorry,” you say, speaking the words her magic dictates, and casting your eyes down demurely. “How may I serve?”

“I want a demonstration. Turn around and display your powers for everyone.”

Trying to swallow down your nerves, you give her a nod, and turn around to face everyone.

“Everybody,” Wanda calls, barely raising her voice, and yet everyone stops to turn and look. A hundred faces turning in your direction. You shift nervously, glancing behind at Wanda on her throne, as she announces you. “A demonstration of my little Voltage’s power.”

The way she says that name is so patronising, heat rises to your face.

A murmur of excitement runs through the crowd.

You lift your hands up to the ceiling, and, as ordered by Wanda, you light up the ceiling with your powers. A rush of electricity channels through your arms, and the entire room is bathed in white light.

The crowd looks on in awe, but you hear none of it above the thunderous waves of your power, travelling through your arms and out the palms of your hands.

It feels good, letting it out. You could keep this up forever, you think to yourself, letting your power flow out more and more. You don’t want to stop.

“Enough.”

Her command washes over you, and you feel your powers cut off instantly, against your will. The electricity dies off, and brilliant light fades, casting the room back in sunset red. You look at your hands in confusion, before realising what happened.

Wanda cut off your own powers with a single word.

Holy fuck. That’s just the vision, right? She’s not this in control of you in real life... is she?

As the fake crowd of beautiful people applauds her light show, you turn and send her a confused look.

She’s smug, sitting on her throne. Curling one finger, she pulls you toward her by the collar on your neck.

You struggle not to lose your balance as you’re drawn in front of her again.

“Good girl,” she croons, “your powers are beautiful.”

None of the words you want to say are allowed. Her magic cuts you off from saying them, steering you towards the approved script. You know you have the option to tell her she’s crossed the line, but you aren’t there yet. So despite struggling against it, you find yourself saying, “Thank you for letting me use my powers.”

And as you say the words, a pulse of heat thrums in your clit, and you can no longer ignore the fact that you’re incredibly wet. Knowing she’s in complete control of this, of you.

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t have, but I wanted to entertain my guests. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your punishment.” Her magic flares in her hand, and with a twist of her wrist, the collar around your neck flares and tightens. The little gasp you make is involuntary. “Some of our friends are here. I want you to entertain them for a little bit, then come back to me, okay?”

But before you can respond, you feel her magic somewhere else on your body. You realise, as her eyes are glowing with a hint of red, that she’s stimulating your pussy with her magic. It feels like she’s shoving her fingers inside you and rubbing your clit, despite the fact that she’s not even touching you.

Fuck.

Her dark eyes gleam viciously. “Can you be good for me?”

You shift your legs, desperately trying not to react. “Yes, Wanda.”

“Go, then.”

Your mouth goes dry as you cast you gaze on a familiar group of people.

Natasha, Bruce, Maria, Steve, and Sam, are sitting in a lounge area to the side of the room, smiling, laughing, drinking, and talking among themselves. And as you force your feet to carry you towards them, Wanda’s magic invading your tightness, you can’t seem to convince yourself that this is an illusion anymore.

Wanda thinks you're the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, walking around in public with her collar displayed around your neck. Even though none of these people are real in this vision, it’s a deeply satisfying feeling, showing you off, as hers, for once.

She sits back and watches you approach your little group of friends. Her magic is slowly pushing in and out of your tight little channel, and rubbing against your clit, using the perfect amount of pressure she has learned from experience makes you come.

“Hi, guys,” you say, and you sound adorably flustered. Wanda increases the pressure just for a moment, and is rewarded by the sight of you subtly pressing your legs together.

Wanda makes Natasha the first one to acknowledge you. The spy gives you a friendly smile, her gaze briefly sliding over your collar as she scoots over and beckons you over.

You sit on the edge of the seat beside her, the tiniest furrow in your brow.

“That was really something, wasn’t it?” Bruce says, a gleam of fascination in his eyes. “I mean, your powers are really flourishing under Wanda’s touch. Do you think she’d let us see it again some time?”

You shoot a brief glance in Wanda’s direction. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”

Wanda is unable to hide the smirk on her face as she listens in to your conversation. She’s growing quite attached to the thought of a world where everyone would have to ask her for permission to see your powers. And the fact that she drew this vision from your mind, that on some level, you’ve thought about publicly submitting to her control like this, is a welcome surprise.

She strengthens her magical grip on your pussy, pushing deeper inside of you as you struggle to sit still and engage in the conversation.

A quick peek in your mind, just to check everything is okay, tells her all she needs to know. The top layer of your thoughts are a steady stream of WandaWandaWanda and don’t come don’t come don’t come - 

With a flick of her hand, she focuses all of her energy on the most sensitive areas of your body beneath your clothes. Phantom hands cup at your breasts and lave at your nipples. A trail of heat runs down your behind, evoking the sting of a spank on your ass. It strokes inside your pussy and rubs at your clit, thick stripes of magic flaring up and down through your wet folds.

Sitting on her throne, Wanda waits patiently for you to fall apart.

You’re going out of your mind.

Wanda’s magic is setting you on fire and consuming you from the inside out, and you desperately need to come. But you can’t, not in public, and definitely not without her permission.

This is your punishment.

“Wanda,” you whisper, knowing she can probably hear you in this vision she created. “Please.”

“Did you say something?” Natasha asks from beside you.

Hot, lazy strokes on your clit. Wanda’s magic thrusting up into you. You force yourself breathe, and shake your head at her. “Just talking to myself.”

She chuckles and turns back to the others.

Wanda’s voice sounds in your head, a low drawl. “Do you remember why you’re being punished?” 

You desperately try and cast your mind back, to anything that happened before this world existed. It’s all fuzzy and distant, escaping your grasp every time you try and reach for it. It doesn’t help that your body is on the edge of release, and Wanda’s magic is unrelentingly exploring every inch of your skin beneath your clothing. “No, I’m sorry,” you breathe silently. “Please, I can’t - ”

“You will not come,” Wanda orders with a growl in your ear.

You whimper and turn to look at her from across the room, where she lounges on her throne.

Her dark eyes pierce yours. Slowly, she lifts her hand and curls her fingers. In response, her magic flares on your body.

You’re lost. The sensation of her magic laving, pinching, squeezing, spanking, thrusting, is too much. You stiffen in your seat, biting back a moan. Looking around at the others, you feel a wave of mortification at the thought that you’re about to come. They haven’t noticed yet, Natasha laughing at something Sam said as you shift and stiffen on the edge of the seat beside her.

“W-Wanda - ” you whimper.

Suddenly, your electricity flares. No, you think as you look down at your hands, but it’s too late. It’s vibrating beneath your skin, demanding release.

The dam breaks.

White beams of light jump from your hands and dart around the room, missing the people around you but zapping at the walls and ceiling above.

Blissful hot waves of orgasm ripple out from her magical touch, flooding through your body as Wanda stimulates your release. Your eyes roll back, the moan you’ve been holding back escapes your lungs, and you give in to the mortifying feeling of wetness seeping between your legs as you start to come, hard.

Then, just as quickly as it came, her magic retreats from your body.

The withdrawal jolts you out of your bliss. Your orgasm starts to fade, leaving a terribly unsatisfied feeling in your core, and you clench your legs together. The electricity pouring from your hands dies down. Blinking, you look around. Your friends are ducking down low in their seats, some looking at you in shock. “What...”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticing a parting in the crowd.

Wanda stalks towards you with a look of anger in her eyes.

Your mouth goes dry; guilt and shame washing over you. You came, the one thing she told you not to do.

“I’m s- ”

Before you can finish, she flicks her hands. Her magic lifts you up out of your seat until your feet are off the ground, and despite your instinctive struggling, you are suspended in the air before her.

She twists her hands again, and her magic flares, and your clothes rip apart, exposing your bare skin.

It’s just an illusion, you desperately tell yourself, but you’re already growing hot under the attention of the other people in the room, many of them openly staring. But it’s your friends’ reactions that get to you the most. As they recover from your outburst of power, they cast you disappointed glares, or simply ignore you altogether. As though this is normal.

You’re too shy for this.

You open your mouth to say the words, the line, but something holds you back. Curiosity, perhaps, or just a desperate need to feel Wanda’s dominance, the aching need between your legs ruling over your head.

“I’m - ” you start to apologise again, but the words are cut off in your throat.

Wanda tilts her head menacingly. “I think a well-deserved spanking is in order.”

Your pussy throbs with need.

Her magic flares, and suddenly you find yourself bent over the arm of the lounge, putting your behind on display to Wanda and the crowd behind her, while you’re forced to face Natasha and the others.

Just an illusion, you remind yourself, as you briefly meet Natasha’s condescending gaze, before looking away as a wave of submissive shyness comes over you. Just an illusion.

Wanda spanks you without warning.

You let out a high-pitched gasp, and clench your thighs together as the sting goes straight to your pussy.

“Have you forgotten how to count?” she snaps.

“One,” you rush out, and bite your lip, rocking your hips over the arm of the lounge.

“Too late, we’ll have to start over.” Fuck. “After each one, I want you apologise for being a bad girl.”

Your pussy flares with arousal again, and you think you might come just from Wanda’s dominance alone.

She spanks you in the same spot, and your skin flares with stinging heat.

“Oh...” you moan, the arousal in your pussy heightening. You need her to touch you there. “One! I’m sorry for being a bad girl.”

Spank.

“Two,” you gasp, canting your hips. It’s so hot and wet between your legs. “I’m sorry for being a bad girl.”

“Louder,” she demands, slapping your ass again.

Your eyes almost roll back at the delicious shudder running through your body. You make sure to project your voice louder like she asked. “Three! I’m sorry for being a bad girl!”

She keeps going. Each spank rings out a satisfying slap of skin on skin, the added mortification of being out in public only heightening your arousal. Murmurs go through the crowd, a few people returning to their conversations. A few times she spanks you several times in a row, and to your dismay, she tells you you’re only allowed to count them as one spank.

Despite your very obvious, desperate, pathetic arousal, you go untouched.

You apologise over and over for being a bad girl, for disobeying her, for daring to do something without her permission. You’ve never been more remorseful for your actions. 

“Thirty-seven, I’m so sorry for being a bad girl, Wanda,” you sob, tears streaming down your face. You need her forgiveness, to hear her call you her good girl again. You’ll do anything.

Wetness starts to drip down your legs.

Wanda pauses, and growls. “Goddammit, fuck. You’re so turned on by this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Wanda,” you respond. “I’m sorry.”

She inserts two fingers inside your pussy without warning.

You go stiff, arching your back for her and spreading your legs as pleasure wracks your body. “Wanda!”

“You want my forgiveness?” she snarls, curling her fingers inside you.

“Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Don’t. Fucking. Come.”

The order washes over you, and you groan as you realise you can’t physically come, not unless she gives you permission. But it doesn’t change the fact that she’s shoving her fingers inside your tightness harder and harder.

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to endure. You desperately want to come, but you need to be good for her.

Your legs remain spread. You’re not even sure if it’s by Wanda’s magic, or if you just feel compelled to present to her fully like this, so she can punish you.

The tension in your core is drowning out anything else. All you can think is Wanda’s command. Don’t. Fucking. Come.

But the pressure is too much. She’s too good, and you’re so close, but you can’t come without her permission. She dominates you effortlessly, bending you over and spanking you and bringing you to the edge with ease.

You break.

You go limp, let go of everything, and just accept what is happening to you. Wanda is in complete control of you, and there’s nothing you can do. You realise you should be grateful to receive this punishment, to be the centre of her attention.

More murmurs from the others echo around you, but you ignore them. Wanda’s fingers invade your pussy faster and harder until your thighs are shaking and your core is a mess of tension and torture.

You close your eyes, and take your punishment.

You’re not sure when exactly the scene shifts, but at some point, you notice that the sounds of the other people have faded, replaced by the rushing of water on the shore.

The pressure in your pussy stops, leaving you on the edge of an orgasm with no release.

Wanda is letting you rest your head on her lap, running her hands over you. The sunset across the water bathes you both in light.

You go to speak, but Wanda cuts you off with a hush. There’s a warmth in her eyes as she cups your chin, thumb stroking against your cheek. “Relax, solnyshko. You took your punishment well. You’re warm, and safe, and there’s no-one around but us.”

“Is this another vision?” you murmur.

“One of mine,” she confirms, a small smile on her face as she casts her gaze around the scenery again.

“It’s beautiful.”

She looks down again at you, a dark gleam in her eyes. “You’re beautiful. And all mine.”

You nod.

It’s not a question, she’s just stating a fact.

You’re calling.

Wanda stares at your caller ID photo for a few moments, the photo taken when you weren’t looking, looking down in shyness. You are adorable.

Something has shifted in your dynamic. It’s not just your punishments that belong to Wanda now, but you.

“You’re supposed to be radio silent,” she says as soon as she answers the phone, eager to admonish you, already planning punishment for you when you return.

“Wanda I - ” you stutter, “I...”

“What?”

“I need you to give me permission!” you cry out, sounding desperate. The sounds of an explosion echo through the speaker.

Wanda frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“My powers, Wanda. I need you to tell me to use them. I can’t...”

“You can’t what?” she prompts. “Use your words.”

“I can’t use them - I think you did something to them. Please, I need to help! The others are fighting.”

A dark wave of satisfaction comes over Wanda. This is wrong, this is too far, this is out of control, but... fuck. You really are hers.

“Okay,” she says. “Use your powers to help them.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes, Wanda.”

one < Series Masterlist > three

[outtoshatter]

This week's author spotlight goes to the fantastic and lovely @missanniewhimsy!!

Fics to Read:

Brave in the Shadows | NR | 5k tags: space, war, epistolary, open ending, angst Summary: Derek pulls his phone out as soon as he’s in the kitchen.

You have no new messages.

It’s the same every day.

Here Together | T | 10k tags: gaming, speedrunning, glitch hunting, online friendship Summary: In which Derek is a world-record holding speedrunner, Stiles is the glitch hunter who's found some of the biggest strats for the run and Derek's second most annoying mod. Small crushes get blown wide open when Derek invites Stiles to do commentary for a major run and they finally have a chance to meet in person.

Worthy | G | 1k tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, they both deserve nice things Summary: Stiles took a breath, then another, eyes locked on Derek’s. He shook his head, willing himself to calm down. “It--it’s been a while.”

Fics to Hear:

little boy lost | T | 1-1.5 hours tags: single parent Stiles, magic Stiles, deputy Derek, autumn Summary: If someone asked Stiles to write a parenting book, Stiles would say the best and most important rule is to love your kid. Just love the hell out of them, and make sure they know it.

The second most important rule would be don’t turn your back on a curious three year old with supernatural speed.

Stiles is currently failing at the second rule. Badly.

i went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees | T | 2-2.5 hours tags: fallen angels, guardian angels, rest stop Summary: Stiles is a crossroads demon operating out of a rest stop Subway, Derek is a guardian angel whose family has passed on. When Derek decides to stick around, the Jacob Campbell Southbound Rest Area gets interesting. Well, more interesting than it already was.

(aka the prompt generator drabble that grew legs and turned into an meditation on grief, guilt, responsibility, and the redemptive power of unconditional love.)

And When I Wake You're There I'm Saved | T | 1-1.5 hours tags: space, kidnapped Derek, kidnapped Stiles, no torture Summary: "Derek," Stiles says, firm. His hand is warm on Derek's shoulder. "I'll be okay."

"You didn't leave me," Derek argues. "How can you expect me to leave you?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, it'll be fine. Even if I am captured, I'm just a boring human. They wanted you for your Lycan blood."

Derek crosses his arms. Mainly so he doesn't wrap his hands around Stiles' throat in an attempt to throttle some sense into him. "That's fine. But this isn't a time when being a boring human is an asset. This is a time when being a boring human results in a shot to the head."

"Derek," Stiles says again. He steps closer, so Derek is surrounded in his scent, his chemosignals—namely unwavering, resolute determination, distinctively sharp and entirely unbreakable—clouding Derek's mind. "You'll come back for me." He sounds so sure, and he can tell the exact moment Derek gives in. Because Derek somehow always gives in to Stiles.

"I'll come back for you," he confirms. "And you better not be dead."

Stiles grins, eyes sparkling with far too much humour for someone who potentially just sacrificed himself for a surly Lycan and bunch of strangers. "You do say the sweetest things."

In Progress:

[podfic] Fractured Starlight | M | 9/34 chapters tags: hurt/comfort, amnesia fic, witch Stiles, blood and gore, alpha Derek Summary: Stiles is driving home when a werewolf pops out of his trunk like a demented jack-in-the-box, aggressive, confused, and with no memory of who he is or how he got in there. Stiles has no choice but to take him through the protected borders of Willow Pass so he can figure out what's going on and if this strange werewolf is a danger to his coven.

Go check out allll of misswhimsy's fics on their AO3 page! Don't forget to mind the tags, leave a kudos, and maybe even drop a comment!

[theshipperqueenisnotdone]

Hazbin Hotel Swap AU

This is one of the post I hate

Context: Adam is still Angel/The Leader Of Exterminator and has Chlorokinesis/Plant Manipulation (I just really love the idea of Adam having Chlorokinesis/Plant Manipulation, okay!?) While Charlie Morningstar is still The Princess Of Hell and daughter of Lilith and Lucifer. Lilith and Adam have more of a twin relationship than ex-lover. And remember... DON'T TRUST VAGGIE!!! SHE IS BASICALLY JUDAS ISCARIOT in this AU!! Anyway, I might provide more information later if I have time, but feel free to ask me anything about this AU.)

Previous + Next

[Scene cuts to Lilith's house, showing framed photos of her family and a badly drawing of her in a dark spooky room. Lilith can be heard making snarling noise as she was working on something. As the scene goes, her room is revealed to be filled with a lot of Stuffed Owl, and stacks of them filled the boxes and tubs.]

Lilith: That's it… Almost there… Now presenting… the magic-tastical back flipping Stuffed Owl! Haha! That spits fire! [Stuffed Owl eyes glow red as its shoots flamethrower from its mouth] Hoot hoot hoot! Hold the applause please, okay. Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh god, who am I kidding? This sucks!

[She throws the Stuffed Owl at her family portrait and the badly drawing of her, lilith looks sad as she look at her family portrait and the badly drawing of her. Suddenly her ringtone plays. she picks up her phone, and was shocked who was calling her.]

Lilith: Adam? Adam! Brother calling?! HOOT! Uhm uh, uh hello, adam. He-ey, hey, hey Ada-ada. No, no! That's not good. Oh, this is the first time he's called you in years. This has to be perfect. [takes a deep breath before she picks up phone] Hey~ Whore!

[Intercut conversation between Lilith and Adam during the phone call from the hotel to her house.]

Adam: Hi, lilith…

Lilith: Hey! How are you? Oh hoot. Where-where are you these days?

Adam: You know where I am lilith. I've told you before. Remember?

Lilith: You have? Oh, yeah uh, well, you know, I um uh-

Adam: I told you when you called me five years ago, or did you not listen?

Lilith: No, no, no, no. Just, you know, just forgot. You know, I've just been really busy, you know…

[She look at her the boxes and tubs that filled with Stuffed Owl.]

Lilith: with, um, important things. [kicks Stuffed Owl]

Adam: Well, I'm actually running a hotel to rehabilitate my descendants. Maybe you saw our commercial?

Lilith: Oh, sadly, I missed it. heh heh. You know, I haven't been watching much TV lately. Scrambles the brain. [makes silly noises]. But hey! A hotel, fun.

Adam: (Sighs) Listen Lilith, I've got kind of a big ask.

Lilith: [coughs and sets down her tea] Yeah, of course. Anything in my power is yours for the asking. You just name it~

Adam: I need to speak to Heaven and one of the deadly sinner. Well, whoever's in charge up and down there, I don't care if it's Satan or mammon, just anyone who is above your daughter, above anybody. I need to go to the top.

Lilith: Oh, no. No~ No, no, no, no, Adam, no, no, no. That's, uh hah, sorry but that is BIG no.

Adam: [angrily as vine with thorn grow around his neck] Look Lilith! Just… [He sigh, the vines has calm down and slowly disappearing.] I don't ask you for much, I never have, but this, this is really important to me. It's the most important thing I've ever done. And I…need you. I need your help.

Lilith: I don't know, Adam.

Adam: Please! Just come see what I'm trying to do. You'll see why it's a really good idea. And Heaven is bound to agree if I get the chance to talk to them… Please, Lilith…

Lilith: Wait, you're…inviting me over?! After all I did? Absolutely! Uh, I'll be there in an hour. [hangs up] ♪ My Brother wants to see me~! ♪ [points at the Stuffed Owl below her] Take that, depression! HA!

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 8🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 8 "Fracas at the Frostyfaire Folk Festival"

Timestamp: 00:16:14

Video Length: 3min. & 37sec.

Kristen gets a vision and hears a familiar voice! 😱 + Theories about Cassandra and the Pride Armor!

Brennan: "As you do so, all of you hear Kristen's stomach growl and gurgle as well."

Kristen's stomach: *gurgling sounds; magical chimes*

Emily: "Is it contagious?!" 😭😭

Brennan: "And Kristen, you get a sudden flash of red. You are back in the wizard's food court for a second. You see glass and red light. You hear a scream of a familiar voice and sudden silence. And then you look into Adaine's open eyes as you are reviving her, and you see a reflection in her eyes of blood splattered on the ground somewhere."

Ally: "Is the voice Cassandra?"

Brennan: "It is not Cassadra's, but you cannot delve deeper into that. It's a voice you recognize, but you can't get more information about it."

Fig: "Okay, Cassandra had someone coming after her. Did it seem like that? 'Cause I've been thinking about the fact that she's doubt would completely destabilize the entire pantheon, right? If gods get their power from faith, and she's doubt, she might have had a mark on her externally-"

Kristen: "Oh, Interesting."

Fig: "...from your ministrations." 💀

Kristen: "Yeah."

Adaine: "Yeah, maybe it's not your fault at all. Maybe it's completely nothing to do with you."

Kristen: "I think I... Yeah, I definitely killed her, but I do wonder-" 😭😭

(players snickering) 😂😭💀✋

Kristen: "Okay, okay. Wait, wait, 'cause this kinda feels like thematically what everything is ****ing feeling like at school. Aguefort represented nuance and weirdness and he's gone, and now it's extremely strict and by the book."

Fig: "Yeah, and without doubt, you just have rigid faith, which shatters and has no flexibility."

Riz: "Is it possible that things are being changed right now by Aguefort being back in time?"

Kristen: "Oh my gosh, yeah."

Adaine: "Oh. That he's changing things in the past that are affecting things in the present?"

Ally: "He's like- microwaving a burrito and it's ruining everything." *Laughs*

Riz: "Also, can we talk for a second about how insane that was?"

Fabian: "Yes, wait. I wanted to let you guys get your thoughts out. What the **** just happened?"

Riz: "Dust mites, and then you just got knocked out?"

Adaine: "I'm assuming this has just been in a box for, like-"

Riz: "Fig was just helping you read a book."

Fabian: "Everyone felt like- Did everyone else get shrimp vibes from that?"

Kristen: "That was shrimp vibes."

Fabian: "Just kind of like a nasty chain reaction?!"

Fig: "Yeah! It's me, okay? Look, my Bardics are cursed, I think. I think I'm cursed."

Siobhan: "Can I do an Arcana check on Fig?"

Brennan: "Do an Arcana check right now."

Emily: "I lay down like a patient on a table."

Siobhan: *rolls dice*

Lou: "Yes, I'm also going to do an Arcana check."

Siobhan: "24. I got a 24."

Murph: "Yeah, I'll Investigate Fig."

Emily: "Everyone Arcana check me!"

Murph: "21."

Siobhan: "How yogurt-y is she smelling right now?"

Brennan: "As you guys put these texts and tomes to the side and begin to Investigate Fig-"

Murph: "I know what I could do. The Gregorian Necktie can do Detect Evil and Good."

Ally: "Ohhhh."

Siobhan: "Oh."

Emily: "Oh, well."

Murph: "Well, Outside of just the-"

Brennan: "As you do the necktie, it beeps, and a fiendish aura surrounds Fig, not her own innate one."

Siobhan: "Ooooo!"

Riz: "Okay. Yeah, no, you're cursed for sure."

Fig: "Yeah, I think-"

Fabian: "Totally cursed."

Fig: "I think whoever- I put Wretchrot on it. I'm trying to find out-"

Riz: "Oh, good."

Fig: "Yeah, yeah. I deputized Wretchrot."

Siobhan: "Reliable."

Fig: "I'm trying to find out, I think it's whoever owned the pride armor."

Riz: "We don't know who that is."

Fig: "I'm paying, maybe, a debt that Gilear owes."

Kristen: "Yogurt!" 😂🤣💀

😂😂😂 The laughs!!! It really sounded like Kristen had cracked something!!! 😂🤣💀😭✋

Fig: "Yes?"

Siobhan: "I was thinking it's 'cause he was a straight man wearing pride armor."

Ally: "Yogurt! Yeah, the pride armor was rainbow." 😂😂🤣🤣🌈🌈

Siobhan: "I'm an ally! The A stands for ally!"

[unholywriter]

Percy smooches maybe???

That’s a given. 😩😩

Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III Fem x Reader

Warnings: Light smut.

The castle of Whitestone had a sort of pause to it, like after the years of tragedy and torture it finally could be at rest. But you know who wasn’t at rest? The new found love of your life, and Lord to Whitestone itself. Percy De Rolo. He’d always be in the room where his workstation resides, creating new inventions. Upgrading his Bad News and the second version of the Pepper Box. He also began to experiment with electricity, and connect his inventions he powered with residuum. Although he still didn’t like the idea of magic, he had to admit, it packs quite a punch intertwined.

It was a late evening when you walked the halls bringing a small plate with some hot, delicious food sizzling fresh from the kitchen. And although the workers tried to stop his Lady from cooking, those who stayed after the Birarwoods were dealt with. Those who decided to stay behind and serve the last two remaining De Rolo’s. You told them you didn’t mind, for all you wanted was to make your lover some food and make sure he eats because Gods know he doesn’t make sure he ate himself while he’s in tinkering mode.

As you approached his workshop and opened the door, you peered in and could see Percy delicately splicing together some wires on a glove. It was a less bulky version to the one he took to the Fey realm during the Conclave era a year and a half ago.

“How much shock value will you give your new found enemies in the future with this one?” You asked softly, and not a jump came from Percy. He had heard you come in, and it wasn’t like you were sneaking up on him. Although, he knows your footstep’s by heart so it’ll be hard to do that even if you were trying.

“At least enough to the point it won’t shock those I want to eliminate and me this time.” He looked over his shoulder with a small smile, you looked down and gave him a small peck on his oh so soft lips you could literally never stop to kiss until your own lips bleed.

“Good, because if you pass out again when we’re in the middle of a shit-show thinking testing your new toys out in the field is a good idea, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” You set his plate down and scoot his nearly half eaten lunch to the side.

“There are plenty of things you can do to and for me, and I’d thank you for it.” He looks back to his glove and continues to finish up the wiring.

You rose an eyebrow now, a small smirk tugging your lips. “Oh is that so darling? Do tell me all that runs around that wonderful, fascinating brain of yours.”

Sitting down on the table now, you continue to watch as he works. The way he’s focused, the little tip of his tongue that peeks out. But he doesn’t forget you’re there. “For instance you could make sure I’m well fed which you do, even though I nearly forget it’s there at times. You could check up on me, and take my glasses off when I’m passed out at my work bench which you do because you tell me I work myself to death. You could sit in my lap, and let me hold you while I rest my eyes from a sheer headache before I head back into a frenzy of ingenuity. You could-“

“That’s not what I mea-“

“You could kiss me till I can’t breathe and I’d take you back right now into our bedroom so I can get a good nights sleep like you’ve been asking me to get since I set up my workshop completely these past months.” He turned to you, looking you dead in your eyes now. “What do you say my sweet, dear darling of mine?”

A soft smile pulled from ear to ear, and you closed your eyes meeting your lips with his. His hands that work his pieces so well into place slid up your back and shoulders to find its home at the back of your neck and nearly where he grasped at your ass pulling you into his lap. You folided instantly, melting into his touch. Melting into the way his lips glided against yours, your tongues and body mending together like two perfect puzzle pieces never meant to be apart, grinding both your hips in perfect rhythm together.

Soft and sweet touch, his hands tangling into the mess of your hair. Your hands falling to the locks of his silver white, and down the crevice of his shoulder blades to pull him even more closer. You didn’t want to stop, and neither did he. You could die never allowing oxygen find it’s way back into either one of your lungs as long as it meant one second more. Pants, and soft little moans left both your lips as you traded turns nibbling and biting the soft skin at each other necks and shoulders. His hands found the bareness of your own shoulders, at which he was sliding the cloth strap down and exposing your chest so he can suckle and leave his love bites all over your body. It was anywhere he can find on your skin as an empty canvas. For the love of the gods you felt like you’d snap right then and there. How sensitive and nearly unbearable this friction was, fuck-

“Percy~” Left your mouth breathlessly. He moaned against your skin in response. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Fine, fine darling.” He kissed you long and hard yet again. “Let me eat the beautiful dinner you made so I can at least have the fuel to properly take care of you.” He pushed a strain of hair behind your ear. “And fair warning, you won’t be able to make any appearance hereafter for quite some time.”

[tragedy-of-commons]

thinking about having lisa minci as a best friend.

imagining her with you, a bit of an anxious recluse. i think she would take care of you, in her own way - watching over you if you doze off in her library during your persistent visits.

your love for books rivals some of the scholars she had interacted with during her time at the akademiya, making her reflect back on memories previously buried under powerful magic and the passage of time.

it takes a while for her to earn the privilege of hearing your endless rants and info-dumping, but when she does, she swears to protect you at all costs. she thinks you're adorable, and your potential is intriguing!

over time, she helps you come out your shell a little; slyly introducing you to some of her friends that she thinks you'll get along with, encouraging you to pursue opportunities you'd normally pass on due to your shy nature.

the latter especially applies to her off-the-cuff suggestion one day, among comfortable silence, "darling, have you ever thought about applying to the akademiya?"

"..i have, but i'm not smart enough for that. the entrance exams are notoriously difficult, and admissions-" lisa holds a hand up, gaze sharpening. "you absolutely are gifted. but don't think about the pressure right now - is studying there something you'd truly want?" you fiddle with a teacup that she filled just moments earlier. "yes. very much so."

"in that case, i know what we're going to do every friday in place of these tea parties!" you gulp in fear.

it's actually just studying. studying a ton, and with lisa as your study-buddy, who prepares you for the entrance exams like a grizzled warrior. she's strict, but it pays off, because you learn a lot. you learn so much that lisa is convinced you don't need the safety net of the study sessions anymore.

being supervised by your best friend during your entrance exams, who actually admits she's an accredited scholar and alumna of spantamad, is nerve-wracking. after, when you're finished and try to back out of actually mailing it in, she scolds you halfheartedly and makes sure it's submitted appropriately.

the weeks go by, and you're not checking out as many books. your leg bounces habitually when you both chat. it makes her frown at the sight of you fretting. but when an envelope addressed to you is delivered to the favonius library's p.o. box one day, lisa is more excited than you are. "cutie, you have to open it! you've been waiting for months!" your fingers tremble around the thick parcel. "b-but what if - what if i didn't get in?" you murmur, doubtful.

"but what if you did?" she counters.

there's a tense pause, and she beams with pride whenever you rip open the envelope with a resolve you're rarely comfortable showing.

your eyes scan the first paragraph of the letter, and lisa holds her breath.

"i did it! they even stamped my application! oh my gods," you're gasping, voice increasing in volume. "i'm going to the akademiya!" this is the only time she'll allow someone to break the "no yelling" rule in her library. "you're going to the akademiya!" "i owe it all to you," you launch yourself into her arms, and she embraces you in tandem. "thank you, so, so much!"

"you did that all on your own, darling. i told you, you're gifted - but you applied yourself, worked extremely hard, and you did it."

from her vantage point, she notices the twinkling of a dendro vision that definitely wasn't there before, resting in your favorite place to sit.

"i did it." you smile, hugging her tighter, unaware of the blessing behind you. she can only hope you'll make decisions you won't regret from here on out. as lisa's best friend, she'll miss you, definitely, but she knows you'd miss the opportunity of chasing your dreams even more.

she'll always be rooting for you, wherever you are.

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Full book spoiler thoughts ahead. Okay I know some people think Nynaeve didn’t do enough this episode but honestly? I think this was perfect. It’s really setting up her need to break her block, most likely next season. She couldn’t heal her friends when they were terribly injured, this is gonna weigh on her.

Also I love this introduction of Elayne to the group and reunion of the entire EF5. I hope they do more full group reunions than happen in the books. I think we’re still probably getting the stone of tear next season so at least we’ll probably have another convergence point there.

Also!!! I fucking love that Egwene had a ta’veren moment this episode, where the pattern shaped itself around her needs so she could free herself from the a’dam. Great choice. Brilliant finale, great way to top off the themes around stilling and having channelers’ autonomy and lack of control of the one power stolen from them.

Stuff I am especially looking forward to as a result of the foreshadowing in this episode and the whole season:

Mat having been made a hero of the horn between the third age of the books and this turning and how that’s basically gonna kickstart his general arc way early. The fucking rigged up Ashandarei!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If/when we get Rhuidean next season I’m gonna be feral for weeks.

Everything around stilling this season is gonna pay off so fucking well with what is going to happen with the white tower.

Related to that, the stuff with shielding this season was setting up for The Box in ways that are driving me Insane.

Egwene’s entire arc going forward. Holy fucking shit Egwene’s arc was set up so perfectly this season. The show established her stance on the seanchan so well I’m still boggled. Renna’s actress was incredible, I have perhaps never hated a character more. Fuck.

The forsaken. Full stop.

AND THE AIEL. Oh my god the Aiel this season. The Maiden hand talk. Every single moment Aviendha was onscreen. I’m just!!!!!

I found this season to be pretty fucking great, the pacing was way better than season one (though not perfect, they need more episodes), the effects were better, the way the magic system was displayed was better, the acting went incredibly hard (occasionally the dialogue was a bit wonky but the acting was solid basically across the board), the execution on themes was Delightful. Some marked differences from the books but I think most of it really worked in the show’s context. Cannot wait for season three. If Amazon doesn’t increase their episode count I’m going to fight. And they should increase their budget some more.

Literally my only complaint this episode was the fletching thing during the arrow injury scene. Which, it is honestly kind of funny to have the best healer in the world make such a rookie mistake.

Everything else I was down for. Great season finale.

[justletmeramble1701]

Has anyone talked about how each of the three specials represents the three eras if NuWho (as in the three showrunners)?

The Star Beast felt like a classic Russel T Davis era introduction. The doctor disrupts the companion's boring domestic life, introducing them to a new, exciting, and very dangerous life. While, yes, this is the story of most NuWho companions, but Russell's version focused on how boring mundanity is (his companions are thrill seekers, especially Rose and Donna) and the companion's familiar life, which this episode does with the reintroduction of the Noble's.

It also has a "Davis-ex-machina", but all three episodes have that, so I'm not gonna mention it.

Wild Blue Yonder felt like a Moffat idea box (a dark fairy tale/cosmic horror). High concept scares or ideas that force the Doctor to drop his mask and confront truths about himself. I'm specifically thinking of series 6, where The Doctor relearns responsibility by the strange and usually terrifying situations he falls into, dragging his companions along for the ride. In this story, the Doctor is reminded how beaten down they are, setting us up for the conclusion in the finally. It's basically this Doctor's "The God Complex"! While this is how the franchise does character development, it feels uniquely Moffat because of its horror influence (its "Alien" and "The Thing") and the level at which it explains itself (it explains as much as it needs to have a monster with a gimmick, but not too much that they stop being scary - and also in a way that confuses most people).

It also has seemingly innocuous lines that are actually horrifying in context. "My arms are too long..." feels so much like "Are you my mummy," "Don't blink," and "Who turned out the lights," but it lacks the ability to be repeated more than once, so it can't become the quote for the creature. Instead of a singular quote, the episode goes for a series of chilling one-liners ("Oh, we get hungry, don't we..." being a great example).

The Giggle had that late Chibnall charm. Bringing back past elements in highly action-packed finales or specials to attempt to excite or "wow" the audience. While it pulls things out of nowhere to keep the plot going, you don't care because of how much fun you are having! I was specifically thinking about "The Power of the Doctor" while watching it. Half a "Flux" worth of ideas crammed into an episode, but with just enough fun, character, and heart that you allow it to do whatever. Let the episode drive you in whichever direction it needs to go to reach the destination, trusting that it won't get lost or crash. While this is, basically, the concept of the show (remember, we are watching a walking deus ex machina in their magic plot generating box, waiving their magic wand around until it is time for them to solve the problem), it feels like Chibnall because of how compact it is. Like I said, this has enough ideas that it could have been all three specials.

The thing that sets these three specials apart from the last three eras is the power dynamic between the Doctor and their companion. 14 and Donna are equals. While Donna is being reintroduced to the extraordinary, 14 is being reintroduced to the mundane. While Donna is trying to escape from the lovecraftian creature they've encountered, the Doctor is right beside her, scared of what they shouldn't comprehend (the episode even punishing them for their comprehension). While Donna is being toyed with by a dark god, the laws of reality failing her, the Doctor is facing the same, at the wim of an entity that operates by a different set of rules. The Doctor and their companion, their friend, is finally operating on the same playing field as them, which means that, by extension, so are we.

Donna, like all companions, represents the audience, but, in these stories, she specifically represents the fans of the last 20 of Doctor Who. The ones that grew up watching NuWho. We are older now, still as loud and snarky as ever, but we are adults now. Just like Donna, we have lives, responsibilities. We can't experience the world (or the program) the way we once did. Even though the adventures never truly end, it is our turn to join the previous generation (reprented by Mel) watch the next batch of whovians discover this exciting universe for the first time, our Doctor by our side.

This was the best conclusion to NuWho that we could've hoped for!

[socialmediasocrates]

MITZIE AND THE THINGS SHE FOUND IN THE RIVER; a wip intro

(intro graphics by @veneritia)

Genre: new adult, urban fantasy

Tropes: Cloudcuckoolander, But for Me, It Was Tuesday, Her Boyfriend's Jacket, Non-Linear Character, Red String of Fate, Necromancer, Child of Forbidden Love, Anthropomorphic Personification, Revenant Zombie, Interactive Narrator

5 Song Playlist: Inkpot Gods, Bulletproof Heart, The Last of the Real Ones, Call Your Mom, Breath of Life

TL;DR: Keyesville, PA's got a serial killer, and it's up to "undergrad" witch Mitzie Morse and yoga instructor Khalil Bashir to stop them.

Summary:

For six months, Mitzie Morse has been pulling murder victims out of the river.

She gets them fixed up, so she figures it's not really a big deal, but there's definitely a serial killer on the loose. One who's ramped up their activity lately, a pattern of escalation in both violence and frequency of killings that would give anyone other than Mitzie some pause. Necromancers have a dysfunctional relationship with reality. Someone has to remind them that death is scary for most people, or they forget. Luckily (for Keyesville, not Mitzie) the latest victim, burnt out physical therapist turned yoga instructor Khalil Bashir, is happy to remind her that she has the power to stop these killings once and for all. Unluckily (for Keyesville, for Mitzie, and mostly for Khalil) a quirk of fate and magic has bound the two of them together. Doubly unluckily (for Keyesville, for Khalil, and mostly for Mitzie), the killer has set their sights on a new target: Mitzie Morse.

Characters

Mitzie Morse

like all necromancers, mitzie has a sense of style kindly described as "macabre" and accurately described as "fucking gross." dir en grey, gazette, and my chemical romance posters war with gruesome anatomical diagrams of creatures ranging from humans to unicorns to, somehow, dodo birds for wall space. her kitchen cabinets are home to a collection of mismatched thrifted cups, plates, and bowls, an ancient, somewhat decrepit, rice cooker, and an array of body parts preserved in mason jars. the colorful ones your least favorite high school classmates use for drinks in their instagram posts.

[…]

"i think he might need a new left eye." she takes a step back to survey her handiwork. "maybe a couple toes and fingers, too. do i still have toes and fingers?"

unfortunately, the answer to that is yes. they're in the pantry, next to the box of gushers. the one that's already open, not the unopened one on the top shelf. kind of wedged between the gushers and the canned ravioli. yep, she's found them. she's never explained why she keeps them in there, to me or anyone, at least not in a way that i'm willing to accept.

"i told you, there's not enough space in the cabinets."

there would be plenty of space if she got rid of all the novelty cups.

"i don't want to get rid of my novelty cups."

she should, they're grungy in the gross way.

Khalil Bashir

"who are you?"

anyway, the yoga instructor, khalil, is up.

he's still sitting on mitzie's kitchen table, the blanket she threw over him folded over itself in his lap. he's twisting around, trying to figure out where he is (you're in mitzie's apartment, i just said that) and where i am (everywhere all at once, but i'm incorporeal so you can stop looking).

"who are you? who the fuck is mitzie?" he's got that high-pitched edge to his voice that people get when they're panicking. unfortunate.

"hello?"

oh. right. i'm stevie.

[…]

"what is this?" he holds the gift card out from himself like it's going to bite him.

"a twenty five dollar gift card!" mitzie stares at khalil. khalil stares back at mitzie. this goes on long enough that she decides to elaborate, "you know, for your trouble."

he looks like he'd like to say something but isn't fully certain what he wants to say or how he wants to say it. this is a common reaction to mitzie. she does tend to just open her mouth and say things. khalil opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens his mouth, then closes it. he looks at the gift card. he looks at mitzie. he looks at the gift card. he sighs, shakes his head, and stuffs it in a pocket.

"why did you settle on twenty five dollar gift cards?"

"i dunno, it seemed fair."

"right."

khalil's been having the longest day known to man for two and a half weeks.

Fatima Bashir

fatima is one of those unspeakably fashionable people that makes everything she wears look good. even, more than occasionally, dog vomit.

see, much like her brother burnt out on the whole "living in philly and fighting the demon in the homeless man outside the wawa for his life every time he wanted a hoagie" life, fatima got tired of having to sit through putting people's dogs to sleep for eighteen dollars an hour and no health insurance. so khalil's a yoga instructor, and fatima owns keyesville's first doggie daycare. somehow, her perfect manicures never get too fucked up.

"any news on khalil?" asks the office worker, passing a tupperware container of cookies across the counter. this is the fifth time today that someone has asked this. it is seven in the morning.

"not yet, but we're staying optimistic. thanks for the cookies; mom loved the last ones." it's true that her mom loved the cookies, but it's not true that she's thankful for them.

Johnny ???

"so, what's up with the mcdonald's napkins?" khalil is sitting extremely inadvisably unbuckled in the back of the van.

"no clue." two sharp turns and a hard stop at a red light. johnny sips his cucumber water placidly while everyone behind him climbs back into their seats. "gotta take 'em somewhere in oklahoma, though."

"how do you know that?"

"no clue."

johnny is a mystery wrapped in an enigma lodged in a mound of horse shit. you'll recall that his previous identity was cursed or something, so he turned it over to edna in exchange for the first of many mcdonald's napkins and a broken magic guitar. some garage sale special of unknown make, black paint flaking off the wood everywhere, strings curling around the pegboard like medusa's snakes. it doesn't matter how many times he changes the strings, or what he does when he changes them, they will always break as soon as he plays them, and the only song the guitar will reliably play is the mysterious one written on the mcdonald's napkins he keeps finding everywhere.

@seasteading ; @writinglyra ; @asablehart ; @zorya-km ; @silent-creed ; @cheshawrites ; @thewritersplace

[theautumnpicker]

Be next, what you have ever been, Infinity

Gale proposes with a special ring of his own creation. Astarion thinks he's teasing. Read on AO3 here. Happy birthday Rambo @mystraguideme!!!

“…if you would honour me with your hand.”

Gale is playing the part well, that is certain; he had dropped to one knee and is now holding up a ring box between them. The ring itself is a pretty little thing, a solid gold statement ring in pattern that resembles a sunburst, or perhaps a crown.

Astarion laughs and offers his hand. “So this is why you’ve been locked away in that study of yours for so long. This is no ordinary ring, I imagine?”

As Gale slips the ring on his left index finger—a perfect fit, naturally—he remains on his knee. “Indeed, my love, you have the right of it. It is imbued with a powerful enchantment of my own creation.” Astarion can hear the note of pride in his voice. “A spell designed to protect the wearer from sunlight.” Gale lifts a finger as if in warning. “At the moment, the magic has … limited charge. For your own safety, I’d recommend using it for no more than three hours per day. But worry not, I am still working to refine the spell and extend the duration, and I will not rest until—”

“Gale, it’s perfect.” Astarion cuts him off, resting his newly-adorned hand on Gale’s cheek and watching him lower his hand. “This is already more than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you.” But there is still a measure of doubt on his lover’s face, and Gale remains for some reason kneeling on the ground before him instead of standing up to embrace Astarion.

Before he can ask what’s wrong, Gale surprises him a second time, his voice full of trepidation. “I can’t quite help but point out that you haven’t given me an answer.”

For a moment, Astarion is genuinely at a loss as to what he might be talking about. All at once, it dawns on him, and his right hand flies to cover the expression of horror on his face. “Sweet hells, you’re serious?”

Gale, for his part, is reaching up towards him, his voice pitched with desperate anxiety. “Of course, the ring is not contingent upon your agreement to marry me. It occurs to me only now that it might seem—of course, you can keep it—” His face is flushed red with mortification, the usually-eloquent wizard stumbling suddenly over his words.

“Oh, you sweet, romantic fool.” Astarion can’t help himself. He pulls Gale to his feet and wraps his arms around him, shaking with silent laughter, though even he isn’t quite sure what could be so funny about this situation. “By the gods, you really mean this?”

“More than I’ve ever meant anything in my life. But of course, even if marriage isn’t what you imagine for us—”

“No. I mean, not no. I mean…”  It’s Astarion’s turn to stumble over his words now, as he pulls back from their embrace. “I honestly never seriously thought about it.” He winces, because he can tell Gale is a little crushed. “I’m not saying no! I just— I suppose I have questions.”

“Such as?”

It takes Astarion a moment to formulate his swimming thoughts into a coherent question. “I want to know what I’ll be getting myself into. Is this forever? Or is this for the next few decades, until your life reaches its, ehm…” There’s no pretty way to say this. “… natural conclusion.”

“Until I die, you mean,” says Gale, with a tone of voice that is somewhere in between amused and affronted. “Of old age, more wizened and wrinkled than Elminster.”

“Well. Yes.” Astarion raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think it’s a question worth asking, given the circumstances?”

“I suppose that’s fair. A lifetime with me must seem like the blink of an eye to you.”

Though Astarion winces, he can’t bring himself to disagree. He’d marry Gale anyway, he thinks, and count the next 60 years as the best of his life. But he’d rather know beforehand if there is an expiration date.

“If you really must know, I intend to stick around. If you’ll have me. I have a few ideas in the works to that effect. Though I imagine that must make it more intimidating, not less; I mean, gods know what I’ll be like after twenty years, let alone two hundred. I understand if you’d rather not commit to an eternity—"

“Yes.” Astarion silences him again with a kiss. “Yes, forever.”