#The White Rose of Vermilion

[neonovember]

Oh. My. God. Oh my god but imagine though, waking up around 8 or 9 or so on a day off where both you and Carmy have the day free. It’s a big deal maybe because oh my god Carmen’s in bed at 9 in the morning *affectionate sarcasm* holy moly Carmen settle down!

But just waking up with him, the sun coming through the window through the thin curtains with a little breeze, looking over and watching Carmy’s face form into the softest, most precious smile, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly comes to and lets out a little sigh “Morning” his voice is all husky from sleep and lack of use. You smile back with that sweet giddiness and relaxation in filling your body as you softly whisper good morning back to him. Watching him shift as he sits up to lean over and place a long, soft and slow and tender kiss over your lips, still with that little smile on his lips (I am about to exPLODE-)*CRYING!!!!!!*

okay okay, i know i wrote a drabble similar to this idea here, and for some reason my mind fell back to the night before..y'all, imagine the night that resulted in a soft, needy carmen spending the day in bed with you, all sore and a mess of slick and cum-

Midnight Cars

summary: You’re not about to fuck in the car park. So you end up fucking in the car park. Your apartment’s one at least. 

a/n: read @nolita-fairytale fic's about fiance!carmen, and god did that get my gears going. Her series is a mf masterpiece! Fiance Carmen is dirtyyy, even for Berzatto himself. There's public sex, I'm talking Carmen is knuckles deep in you swallowing you with praises whilst a few feet away from Auntie Susie, public. 

warnings; filth, utter FILTH, this is kind of insane even for me, car sex, public sex, fingering, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehuh!) but carmen's doing all the work, fiance!carmen, wrap it before you tap it lmao, 18+ explicit, feral and a little deranged carmen, possesive! carmen

The tangy burst of vermilion and cherry grasps your tongue as you tilt the rounded bowl of your drinking glass towards your lips, gliding your tongue to catch any wayward drops of the wine being poured by waiters dressed down in black and white. 

Your eyes don’t leave the dirty blond tresses that had long broken from their gelled back form through the night's progression sitting atop Carmen’s head. You can’t help the giggle you let out from your position against the bar, watching him join in a very drunk, but surprisingly harmonised rendition of “Ain't No Mountain High Enough" By Marvin Gates.

His tie sits undone around his neck, and his face is sort of flushed from the extended night, his cheeks a tinty rose and his lips turned red from his repetitive swipes of his tongue across them nervously.

All inhibitions are gone now, and you're able to indulge in the site of a carefree Carmen, left unaware of the never ending responsibilities he carried by the honey haze of a night just for him and his award winning restaurant. 

The low lights of the speakeasy room sets the air into a mellow haze, hints of cocoa and aged bourbon waft through the corners of the room, across half finished plates of food on tailored tables, and the stage where your Carmen had won the very award that now sits dangerously close to the edge of your table.

You knew the James Beard Association was prestigious, but god had they truly left you dumbfounded when you stepped into the low lights of the speakeasy.

You didn't even know places like this still existed. 

The speakeasy was tucked in a bricked alley, unassumingly between an Italian and a car park. You wouldn’t have ever guessed it to boast this attraction, with aged vintage black and white photos of late singers who’d sung on that very stage years ago hanging across the walls, polished dark exposed wood and velvet booth seats in corners surrounding round tables, even the parlour looked like it was out of an 80’s  bar house. You think if you shut your eyes and reached out you would have touched the sequence dress of Etta Jones.

Carmen didn't get drunk, not often anyways, and even now, after winning the prestige of “Chicago's Up and Coming Restaurant of the Decade”, he waved off every raise of a glass towards him.

Carmen felt a level of unease at even touching a drop of liquor whilst driving you both home, no, every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you safe at all times, and the taste of bourbon held nothing against the taste of you. 

That didn’t stop him from enjoying himself, in fact he felt an unnatural sense of bubbly relaxation fall over him as his gaze fell towards you, sipping on a glass, looking the very bit the picture of gorgeous he’d ever seen. 

Carmen had always been horrible at these sorts of things, getting doted on, sucked up to, boasted to. He hated every second of it, but even he can attest to the absolute wonder of a night this has been. He glided you against the dance floor, under the iridescent glass panes of the skylight window, the soft crescent moonlight shining through in a way that bounced against the glitters of low hanging ambient lighting and shimmers of dresses and disco balls. 

The dance floor had been packed with family and friends but then? Then, it had felt like the entire world had stood still, it had felt like it was the both of you, infinitely, you in his arms like it was meant to be, forever.

And now you looked across to him, with those eyes, those fucking eyes of yours, comfortable in the vision of your gorgeous man looking at you under hooded lids, his bottom lip sunken into his mouth. The hint of a smirk tucks at the corner, and it takes everything in you not to jump at him then.

You motion with a manicured finger, and his eyes catch yours in a second, despite being in a group of people currently huddled around him, eager faces hanging onto his every word. He leaves them, in the middle of a mountain of questions they prodded at him, towards you, following your every desire, always, until the very end.

“I see congratulations are in order, Chef” You softly reply, when he makes it close enough that you take in the veins trailing up his forearm, left bare from his rolled up sleeves. The vision shoots straight to the heat building in your belly, and you have to press your drink to your lips to stop the bubbly moan from escaping.

Carmen looks down at you from his height, eyes trailing down the cut of your body hugging dress, lingering on your snug hips catching against the silky black fabric. 

He wanted to feel them beneath his hands as he took you.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen replies, his voice like silk fluttering across your body. Heady in that way it always is.

“Mhm, but I didn’t get to really say anything since you were busy with the rest of them” You don’t have to gesture for Carmen to know about the huddles of people crowding his every move. Another thing he disliked about these sorts of things, they took him away from you.

“Does my girl feel neglected?” 

“No” You draw out. “ I just want to show you how proud I am” You whisper through dark lashes. Carmen trails a tattooed fingers across your jaw, letting glide against the smooth skin until it bumps against your lips. Trailing your bottom lip fervently, his own pulled into his mouth.

“And how are you going to congratulate me hm?”

“That will just ruin the surprise, won’t it?”

Carmen let’s put a chuckle, before leaning into the crook of your neck

“Careful..you know I don’t like it when you keep things from me” 

You can’t help the shudder that crawls up your spine at his words, flashes of being bent over his desk, of being pushed onto your knees corrode your mind and you feel the burning ache travel to your core.

Carmen tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you, eyes glinting in want.

“No? You’re not gonna tell me?” Carmen replies in a low voice, and as he trails his thick digits across the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material.

He trails his thick digits across the bodice of your dress, his hands dipping into the spill of cleavage before trailing it to the sides of your dress, bunching up the silk material. Surely he’s not?

“Mhm” Carmen nods, eyes flickering to you, reading your mind as he takes you in appreciably. His pupils are blown out in lust, the familiar ceruleans dipping into a depth only reserved for you.

You let out a squeal when you feel Carmen’s fingers trail up the slit on your thigh, squeezing the naked flesh before tracing his fingers along the lace trim of your panties. You’re up against the bar, shielded by the low ambient lighting and Carmen’s huge back obscuring every manoeuvre of your body to his every desire.

“Carmen-“ You admonish, eyes darting across the room now filled with happily drunk family and friends dancing or laughing amongst each other.

However your admonishment is light hearted, it trails off into the air when you feel Carmen press against you, then, you don’t really care, you miss him too goddamn much to.

“Been watching you the entire night you know? When you were dancing with your friends, god I wanted to drag you from the floor and just take you in the fucking coat closet” Carmen muses, his lips brushing against the pulse point behind your ear. Your drink long forgotten on the bar counter, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you bite back a moan.

“Yeah, just thinking about wrapping these thighs around me and letting that pussy grip me for hours”

“You’d take it all, right honey? You’ll be my good girl?” Carmen grunts out softly

All you can let out is a half hearted nod, your eyes falling dangerously closed as Carmen prods and sucks against every sliver of skin he can get ahold of.

His deft thumb drags along the fabric of your undergarments, cupping your mound as you let out a sharp exhale, making approving noises as the slick that has begun to already begun to drench your panties.

“Already wet for me Darling?” Carm replies, the hint of mirth surrounding his voice doesn’t allude you, and if you didn’t want to keep chasing that sweet friction of Carmens thumb against your heat you would have shoved him.

“Please Carm” You exhale with a sharp breath, trying to grind your hips onto the palm of his hand. He strokes you softly, featherlight touches that barely feel like anything.

And this man, this goddamn man, laughs. A roll of a chuckle rolls through his body and you want to scream at the denial of the pleasures he's keeping from you, before his deep baritone voice replies.

“All you had to say was please”

His rough fingers sink into your heat, it’s silky, and rough and hits you like liquor, straight to the building pressure. He drags your slick through your folds, arching his fingers ever so slightly when he bumps up against your clit. Never fully putting any pressure on that precipice of pleasure you want to dive head first into.

Dipping a thick tattooed digit into your tight hole, Carmen lets out a groan at the way you grip him so tightly, masking your pitched moan at the feeling of him circling his thumb against your bundle of nerves and stretching you out with his thick digits.

Carmen is practically holding you up, his large bicep wrapped tightly around your waist as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, letting the skin absorb the litter of stuttered mewls you let out at the swipes of his thumb against your clit.

The coil begins to tighten, and you can faintly hear Carmen softly whisper sweet nothings, proclamations, declarations, praises. They fall from his mouth like honey and push you further up the cliff. 

“I know sweet girl, taking it so well, just keep taking it, let me make you feel good, yeah?”

A second finger joins the first, dragging your sopping slick up your folds, before dipping into your tight hole. Rough fingers massage up against your walls that grip him so tightly, Carmen knows your body inside and out, and it doesn't take long for him to find the soft spongy patch of skin deep within you, curling a third finger up into that spot, roughly thrusting into relentlessly. 

Carmen watches the way your pussy swallows his thick tattooed fingers, thrusting them out slicker and wetter each time, the image has his jaw and slacks tightening and it takes everything in him not to sink his entire length into against the bar counter, fuck whoever else.

Your hips buckle beneath him, and he grips you harder into his chest, his mouth presses bruising kisses along your neck, jaw, clavicle. Your heated moans fail to reside in you as you begin to cant your hips into his hands, rubbing your clit rapidly on the flat side of his palm. The coil tightens within you, and you roll your eyes back, letting out a bubbling of half syllabus, your brain a mush from the saccharine pleasure curling your toes.

“M’ fucking you dumb baby? You getting off so good on my fingers you can’t speak?” Carmen groans out, he can’t stop himself from canting his hips forward, his erection bumping into your stomach.

The feeling of him pressed and thrusting against you, outlined by his suit pants is a vision that breaks you entirely, and you can’t even blink before you feel the band snap, the delicious white hot burn spreading through you like a wildfire.

“Carmen..s-..gonna” You manage to let out with a breath, and Carmen knows already, of course he does. He’s knuckles deep in you now, and his relentless rutting is inescapable, you can fucking feel him in your bones, down to your goddamn marrow. He continues his rapid thrusts into you, refusing to relent, pushing you further, and further through the waves of your unending. 

Your head lulls back, but Carmen catches it with his arm, his mouth slatted over yours as you fail to keep in the loud yell of his name from your lips. 

Carmen swallows your stuttered mewls, your swears, your please, he swallows it all and keeps it for himself. His tongue darting across the inside of your mouth, swiping along the roof of your mouth, across your front teeth.

His fingers continue to thrust into you, helping you ride through the burst of colours and stars that light your vision beneath your lids. You're pushed up against his hard chest, and it takes some time for your limp body to come back to life, your head a daze of pleasure.

“S’fucken good girl”

Carmen mutters so softly, almost to himself, his fingers are still cupping your heart, whisper grazes of his thumb against your drenched folds. 

as he fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile.

Through hooded lids, you see a man approach you both, interrupting the heated gaze Carmen imprints down to your very bones. Carmen slinks his hand back, discreetly popping those deft digits into his mouth with a low groan, before wiping them on his suit pants. He carefully fixes your dress, smoothing the wrinkles formed, flickering his eyes to yours in a sweet smile as if he hadn’t just fucked you up into his knuckles, and goddamn tasted you. 

The scene causes a shudder to roll down your back, reigniting the heat deep inside you once again, you never thought you could be this depraved, this-, but the way he sinks into you so perfectly has you nodding to every desire he has. He was a goddamn drug.

Your body is still recovering from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel Carmen's heated gaze on you as you try and coherently respond to the stubby man who’d interrupted you both. The man rambles on, clearly oblivious to your state, too focused on the sound of his own voice. You nod along to his words, something about a farmers market or an Indian restaurant that had opened, but you're jittering in your heels and you can barely stand, opting to lean against the bar counter. 

You look towards Carmen, to find him staring at you, amusement lighting his cerulean blues as he takes in your insatiability. Hell, it took him god near everything to not fling the man to the other side of the room so that he could probably taste you. 

Remind him again why he agreed to this?

It gets to maybe the second inception of an animated story before Carmen is bidding the man goodbye with a shake of a hand, and all you can do is swallow the desire that no doubt has you salivating by the second. God if Carmen had made you wait even one more minute you would have tugged on his shirt like some petulant child.

“Took you long enough” You murmur, when Carmen eases out into the speakeasy car park with a hand against the small of your back.

A soft laugh escapes Carmen, scratching at his jaw as he shakes his head. 

“If I didn’t already know, I would think you're the one that hates these things” Carmen murmurs with a teasing smile, as you make your way to the sleek black car that camouflages against the midnight.

You make a sound that sounds close to a snort, “Not when it keeps me from jumping my fiances bones” Your engagement ring seems to glisten at those words, and you don't miss the way Carmen’s eyes flash with a look of hunger, adoration, glee, even possession all mixed in one.

You’d been his since the moment he laid eyes on you, that was a given. Putting a ring on your finger just gave him something to latch onto, a mark that told the world you were finally his.

It anchored him, it made him feel good. It eased the anxieties that would flood his mind, washing them away like a current every time he kissed that damn princess cut.  

Carmen wasn’t exactly all that sentimental, but with you? God did he mutter till death do us part like it was tattooed onto his tongue. And even then, when he’s a zombified version of his human self, traveling the underworld soullessly he’d find you.

Oh were you Carmen’s, but wasn’t he yours too?

“Language sweetheart, you make me sound like a piece of meat” Carmen murmurs teasingly shuffling so that he’s leaning over your body pressed into the passenger seat door.

“Language? Your talking about modesty after you just-” Your cut off by Carmen's rough finger pressed against your lips

“Would be careful about what you're going to say next sweetheart” Carmen raps in a low voice, tracing his finger against your bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as if the motion of his fingers brushed up against you was of utmost importance.

You gulp back the words you wanted to say, Carmen's blown out eyes flicker from yours to your lips, and you lift your head towards him. Carmen catches you with a hand wrapped around your jaw, pushing you further against him as he crashes his lips sweet against your own. Swiping against your bottom lip, dipping into the heat of your mouth as he groans against the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Carmen murmurs into the kiss, before pulling back. Amusement clouds over lust filled eyes at your immediate anger against his denial

“What about my surprise?” 

“You can’t really get to enjoy the full experience in a public car park on Michigan Ave” You whisper, suggestivity laces your tone as you feel the heat of embarrassment flood through you. You were not good at this stuff, and yet the sharp sound of Carmen’s soft groan causes you to lift your eyes up to meet him.

“Then what are we doing standing here?” Carmen replies with a growl, it erupts from his chest, and as you stare up at him, you finally take in the wolfish expression on his face. He look’s insatiable, goddamn animalistic as he eyes you carefully, a darkness that prods at his blues.

You let Carmen place you into the passenger seat, the resounding click of the seat belt the only sound in the stretch of silence between you both. A heaviness laces the air in the car as you ride home, a headiness, a lurking desire beneath the illuminating light of the console, and the flashing lights of Chicago sitting against tinted windows. 

Carmen spreads his thighs across the drivers seat leisurely, resting a hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other grips your thigh tightly. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow, and you can't help but preen at the thought of his mark on you hours later.

You count the seconds that tick by as Carmen rolls into the basement garage of your shared apartment, parking silently as he cuts the engine and remains unmoving, except for his hand gripping your thigh which he squeezes periodically. 

Carmen cuts his gaze towards you, the wolfish expression that overtakes his features and turns him into a predator tells you all you need to know, but his eyes soften ever so slightly, almost telling you the next move is up to you.

Carmen doesn't need to hear the seat belt unclasping before he's tugging you on his lap with rough skillful hands. His erection pushed against the softness of your belly as groan out in blissed relief, Carmen can’t help himself, grinding his hips up into you frantically.

“Need” Carmen breathes out heavily “Need to feel you, need to be inside of you. Right now, right fucking now” Carmen groans.

There is a fumble of clothes being ripped and thrown into the backseat, and Carmen shifts the driver's seat to lean back a little. The position is unforgiving, your back is pressed against the wheel, and the space is too small, but strangely, it’s a tight proximity you crave, too long have you gone without the ecstasy of Carmen’s skin against yours.

You settle your thighs on either side of him, his deft fingers drawing soft circles across your hips, his pressing fervent kisses along your jaw causing you to fall into the crook of his neck.

“Please, sweetheart, let me feel you, let me see you, shh, it’s alright, let me feel you” Carmen hums into the heat of your skin, tasting your sweat with the flat of his tongue as he grips your hips gently.

You lift them, and with Carmen's help, you finally, after what felt like centuries, sink onto Carmen's length, the sobbing slick drenching your folds causing him to slip in easily, eliciting a breathless groan from him as he feels the heat of you wrap around you.

You can hardly breath, all you can feel, all you can taste and see is him, the delicious stretch that comes with the first sink into you is glorious, its fucking ineffable. The entirety of his length sinks into you to the hilt, and you feel every vein and ridge of him graze against your tight walls as you let out a strained whimper into Carmen's shoulder.

“ ‘S Fucking velvet, pussy grip’s like a goddamn vice every time sweetheart” Carmen praises, pressing kisses to your skin, his eyes shut as if he was memorising the feel of you, savouring it in his mind like it was the last time.  

Carmen always gave you a few moments to get comfortable around his thickness, but there was a neediness in the way he held you, like you would turn to dust if he let go, and the restraint he held earlier falls apart as makes that first thrust up into you without warning.

You cry out as the blanket of pleasure courses through you, your heart is in your throat, you can barely breath, and you throw your head back cause god don’t you want more.

You press your nails into his shoulder as you try to lift your hips, eyebrows furrowed at the feeling of pleasure that fills you with every inch of him that glides against your walls, your clit, your slick. You’re a mess, and Carmen tugs at your hips, sick of waiting, and thrusting into you mercilessly, maintaining an unforgiving pace as you quake above him.

“Take me so goddamn well, huh sugar? Doesn't my wife take my cock so well?’ Carmen grunts, his eyes watching the way his length sinks into you and leaves glistening with your slick. The sight nearly tears him into his undoing, nearly causing him to spurt into you, if only he had a damn polaroid.

Your head brushes against the roof of the car as Carmen pistons into you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams you onto his length, rutting into you as the velvet of your walls cling to him. It was like goddam silk wrapped around his length, the gooey slick of your arousal coating his every ridge, dripping down onto his balls and between the space where he’d thrust into you.

A litter of profanities fall from his mouth with every stuttered thrust of his hips, its uncontrolled, and Carmen shows no restraint, no signs of stopping as he chases the wet softness only you have, the decadent caramel, your natural addicting scent, the car fucking stinks of you, and it takes everything in Carmen not to rip you off him and drink from you like a fountain elixir.

His tip brushes against your cervix, thrusting impossibly deeper with every move of his hips, he changes his position, and it causes his length to brush up against that spot that causes stars to burst in your vision. You practically arch your back against him, lifting your hips up when you feel the white hot pleasure that drips down your back, exploding your senses.

“No no no, fucking take it” Carmen snarks, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you down deeper, further onto his length, till your filled to the brim, your slick gushing out of you.

A shudder rolls through you and the sound of Carmen's low voice, dipping into something untapped, something animalistic and merciless, something that would pull every drop of pleasure from you until you were a sobbing mess.

You roll your hips against his length, a shaking, stuttering mess of gurgling words and cries as you grind your clit against Carmen's length, whilst the girth of his thrust into the spongy spot within you that leaves you heaving.

The familiar burn of a coil tightens within you, and as Carmen presses a thumb against the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it softly. The contrast of his soft feather touches against your clit paired with his unforgiving pace thrusting into causes you to keen, arching your back against him as Carmen murmur below you fervently, like he's chanting something, worshipping every curve of your body.

“Open your eyes pretty girl” Carmen murmurs, the soft voice of his voice comes back, the rough demeanour falling away like dust as he takes in the signs of your closeness.

“Please Carmen” You beg, you don't know what for,  but it seems like everything from the pleading lilt of your voice. Give me everything Carmen, your love, your pleasure, your skin and bones.

“I know Baby, I know, let me see you yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes” Carmen prods gently

You squeeze your eyes open and the vision that finds you almost snaps the coil tightening deep within your gut, bellowing with heat and pleasure that sizzles below your skin like electricity.

Carmen lies beneath you, his cheeks red with heat and blushing desire, his eyebrows are furrowed, and below them, below them lie cerulean blues that glaze over in a daze, hooded lids with curls lashes that brush against cheekbones. It’s like he's in a trance, his pupils blown out in lust and something else as they watch the bounce of your chest against him each time you shealth yourself onto his thick, hard length.

White teeth pressed into reddened lips watch you eagerly, imprinting you into his mind forever, he wanted you like this always, taking every inch, screaming nothing but his name.

“Fucking gorgeous”

The lilt of his voice, grown husky and low from pleasure breaks something in you, and you aren’t able to warn him, before you arch your back impossibly, driving yourself roughly onto his hips as you get the wave of pleasure wash over you. Colours of vermilion, blue, of the wine you had drunk and Carmen's cologne burst under your lids, on your tongue, everywhere. Carmen groans loudly below you, thrusts growing sloppy as he ruts into you desperately, chasing his own release brought on by your own unending. 

Carmen barely controls the thrust of his hips into you, releasing spurts of thick cum, coating your walls endlessly. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, making you take everything he gives you, forcing you into the whirlwind of ecstasy and base desire you can’t escape from.

You both temporarily forgot about where you both are in that instance, the pleasure from the both of you transports you somewhere boneless, and for a second you feel your heart stop, the  wave of pleasure that crashes over you as Carmen continues rutting into you, lengthening the wave as long as possible until you feel it swallow you both whole.

It’s somewhere between a few minutes to a few hours when you resurface, you don't know, your mind is a mess of sound and colour and the ecstatic aftershock of pleasure that still runs through you. You're nestled into Carmen’s chest, the scent of your coupling thick in the air, your thighs and the leather seat are covered with your combined slick.

The only sound between you both is your heavy breathing, you still nestled up to the hilt of Carmen, and when you slightly shift your hips Carmen shoots out a hand to stop you.

“Easy there sweetheart” Carmen replies in tight constraint, over stimulation washing over you both as the buzz of pleasure still hasn't quite dissipated.

“S-sorry” You reply, breathlessly, lifting your head tiredly to catch the soft gaze of Carmen watching you. His hands glide across your naked frame, pressing soft circles, shushing and smoothing out every shudder and shake of your legs. Carmen doesn't tell you the thought of you visibly shaking from him and he only causes his length to stiffen and his mind to reel.

“So..where’s my present?” Carmen’s teasing voice re-emerges, his eyes crinkling as you swipe at him playfully.

“You’re still in me, dick” You reply with a roll of your eyes, falling back against the hardness of his chest

“Mhm, and I didn’t even get to taste you” Carmen murmurs, tracing his fingers along the curve of your waist, cupping your ass as you shudder from his words. There was a finality in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it to the elevator before he fulfills that very desire.

The obscenity of it, you love it, only Carmen could make you this depraved. And god do you thank him for it.

Taglist 🏷 (send an ask to be apart of my taglist for carmen)

@kpopgirlbtssvt @rooster-bradshaws

[comatosebunny09]

prey | astarion a.

summary: he makes you feel like small, feeble prey. something to be slowly devoured and savored. warnings: steamy, language now playing: desert rose [ slowed ] - lolo zouaï notes: i blame astarion’s bedroom eyes for this. tagging: @nanaoise08squad

The tavern is lively tonight. Filled to the brim with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs.

You hang back from the festivities, tucked away from the other patrons at a secluded table. Not lonely. Just prefer solitude.

You raise your mug to your companions every so often as they venture past, their mirth infectious.

There’s a smile on your face. Your body buzzes from the ale settling in your belly. You nurse your tankard, the contents of it gently sloshing about.

A laugh occasionally touches your lips. Watching everyone enjoy themselves is a welcomed sight, given the doom constantly looming over your shoulders.

Subconsciously, you find yourself sifting through the crowd in search of someone. A familiar thatch of white. Vermilion eyes. Sharp features. And like a beacon, you’re drawn to him, watching him chat up some pretty brunette on the other side of the bar.

You sit up on the barstool, unconsciously tugging at your collar. Feel your stomach plummet to your feet. Your lips part with shallow breaths, and your throat grows dry.

Who the hell is that? And why are they standing so close to him?

You’ve no time to coddle the envy blooming in your chest, for his gaze finds yours through the throng of people with laser precision. As if he sensed you looking his way, his eyes crinkle with the slightest hint of amusement.

Your heart stutters at the sight. You suddenly forget how to breathe. Trapped in a soundless stare-down, only the two of you seem to exist as the noise of the tavern fades into the background. It’s all a muddled mess to you, your senses heightened and all trained on Astarion.

His eyes dip into a mysterious shade of red whilst he studies you from beneath dark lashes. Makes you feel like small, feeble prey. Something to be slowly devoured and savored. Your bones licked clean and left on display on a mantle like a trophy.

And you still can’t quite get the hang of breathing.

He pays no heed to the person in front of him. As if they were a mere distraction—an appetizer to sate him until the main course.

He continues to leisurely undo you with his eyes, stripping you down to the marrow until you’re raw and exposed. You feel heavy. Pulsing. Dizzy. Not sure if it’s the ale filling your head with static or the depth of his stare.

Whatever the cause, you tear yourself from your seat. Wend through the crowd, gulping down air as you propel yourself into one of the dark and secluded back rooms.

The noise of the tavern peters into silence.

You press your back against a cool, textured wall, fighting to get your head back on straight. You clutch your chest. Screw your eyes shut.

Breathe. Breathe.

You realize all too late that you’re not alone.

The room’s pressure shifts. And like a prowler, he emerges from the shadows. Slow and meticulous in his steps, ingesting you with those devastating eyes aglow in the darkness, and his brows quirk with intrigue.

You can’t get your limbs to work—to move. So Astarion easily traps you between the hard press of his body and the wall, and he frames either side of your head on bent arms. The hunger in his gaze never leaves, only growing whilst his face slinks in. You swallow thickly, your legs ready to give way.

You’re a sheep cornered in a wolf’s den. Gazing up at him, your lids feeling so very heavy, your head swimming. He smells divine. Feels even better. You unconsciously tangle your fingers in the collar of his coat, drawing him closer.

His lips pan in, his lids shuttering, lashes thick. You stand on the tips of your toes, waiting with bated breath. Ever patient. Obedient. But the kiss never comes.

Instead, he teases you with the promise of one. Grazes your lips with his, sparkles of delight flittering across your face. He releases little pleased, hoarse groans you have to strain your ears to hear. And he revels in this, torturing you so. Coaxing petulant whines from your throat, and you kick your feet like an impatient child.

“Astarion,” you rasp.

“My love?” The rumble of his voice is heady. Makes you throb. His lips brush against yours again, kissing along the outskirts of your mouth, causing the delicate skin to tingle pleasantly.

“Why do you insist on being such a little shit?”

A chuckle. His nose nuzzles along yours, his hands cupping your neck below your jawline, thumbs smoothing over your chin and angling your head further back. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Astarion,” you growl. “Just…gods dammit, just kiss me already.”

You’re desperate. Breathy. Teetering along the edge, and you have to cling to him to keep from careening over it. Your senses are overhauled, filled only with Astarion. Too hot. Too many clothes. Can’t think straight. Can’t—

“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons, continuing his cruel game of keep-away when you move to close the gap between your mouths. “Where’s the fun in giving you exactly what you want whenever you demand it?” He noses along the torrid flesh of your cheek, and you can hear the cruel smile taking hold of his voice. “I rather like the sound of you begging.”

You scoff. Try to kiss him again, but Astarion won’t have any of that.

“Now.” He zooms in, ghosting his lips over yours, fully intending to make you suffer. You lunge forward as if to bite him, earning another low, guttural laugh that you feel in the depths of your belly. “From the top, my love.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & other related articles: 1 2 3 4 5

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

[fairyoctopus]

huge g1 lair purge!!

plum/goldenrod/orange, 40g

murk/buttercup/vermilion, 35g SOLD

twilight/white/maroon, 35g

ice/rose/black, 40g SOLD

chartreuse/nightshade xyx born on april fools!! 225g SOLD

chartreuse/heather/spring 1-off xyx 40g

sky/lead/white, born on halloween, 75g SOLD

indigo/oilslick/white, born on halloween, 75g SOLD

obsidian/bubblegum/strawberry, born on xmas, 50g

sapphire/sanguine/silver, born on the april eclipse, 35g

l!nk to my lair will be in a rb!!

[edwardian-masquerade]

Sonnet 98; By William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring,

When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,

That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer’s story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:

Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight

Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.

    Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,

    As with your shadow I with these did play.

[revoevokukil]

Ard Gaeth & Smol Gaeth. What's with the Gate of Worlds in The Witcher?

‘In short,’ Avallac’h continued, ‘it concerns the possibility of transferring between worlds not only oneself, one’s own–indeed–insignificant person. It concerns the opening of Ard Gaeth, the great and permanent Gateway, through which everyone would pass.’

The following is a shorthand for a work-in-progress.

Ard Gaeth ≠ Gate of Worlds, Threshold of Time.

Ard Gaeth = “special case” of Gate of Worlds.

Every time someone with the ability travels between times & places, they access the so-called Gate of Worlds.

Times and places are “separated” from each other by mirror glass.

Interdimensional “portalling” involves ripping a tear into a glass-like canvas.

Extra:

There are notable similarities in the dynamics and appearance of Gate of Worlds in A. Sapkowski’s work and Michael Ende’s Temple of a Thousand Doors.

Travelling in time and space is travelling in the imagination of the possible; an infinite collection of reality variations.

See longer discussion under the cut if this catches your interest.

Last year in January, I puzzled over Nimue’s ability to open the Gate of Worlds. Weren’t only the bearers of Elder Blood supposed to be able to open it? And wasn’t it a “great and permanent pathway?”

I conflated the Gate of Worlds with Ard Gaeth because several passages in Lady of the Lake do so, and because Aen Elle don’t currently seem to have access to Ard Gaeth. However, upon further thought, the Aen Elle do have access to the Gate of Worlds; just in limited form. Additionally, that which hides inside the Tower of the Swallow is also called the Gate of Worlds, Threshold of Time, and what Ciri does in world-hopping, what the Aen Elle do in their presently constrained capacity, also consists of crossing the Threshold of Time and Space.

Alright, so it seems it’s a loosely deployed and underexplained term then? The author’s mishap. Maybe. Maybe though, some more meaning can be mined out of the idea of “Smol Gaeth” and “Ard Gaeth.”

Maybe wishing and belief are involved, as in Michael Ende’s The Neverending Story.

Mirror-tears or “Portals”

What’s it like to enter another reality?

In The Witcher, worlds–times & places, dimensions & spheres–are like glass splinters reflected in each other in a giant polyhedron solid. Places and times often mirror each other, though not perfectly. They exist as possibilities. To enter one is a little like to rip open a canvas or to smash a mirror. A potent metaphor, and a literal description.

The night air above the lake ruptured, like a smashed stained-glass window cracks. A black horse emerged from the crack. The image blurred and shattered, as painted glass shatters, suddenly fell to pieces, disintegrated into a rainbow-coloured twinkling of sparkles, gleaming and gold. And then all of it vanished.

Though this is an elaboration, it seems to me that if you breach a shard, entering it, you change the world into which you pass. Split the surface of a mirror and you fracture the image inside. You become part of another story, another canvas, another tapestry. And the number of mirror-tears reflected in each other grows infinitely inside the giant polyhedron.

Something creaked, just like canvas being torn. The terns rose with a cry and a fluttering, for a moment covering everything in a white cloud. The air above the cliff suddenly vibrated and became blurred like glass with water spilled over it. And then it shattered like glass. And darkness poured out of the rupture, while riders spilled out of the darkness. Around their shoulders fluttered cloaks whose vermilion-amaranth-crimson colour brought to mind the glow of a fire in a sky lit up by the blaze of the setting sun. Dearg Ruadhri. The Red Horsemen. … the air also ruptured in another place, and from the rupture, cloaks fluttering like wings, rushed out more horsemen.

Now, notably, these examples include Ciri’s own teleportation attempts. The barrier between worlds is like that of a window pane, or a looking glass.

Ciri leapt up from the bed, and hurled the looking glass at the wall with great force. The amber frame smashed and the glass shattered into a million splinters.

Mirrors, looking glasses, obtain quite a significance in Lady of the Lake. For one, there are lakes stretching across times and places, smooth as looking glasses. Then dreams, those warped looking glasses dependent upon the dreamer’s desires, longings, fears. There are mirrors that sorceresses use for video calls and there are Avallac’h’s mirrors. There’s Auberon’s looking glass, which shows things that are occurring, have occurred, or are yet to occur (?); “now” is relative, after all. There’s Hartmann’s mirror, which Nimue owns.

‘That looking glass… It’s magical, isn’t it?’ ‘No. I squeeze my pimples in front of it.’ … ‘It’s Hartmann’s looking glass,’ explained Nimue. ‘Is it true,’ asked Condwiramurs in a voice trembling with excitement, ‘that from Hartmann’s looking glass you can pass into other–’ ‘Worlds? Indeed. But not at once, not without preparation, meditation, concentration and a whole host of other things. … Something may also emerge from Hartmann’s looking glass.’

We don’t actually see anyone pass through Hartmann’s looking glass into another world, but we do see the looking glass helping to summon an image: of one particular legend–a time and place–as seen through a portal. It is Ciri, who steps inside this image of the portal, rendering it an actual Gate of Worlds.

Doors into Possibilities

What is it like to linger on the Threshold of Time, to pass through the Gate of Worlds? For one, there is soft, black darkness. Then, things obtain geometry.

At first, the inside of the tower reminded her of Kaer Morhen–the same long, black corridor behind a colonnade, the same unending abyss in the perspective of columns or statues. It was beyond comprehension how that abyss could fit into the slender obelisk of the tower. But she knew, of course, that there was no point analysing it–not in the case of a tower that had risen up from nothingness, appearing where it had not been before. There could be anything in such a tower and one ought not to be surprised by anything. The colonnade she had ridden into blazed with an unnatural brilliance. Kelpie’s hooves rang on the floor; something crunched under them. Bones. Skulls, shinbones, ribcages, thighbones, hipbones. She was riding through a gigantic ossuarium. Kaer Morhen, she thought, recalling. The dead should be buried in the ground… How long ago that was… I still believed in something like that then… In the majesty of death, in respect for the dead… But death is simply death. She rode into the gloom, under the colonnade, among the columns and statues. The darkness undulated like smoke. Her ears were filled with intrusive whispers, sighs, and soft incantations. Suddenly brightness flamed before her, as a gigantic door opened. One door opened after another. Doors. An infinite number of heavy doors opened before her without a murmur. Kelpie went on, horseshoes resounding on the floor. The geometry of the walls, arcades and columns surrounding her was suddenly disrupted; so confusingly that Ciri felt dizzy. She felt as though she were inside an impossible, multifaceted solid, some gigantic polyhedron. The doors kept opening. But now they weren’t delineating a single direction. They were pointing to infinite directions and possibilities.

When Ciri rides into the Tower of the Swallow, she witnesses all possible times simultaneously; likely according to what matters to her, but not only. She sees things which have happened, which are happening, and which might yet happen. As she nears the end of her journey, she discovers she can also converse with Vysogota, who has passed on into the spirit realm. Within Tor Zireael, Ciri could pass into many realities, but she is drawn unconsciously toward one the builders of the elven tower linked to it. She is using her inborn abilities, which allow her to access the Gate of Worlds, within a support framework the elven tower provides. Later, when Ciri is escaping through time and space from her pursuers on her own, she is also accessing the Gate of Worlds and ends up in an equally large variety of possible places. It just lacks the geometry.

Now, what this connotes to me is that moving through the Gate of Worlds and over the Threshold of Time is to cruise the wave of possibilities, i.e. imagination.

Insofar as other times and places in The Witcher exist as possibilities, they resemble both Zelazny’s shadows and M. Ende’s imagination. In The Chronicles of Amber, walking in the shadows of the city of Amber is to walk in an infinite variations of reflections, and to reach one such reflection is to simultaneously create it. In The Neverending Story, M. Ende sees the creation of literature, that is, the transformation of dynamic imagination into static text, as a sort of death that an author can only hope leads to rebirth in the imagination of its readers. That’s the rebirth of the world. And Bastian, the protagonist whose imagination builds the story toward its end in a story that also contains its own new beginning (it’s an Ouroboros), is the vehicle. Much like Ciri.

I draw comparisons to Ende and Zelazny in particular (though I could also point to M. Z. Bradley’s Worldhouse) because A. Sapkowski has spoken highly of their work and because I have read them. Anyway, here is the description of The Temple of a Thousand Doors from M. Ende’s The Neverending Story.

It was a hexagonal room, rather like the enlarged cell of a honeycomb. There were doors that looked like large keyholes, and others that resembled the entrances to caves, there were golden doors and rusty iron doors, some were padded and some were studded with nails, … Bastian had passed many times from one hexagonal room to another. Every decision he made led to another decision that led to yet another decision. But after all these decisions he was still in the Temple of a Thousand Doors. His wish had sufficed to lead him into the maze, but apparently it was not definite enough to enable him to find the way out. Thus far his decisions had been based on mere whim and involved very little thought. In every case he might just as well have taken the other door. At this rate he would never find his way out.

Fantastica is the realm of human imagination, collected in a tale that is reflecting the nature of itself infinitely. It is also interesting what are the prerequisites for being able to enter The Temple of a Thousand Doors and leave it.

“There is in Fantastica a certain place from which one can go anywhere and which can be reached from anywhere. We call it the Temple of a Thousand Doors. No one has ever seen it from outside. The inside is a maze of doors. Anyone wishing to know it must dare to enter it.” “Every door in Fantastica,” said the lion, “even the most ordinary stable, kitchen, or cupboard door, can become the entrance to the Temple of a Thousand Doors at the right moment. And none of these thousand doors leads back to where one came from. There is no return.” “Only a genuine wish can lead you through the maze of the thousand doors. Without a genuine wish, you just have to wander around until you know what you really want. And that can take a long time.”

It opens only to the one who wishes to find it.

“How will I find the entrance?” “You’ve got to wish it.”

Yes, but The Tower of the Swallow only works for those bearing Elder Blood! I hear you-I hear you. You need to be a special individual to enter such an impossible place of endless possibilities. A protagonist, perhaps? The one around whose actions the fate of the story shapes itself? (A shared feature between The Witcher and The Neverending Story is that they transcend the boundaries of their own tale by becoming self-aware of their own natures as stories.)

Bastian finds the entrance to the Temple of a Thousand Doors when an inner voice calls him away. He finds the Door at the exact and only moment he can possibly find it in order to push forward his and Fantastica’s story; just like he found the book that needed him as a character to complete its tale. Much like how Ciri finds the Tower of the Swallow thanks to a book that an elf, who needs her in his tale in his world, once provided material for and which Vysogota brought to her attention.

A multi-pronged wish forms in Ciri for finding the legendary Tower: she would be far from the danger threatening her, out of reach of her enemies which would suit her; spooked by her dreams she wishes to help her loved ones; and she wants to return to a time and place where things are “like it used to be.” This is similar to how a wish forms in Bastian: to be surrounded by people again and show off his abilities. Can any character do anything at all without (us) wishing for it, anyway?

Perhaps then, “a targeted wish” combined with knowledge plays a role in summoning the Gate of Worlds. When Ciri wished for a way to escape in Thanedd, the portal of Tor Lara appeared suddenly and, as Ciri notes, ‘just in time as though she had summoned it.’ As in M. Ende’s tale so in The Witcher: “teleporters are never visible.” That’s what plot devices do for the Chosen: appear, when they are most needed. Because the Chosen have stories to finish.

Technically, the Temple of a Thousand Doors is a crutch for a principle of “wishing and making your wish become reality,” just as Tor Zireael is like a crutch, or a highway, for a raw ability. Bastian has AURYN for his wishes, and Ciri has Hen Ichaer.

Ciri must know what to want while she is escaping in time and space with Ihuarraquax. She calls forth in her memory the sight of two moons over warm moors, repeating in her mind what she wants, and takes the plunge.

a cool brightness–the brightness of knowledge and power–quickly came over her. She had no idea where the knowledge and power were coming from, where their roots and source originated. But she knew she could do it. That she would do it if she wanted.

She learns her power, by learning to wish for places (remaining bad with wishing for times).

Perhaps not imagine places or faces, she thought, but strongly desire … Strongly wish for something, very strongly, right from my belly …

To come up with it like this is not unlike to dream up things, to pull a story out of thin air, and then going there. No offence to Condwiramurs, but dreams are a little bit like library cards after all.

‘In short, life in a dream. And life, Madam Vigo, may be a dream, may also finish as a dream … But it’s a dream that has to be dreamed actively.’

However, as in The Neverending Story, where it becomes clear that AURYN’s power comes not only from our capacity to imagine (‘Do what you wish.’), but to imagine fruitfully, i.e. to do what we wish and bring the imagined bear on reality, so in the Witcher: sometimes you lack knowledge and wisdom to get to the things you really want.

Ard Gaeth

“This is Tor Zireael, the Tower of the Swallow. This is the Gate of Worlds and the Threshold of Time. Feast your eyes on this sight, man, for not to everyone nor always is it given.”

Ard Gaeth–the great and permanent pathway–thus seems more like a special, strengthened case of the Gate of Worlds, which in itself is openable by those bearing Elder Blood. The elves have not lost all ability to pass through worlds, they simply lack a potent enough of a dreamer-demiurge to create and stabilise a pathway into a reality that is exactly of the nature they would prefer. Traits propagate across generations and elven generations are slow.

Meanwhile, when the biggest fan of the legend summons the Gate of Worlds in Lady of the Lake, it seems to be referring to the Smol Gaeth rather than the Ard Gaeth. (Both are perhaps better conceived of as of methods not entities.) Hartmann’s looking glass serves as something like an amplifier. When Nimue summons the image in the tapestry–that one particular ending to the legend–it’s as if she is aiding Ciri in knowing which reality to wish for. For only Ciri can render a canvas, a page in a book, a Gate of Worlds.

Nimue calmly held out her hands, chanting a spell. The tapestry hanging on the stand suddenly burst into flames … The tiny lights reflected in the oval of the looking glass, danced, teemed in the glass like coloured bees and suddenly flowed out like a rainbow-coloured apparition, a widening streak, making everything as bright as day. The black mare reared up and neighed wildly. Nimue spread wide her arms violently, and screamed a formula. Condwiramurs, seeing the image forming and growing in the air, focused intently. The image gained in clarity at once. It became a portal. A gate beyond which was visible … A plateau full of shipwrecks. A castle embedded in the sharp rocks of a cliff, towering over the black looking glass of a mountain lake … ‘This way!’ Nimue screamed piercingly. ‘This is the way you must take! Ciri, daughter of Pavetta! Enter the portal, take the road leading to your encounter with destiny. May the wheel of time close! May the serpent Ouroboros sink its teeth into its own tail! ‘Roam no more! Hurry, hurry to help your friends! This is the right way, O, witcher girl.’ The girl in the saddle turned her head, looking now at them, now at the image called up by the tapestry and the looking glass. They saw the mare spurred on… And then everything vanished. Without a word… they both turned around towards the place where the Gate of the Worlds had vanished.

The closing of the wheel of time is accomplished through the sheer power of wishing along with Ciri for Ciri to get back into the time and place in which lies a story that Ciri needs to finish.

[madarasgirl]

A Night for Hunting Ch.8- The Currency of the Soul

T/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, thirsty vampire, seduction Words: 2459 On AO3 @alastorhazbin

The smoke was thick in a somber, cavernous room which was only illuminated by moonlight through colossal windows. It twirled lazily before dissipating to join the silvery haze shrouding the rest of the room.

A lone figure stood by the immense desk, taking an extended draw on the cigar she then rolled between two fingers. Her exhale cut through the silence. What a massive headache her bureaucratic position brought. Nearly nothing was made easier by her servant. Sure, loosing him on enemies brought a quick demise to anyone who opposed Hellsing, but the Vampire frequently created almost more trouble than he was worth.

“You summoned me, my Master?” A deep, inhuman voice appeared from nothing and resonated through the space. 

An inky puddle of shadow emerged from the carpet, writhing and twisting into an overly long figure, one with pitch black hair that fell straight to the floor. Lanky arms reached past its knees as it removed its fedora hat in a courtly bow. A gleaming vermilion stare pierced the darkness to regard the one who earned its respect long ago and now commands its loyalty.

Integra’s eyes narrowed at the creature before her. As dramatic and unsettling as ever, but some things will never change. 

“You are to explain your actions last night, Alucard,” she demanded with the dignity of royalty.

“Protecting London."

“Your rampage was not sanctioned. Do you know how much damage you caused the area around an important architectural treasure?”

He shrugged with a nonchalant expression. “Tower Bridge was not compromised.”

She stabbed out the cigar on her desk, crushing it in the process of creating a new circular burn on the sumptuous wood. “Then do you realize how many civilians heard the commotion?! We at Hellsing operate under the guise of a paramilitary organization. We depend on the public’s ignorance of the supernatural and you are inciting them to furor–”

"Do you order me to cease my activities?"

“...”

Her brow twitched in irritation. Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing was certain she would die one day from a ruptured aneurysm due to her servant’s actions and not via any interaction with other lesser undead. She took out another cigar to help compose herself and her butler lit the end.

"No. A vampire’s nest was successfully exterminated. Do as you will, as long as your activities do not detract from your assigned missions."

Dracula grinned. "As you wish, my Master," he hissed in satisfaction.

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

He came to you again one night when you were preparing dinner at home. There was knocking at the door and you put the ladle down in surprise when his voice touched your mind.

Permission to enter, Sweet?

It was him. You tugged the door open and awkwardly stood there staring at him, not knowing how to act since the truth that he did in fact save you came to light. You still experienced insomnia and night terrors from what you went through that night, but remembering the way Alucard kept you safe and tethered to reality afterwards made it more bearable. You shivered at the recollection of how you woke up earlier today.

“Permission to enter?” He repeated himself. 

His question jolted you from your reverie. Turning demure doe eyes from his crimson, you stepped aside and let him in before shutting yourself in with a vampire.

He held a bouquet. Show-stopping lilies in red and white with orange stardust speckling the petals opened to the heavens, which were offset by the romantic whorls of the red rose. Red really was his colour. Dramatic. Like he was loudly making a declaration. 

You blinked and commented without a hint of a sardonic tone. You were genuinely curious. “I recall you had disparaging words to say about flowers and bouquets.”

His grin was less eerie and off-putting than you remembered. "You seem to favour the living dead, thus I decided that I too will try my hand."

He really was proposing what you assumed. You loved flowers, but your favouring of the living dead? Memories resurfaced of a terrifying ordeal, where a monster from hell with razor sharp teeth hunted you through deserted streets, except it was with Alucard’s face. There were gunshots and bleeding. There was death and you sat in the midst of an extremely sad scene of pain and suffering. Wait, it was long ago, but the creature in front of you did chase you for sport once upon a time. After what he did…

He wasn’t the same monster as that other one. It seemed more apt to say that the living dead had a way of finding you.

With slow, hesitant hands, you accepted his gift and set it in a vase with fresh water. The vampire made a sound of satisfaction and headed over to ‘his’ seat. He took out his guns, which caught your attention and your eyes tracked his deliberate movements. He removed the magazines and set them down on the coffee table with a heavy metallic thud before leaning back to observe you.

He was disarming himself? As if he needed his weapons to threaten you. But at least you now knew why he possessed guns. After another moment of staring back, you turned away to continue preparing your dinner.

“I’m making pumpkin puree soup with stuffed chicken tonight.”

“Sounds appetizing.” 

Strange, perhaps vampires did eat human food unlike what the legends said? “I suppose I have enough for two if you’d like to try some.”

There was one food item for Alucard in the vicinity. She was standing right in front of him offering to feed him chicken instead. He chuckled. “I am well-sated tonight, little one.”

Did Alucard have a home chef prepare his breakfast of bloody gourmet dishes? Trying to picture this was mildly comical for some reason. Maybe he bit random people on the street before he came here? Or perhaps he had arrangements with a private blood bank where he ordered his favourite blood types. Why were you spending so much time considering his meal habits? Whatever they were, the answer probably wasn’t something you wanted to know anyways. And no, you weren’t upset that a vampire wasn’t interested in eating your homemade food.

“Suit yourself,” you replied flippantly. 

Soon enough, you became immersed in your cooking and forgot about your company and his hobby of watching you go about your night. You stuck an immersion blender in the pot to puree the soup. You started humming songs you couldn’t vacate from your head lately. After checking the temperature on the meat and taking it out to rest, you rinsed the garnish and prepared to chop it.

The melody was soothing. Ahh…the innocence of a lily indeed. They suited you well. Alucard tracked you around the kitchen and relaxed into his seat.

You suddenly remembered who you were with and lifted your gaze to catch your guest’s, which was of course already fixed in your direction, staring with lidded eyes, his posture and expression at ease.

…The darkness was oozing out of him and flowing along the wall and floor. The jagged shapes danced, the red-rimmed patterns constantly shifting in evolution between one moment and the next. It was actually quite mesmerizing and beautiful. What felt like several minutes passed. It was almost like the old times when he first visited, except this current experience was much less scary. He suddenly spoke. 

“Smells heavenly, sweet human.”

You jumped at his unexpected voice and the knife passed deep through the membrane of flesh between two digits where they connected. You could probably hear the sound of a pin dropping as the energy in the room shifted. Neither of you said anything.

You saw his pupils dilate and his gaze following the ruby rivulets trickling down your hand where the flesh was cleaved open almost down to the knuckle. The sharp pain didn’t register. You were too focused on the way he watched the flow and your heart began to gallop. You shielded your injury with the other hand as the drips pooled on the cutting board.

“Umm.”

"Sweet, allow me to assist with that." 

He was before you in an instant, taking your wrist into his grip and licking his lips. You gasped in shock and attempted to pry your arm from him unsuccessfully, wincing at the searing pain. A vampire faced with a banquet of blood. Danger. The stench of your fear quickly permeated the air and you glanced up in distress. 

"I promise I will not bite. I will only take what your wound gifts me," he told you softly, though those glowing scarlet orbs betrayed his excitement. 

You looked on with your heart in your throat as Alucard lowered his towering frame to his knees and peered up at you as his tongue slid out. It was unnerving to have the cold, wet appendage laving leisurely up the trail of your life essence from the wrist to your wound, where it dipped lightly into the broken flesh and circled around, making you hiss in discomfort. 

Your other fist balled up with apprehension. You forgot to release your bated breath as the vampire repeated the motions around his chosen path. Your jaw clenched as that muscle continued to extend and he pressed more of its length against the tear.

The licking stayed gentle.

You were still tense as you distantly noticed the pain retreating. And then there was purring. Heavy purring, the likes of which you’d never heard from this creature before.

"You...are a virgin," he breathed. He lapped at your blood again in wonder, though your scent alone was already unmistakable. 

"What's that got to do with anything?" You asked with a tiny voice, attempting half-heartedly to tug your hand from him again. 

Alucard’s interest was piqued. He had a taste last year, but that was only a miniscule amount compared to what he received from you now. You were so lovely, how was it that you remained untouched, unplundered? He nearly couldn't believe you were still a virgin. He was correct to call you “sweet.” The ambrosia coating his tongue invaded all his senses. His eyes travelled down your frame with a lascivious leer, his gaze darkening. 

But your anxiety was thick.

"Don't be afraid, little one. I will not hurt you," he promised with another purr. He kept licking at your wound with purposeful laps to help the flesh heal. It was getting difficult to contain his fangs. He sensed the blood under your skin rushing to your face. You were flustered. He smiled.

You were wet from the feeding. A brief fantasy flashed by. He was on top of you, your naked bodies entangled in passion. What would it feel like for him to plunge his stiff organ through your heated walls? Or his tongue? It was so long. A flush of heat raced to your groin.

You tensed and reprimanded yourself, but it was already too late. That grin looked extraordinarily pleased. It seemed he was made aware of your mind’s fancy. Oh no. 

The cursed creature made a show of inhaling and gave your hand back. The skin was bright pink where the cut was. If it weren’t for the numbing effect of the vampire’s doing, the wound would certainly still be tender.

Alucard rose gracefully to his full height with a suggestive, glittering stare. “That need not remain a mere fantasy,” he whispered, the lights once again catching his features in all the correct ways. His nose was tall and aristocratic. His tongue came out to clean up any escaped blood from his lips with agonizingly slow licks.

You clutched your hand and stared at his lips, fully aware this was also part of his ploy to seduce you. Ancient vampires like him were probably supposed to be alluring. You stood frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

Alucard wanted you regardless of whether you had experience, but after tasting you and knowing there had never been anyone between your legs…he growled. He was used to bedding humans. He will make your body sing from this debauchery, such that you will never seek another partner.

“All your needs and desires will be fully realized. Let your darkest dreams descend.” His voice was deadly quiet, but somehow you heard it booming through your consciousness all the same.

The rumbling growl stirred something. Again, the image of Alucard moving through your core while your legs entwined blossomed in mind. Another string of nectar dribbled from between your petals to pool within your underwear. His eyes flashed.

That mysterious energy unfurled once more and his power engulfed you. You could hardly breathe as you took in his tented trousers and blown pupils. He must be fully erect.

How Alucard wanted to tempt you into depravity with him. He picked your hand back up gingerly. "Allow me to return this favour," he murmured. "You will enjoy what I do."

Everything in this moment was crystal clear. It was like Alucard’s presence sharpened your awareness, heightening the sensation of everything around you. You knew the vampire’s touch was supposed to be frigid despite the gloves, but he was like fire. His crimson gaze was molten flames, hot and erotic. Your skin was set ablaze while your loins roiled with heat. 

What was happening to you?

His purr vibrated again. No, it was more a cross between a purr and a growl. Your legs shook from the sound.

You were flustered by his beguiling appearance, the noises he made, and his eccentricities. You were conflicted by the conundrum that was this devilish beast. He looked like a man, but his mannerisms were at times more animal than civilized. Still, you found him attractive. 

When did these dark desires come to secretly possess you?

You recalled when he was last in your kitchen and he propositioned you for sex then too. That was the first time you noticed how exquisite this monster was.

But he didn’t manage to fully melt away your defences. "I don't want to," you whimpered and clenched your eyes. “Please stop this,” you begged.

A pause.

Alucard sighed, but his smile returned quickly as he straightened out to his full height. 

Where were his manners? He hailed from the Middle Ages after all. He should not forget his courtly manners and press a lady for intercourse without doing his due diligence. He will have to win your affection and earn the privilege of bedding you. 

His grin was brazen as he caressed the back of your injured hand and stooped into a proper formal bow as if he was still a human nobleman, pressing a delicate kiss to your hand.

"My Lady, then please allow me the chance to court you properly."

~To be Continued~

Next Chapter: Courtship

Notes: To be honest, Alucard should be able to tell that she’s a virgin with just a whiff and a taste from last year when he licked up the scrapes to her legs in Chapter 1, but let’s just say he needed a larger quantity of blood to be certain, for plot’s sake.

The next chapter has been rolling around in my head for months! It should be fun.

A walk through a park in my city last autumn

[sedehaven]

Relic

1.

long-dead hands dancing with hook and needle -- weaving tatting thread

into lush roses--crimson, cherry, and vermilion-- overblown in a snowy field of tablecloth

doily, spider-spun and well-blocked, a soft thing to make the cheapest chipboard table

something pretty

2.

it never stayed long in the cedar chest, passed from hand to hand, pressed to descendant

cheek, gathered in the fists of babies who opened their eyes decades after you closed yours--your meisterstruck,

your rosy rhapsody, your crocheted epitaph, a grave marker worked by your own fingers, a memory

made material--bone white, blood red, and immortal

3.

i wonder,

will my efforts in pen and ink, in living words, will they remember me as kindly as your rose tablecloth

remembers you?

-- S. E. De Haven

[thoughtportal]

Before publishing his Atlas in 1915, painter and art teacher Albert Henry Munsell (1858–1918) had spent decades seeking to compress the totality of human color experience into a simple and elegant three-dimensional graphical model. In 1879, after reading physicist Ogden Rood’s Modern Chromatics, he devised a pair of twirling triangular color pyramids joined at the base. In 1898, he painted a child’s globe in subtly shifting shades, only to find that the globe’s perfect symmetry could not sufficiently map the differences in strength — which he called “chroma” — between colors or “hues”. By 1905, in his A Color Notation, Munsell had moved to a tree as model, since its unequal length branches could accommodate different hues, chroma, and “value”, the third axis of his system, which ran vertically from the pure white crown of the tree to its pure black roots.

In the Atlas, the Color Tree and Color Sphere give way to cross-sectional charts by which the user is meant to imaginatively assemble a “realistic” system of alphanumeric notation. Each individual color square represents the intersection of hue, value, and chroma, denoted by a three-part code. Munsell’s system turned Vermilion into “5R4/10” — “5R” denoted the fifth step in the red scale (R as one of five color initials); “4” denoted the fourth step in the value scale, and “10” indicated that the color had the maximum chroma/strength. Vermilion’s complementary color, Viridian, was expressed as BG4/5.

Besides “Red”, “Yellow”, Green”, “Blue”, and “Purple” — Munsell’s five principal hues, which overturned the prevailing dogma of three “primary” colors (red/yellow/blue) — “Vermilion” and “Viridian” are the only two specific color names that appear in the Atlas. Indeed, Munsell’s motivation for creating his system lay largely in his animus against the mushrooming chromatic vocabulary impelled by the fin-de-siècle commercial expansion of colors employed in advertising, manufacturing, fashion, and home décor. “Baby blue, peacock blue, Nile green, apple green, lemon yellow, straw yellow, rose pink, heliotrope, royal purple, Magenta, Solferino, plum, and automobile”, protested Munsell, “are popular terms, conveying different ideas to different persons and utterly failing to define colors.” Munsell envisioned a system akin to musical notation, which conveyed a sound’s pitch, intensity, and duration “without dragging in loose allusions to the endlessly varying sounds of nature”.

[sandsorghum]

Happy Valentine's!

got teary over thoughts of (lifestyle) Dom Gojo who wants to teach you the importance of punctuality and a fixed routine by waking you up early to sit you on his cock as many mornings as he can (provided you're not too tuckered out from the previous night 😏) It's half hard but doesn't stay that way for long, obviously... honestly I have no excuses for why this exists but I hope this casual ramble makes your Feb 14th extra enjoyable!

Satoru's never gotten a handle on things like lesson plans. More accurately, he doesn't see the point of them. Which is how you end up susceptible to his impromptu, unorthodox methods.

This morning's remedial session is all about Delayed Gratification

Big words and an even bigger concept to wrap your mind around.

But not your mouth...

You don't understand how he's mastered this, just grinding his bulge still covered in those worn briefs against your lips, you can feel the curve and taut warmth of his balls radiating through the material. You love to savour the sensation of his wrinkled sacs smoothing out against your cheek while you sample the salt of his skin, where it's stretched most sensitive and spherical, tinged a pretty terracotta against your tongue's pink, but for now you're grateful for the barrier of the fabric. Because you can see the tip of him straining thick against his cotton confines, the gusset turning into gauzy translucence with his weeping seam, spider silk glistening with dawn's dew. Such a distinct yet familiar scent entrancing you, that morning freshness heralding heat and fingers of sunlight splaying across your thighs is intoxicating enough, but then there's the headier notes of his musk oozing off the dusky rose blush of his cock head, the smell fogging up your mind and you have to breathe, exhale and expunge this dizzying arousal before it takes over you and your day yet again...but your body betrays you and somehow you find your nose nuzzling deeper against Satoru's by now fully stiff shaft, pressed against the underside of his balls you feel throbbing to life, responding to your inadvertent tenderness.

How did he learn such discipline? You'd never guess the rigour with which he inculcated it into himself on all those long nights, before you belonged in his bed, before he dared call it yours too, fisting his cock to desperate dreams of you, first in his sheets then the shower, better to avoid the moon's unsympathetic glare, illuminating his shame through the pallor of his perspiration glowing sticky on his forearms, matching the sheen upon his bulbous tip, flushed as a toadstool, dark roots of vermilion veins tapering toward his frenulum, spent yet still pulsing.

The same moon which illuminated your absence; once he'd swept back his damp, tousled fringe he saw so clearly the crisp lines of his duvet.

How many times had he tucked and untucked the corners, chasing the spectre of your smile, futile attempts to exorcise it with his sickening ritual of diminishing returns. Each time, the facts laid bare as your body in his fantasies, your absence beneath him outlined in smears of white, a haunting in ectoplasm dribbling down his knuckles.

He'd tried to alleviate some of that guilt, or at least suffering, stopping himself short of cumming, right to the edge of reality and sanity - no mess as if it was all invisible, like he'd buried his cum deep inside you, imaginary and sealed away in his head, the only version of you he was convinced he could have, could keep.

But then, you'd shown him how terrible you were at hiding your own secrets. In broad daylight.

And now, you're a little luckier this dawn, as the sun starts to splinter itself over your sill. Satoru allows you to mold your mouth against the single damp spot darkening his underwear. Your eyes threaten to flutter shut, your mouth is full of synthetic fabric but you can still taste the faintest tint of his bittersalt tang, dredging up the memory and connecting to the residual film that had coated your tongue much more generously, mere hours ago. A nexus between morning and night, languor and labour, between pleasure and patience.

The moment is suspended, that last little shining string swaying between your bottom lip and his leaking iridescent slit. You breathe slow and go still, waiting to see which way his thread will snap.

But you aren't at all idle.

You keep your eyes open, locked onto Satoru's slightly unfocused one, dipping between your slack lips and soft, doe gaze. He is watching you waver between innocence and intent, and you have your own assessment to make, careful to mask the keenness of your observation beneath a sleepy half-smile, affection crinkling the corners of your eyes as you wait for his irises to swirl from that familiar cerulean which froths sweetness and guile, to the even more intimate indigo glinting desire, an anglerfish flicker in the depths; you wait for him, to submit to the whirlpool of your lusts.

Alas, he anchors a large palm to your chin, and instead of dragging him down he pulls you up for a gentle kiss, though you feel little eddies of his appetite nibbling along your chin.

"Let's fuck," Satoru whispers, lips teasing the whimper from your lungs, lumbering awake.

"Let's fuck," he repeats, and this time it's a warning for himself, a firm statement to bulwark against the rush of desire crashing like a wave upon him when you wriggle your hips and clutch at the barrels of his chest. You cling to Satoru like a limpet, hooking a leg over him, a barnacle desperate for its raft.

But he just chuckles, your whine lost in the rustle of blankets as he wrests them off you, they billow out like sails and the chill finally, properly shocks you awake.

"After breakfast," Satoru says, and you're about to protest this additional injustice when he cups your chin, tilting your face up so you can see the starvation in his eyes, how he's struggling against it.

"Get up now and we'll have time for that thing with my tongue you seem to like so much...or am I mistaken about your enthusiasm?"

You scramble to the bathroom and end up squeezing face wash on your toothbrush.

Even as you glimpse Satoru sniggering at you in the mirror while you (literally) foam at the mouth, furiously gargling, you decide his is a compromise you don't mind waking up earlier for.

But maybe you'd make him try a little harder to convince you tomorrow morning. Satoru's conditioning process is way too fun for it to succeed this soon.

[liminalpebble]

Eddie's Education, Chapter 27

Masterlist link

Minors DNI

Chapter 27

It was heartrending for Eddie to watch when Leia's eyes clouded over into the milky unseeing white, and yet his eyes were cemented in place. She rose from the grass like a marionette, pulled by strings to her full height, then languidly stepped forward in her trance, hair whipping out behind her like a black flag on the frigid nocturnal wind.

Eddie and Dustin nodded to each other, ready to execute the part of the plan they hadn't told Leia about. Her consciousness was with Vecna now, but they would keep her body away from crossing the threshold. They would dangle her corporeal form before him long enough to distract him and then snatch her away. Eddie felt a bit guilty that they had to hide this from her, but it was safer for her not to know, considering Venca's clear vantage point within her mind.

Eddie itched to grab her immediately, and it took all his will power to allow her to move inexorably closer, and closer, and closer to the devil himself and his kingdom. He took heaving anxious breaths, jaw clenched, as he watched Dustin for the cue. As she moved towards the vermilion rend in reality itself all he could see was her silhouette; her little body like a shadow puppet tugged forward. Wrenching his eyes away, he looked to Dustin who finally, finally, nodded for him to move. They ran over grabbing both of her arms and pulled with all their might.

----

From her jagged throne in Vecna's mind palace, Leia watched the scene unfold like a movie, relayed to them by her own eyes. She watched powerless from inside as they tried to hold her back, but her body simply flung them away like rag dolls with bolts of red energy. Leia winced as she heard the two men thud heavily and against the ground, then heard Dustin's frantic exclamation. “Shit...shit. I didn't think he could do that anymore.”

Beside her, Vecna released a deep satisfied laugh and said, “Oh, but I can.”

Leia felt her heart sink even though she suspected they would try this, and suspected just as strongly that it wouldn't work.As her friends still fought valiantly for her, she tried to make peace with the fact that she might really have to sacrifice herself, after all. It was no longer hypothetical, and it was terrifying.

Robin and Steve shot off like rockets to assist, using all their might to hold her back, but to no avail. They only received the same bruising blow from the blinding red bolts. He was too strong, they realized, as a wave of panic crossed each of their faces in turn. Seeing this, Leia begged silently, Come on! It doesn't matter. We knew we were risking me. We were ready for it. We still have a chance! And squirmed against the restraints of the thorny throne. Vecna only watched her and laughed, sending trepidation trickling through her veins like ice water. She thought she was ready for it, but now, with evil incarnate's laugh in her ears and in her mind, who could really be ready? Who could ever not be afraid? She wanted a life as much as any of them...a life with Eddie. The thought made her struggle all the more fiercely until the world shifted and dropped.

Leia felt a nauseating lurch as she surfaced into consciousness within her physical body, just in time to hear her friends screaming her name into the chilly air. Abruptly, the din was muffled by the warm slimy broth of the upside down. It sucked her in, as if it were a living, conscious, hungry thing (and maybe it was). Her heartbeat began to race in panic as she felt her lungs struggle for breath, stuck in a suffocating press beneath the fluid. Pushing in hard strokes against the heavy water, she tried with all her might to kick and heave her way to the surface. It seemed impossibly deep, like the floor had fallen out and now the sides of the little pool had become the dark-tunneled walls of a well, closing in on all side as the light failed to reach her. Around her vision, a halo of smoky shadow closed in, further, further, further, until her eyes shut. In the oppressive silence, she drifted. She sank.

The tug of a strong limb hooking around her waist jolted her back into wakefulness. She tried again to scramble for the surface. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought, Eddie?, and her heart lifted, thinking it might be him pulling her out.

A grating chuckle rang through her mind as vines and sinews shot out to still and surround her wriggling limbs. They pulled her until she smacked against a tree trunk...no, not a tree trunk...a torso of desiccated flesh, one she had only seen in her mind thus far.

He can't save you now, little Leia, but I can.

A huge clawed hand caged her head in as the need for oxygen became a desperate tight hiccup in her chest. Vecna pulled her writhing form against himself and latched his mouth over hers; a horrific parody of a romantic kiss.

Heat like a furnace roiled from the monster's throat into hers, crashing past her airway and trickling across the flesh of her lungs. The burning ache was excruciating, and the acrid smell and taste of ash permeated her senses, soaked up like a sponge by every internal membrane of her respiratory system. The delicate skin of her tongue and mouth felt like tissue paper, parched and feeble. The ache subsided into a dull throb as she realized she was no longer struggling for air, but sharing some substitute for it with her captor. Her lungs heaved in relief and her body slumped against the rigid form of the monster gripping her. She heard him in her mind, even as his physical tongue busied itself tasting her mouth, reveling in the sweet last hints of its moisture.

You're acclimating. Give it time. He commanded, as the burn faded into a dull feeling; bruised and parched. She had no strength to respond or even struggle against his revolting contact. She wasn't sure how she knew it, but she thought to herself, he's giving me air and poison all at once.

Hmm. Not exactly. I'm...calming you. Let it take effect.

NO...no no on. She thought, finding the tiniest crumb of strength to wiggle.

Shh. You have to accept this or you will die here...and once it affects you completely, you can never survive out there. You'll be like me...changed...transubstantiated...the Eve to my Adam. We'll never be alone again and we'll reign here.

His charcoal tongue and jagged lips caressed hers as she tried to fight it but her body had turned to docile dead weight, latched and locked onto him against her will.

Hmmm. What a soft, wet, fragile, thing you are, and I have been parched...scorched. I can see why dear Eddie is bewitched by the taste of you. I almost consumed him. Did you know that? He was very nearly...acclimated...as well. But no matter, I'd rather have you.

Screaming..she was screaming loudly in her mind, though her body wouldn't obey. Disgust and fury flashed through her like lightning bolts, not just for herself now, but for poor Eddie, almost eaten alive here 15 years ago...all to quench a monster's endless blood thirst.

Shhhhhhhh. Shhh, he cooed, Oh I know this is not ideal. You must be so afraid..disoriented. Let's go somewhere more comfortable, shall we?

@sweetsigyn @veemoon @elegantkoalapaper @little-wormwood @hellfirenacht

[datep1an-atoz]

Love thorns all over this rose

Eichi tenshouin X reader

Loud music the melody of piano keys and violins, and steps of shoes and heels taping the floor fill the ballroom

You stand by the side near the pale gold walls in a maroon dress but a pair of blue eyes admire you from afar and you know who those beautiful blue eyes belong to

The one and only Eichi Tenshouin, the both of your lives wear intertwined like a braided pattern

3 summers passed both of you by remembering every moment even if it all went crashing down

But time changes just as much as people do, Eichi walks over to you standing tall in front of you with that devilish grin on his face he wouldn't have to say a word for you to know what he thinks when his face told the whole story

His hand was held out to you welcoming you to steal a dance from him and each time you intertwined your fingers with his, taking his hand preparing to bury these memories in the back of your head to relive those memories every night and he knew that all too well.

He draws you closer putting his right hand on your waist and your right hand making its place on his shoulder the both of you do a light sway to the classical melancholy music, you follow his steps the clack of his shoes and the stages of your heels matching one another, you dance with your favorite foe in that beautiful burgundy dress with the gold lace following a pattern of flowers over the dress, each edge with perfectly placed white ruffles

Blue, that was Eichis color, sapphire suit and tie specially made just for him as he plays everyone's life like there just a chess piece on a chess board. He looms over everyone like that mastermind he is, hed paint everyone lives azure but those cryptic blues painted you a clear sky that faded into you making you a lilac sky.

“You look lovely tonight”

“That's what you always say”

But you'd never tell him that, you'd keep that vermilion front to him that fabricated color you feel

He was blue, and you were red.

Opposites on the color wheel but in any shade you both were the perfect combination

His cerulean eyes would always be on you, he knew better than to stare but he didn't care and neither did you, if the both of you genuinely did one of you would say something about the different hues of eyes praying on you, not everyone's colorful attire reflected on to you too but those few whispers around you felt like screams but when he looked into you eyes the shades around you mix together into black and whites making you a blooming mauve orchid.

He saw right through you

----

Posting for once lol, something I wrote a while back 🙏 still in the process of making a part 2 just having found the motivation to write since this is mor of a side hobby 🫶🏼

[ourbite-moved]

appearance meme. [ ERES EDITION ]

BODY.

long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. toned arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular frame. voluptuous frame. petite frame. lanky frame. short nails. long nails. manicured nails. dirty nails. flat butt. toned butt. bubble butt. thick butt. small waist. average waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips. big feet. average feet. small feet. soft feet. slender feet. calloused feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands. small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. broad shoulders. underweight. average weight. overweight.

HEIGHT.

shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. taller than 2 m.

EYES.

small. large. average. grey. brown. black. blue. red. green. gold amber. hazel. doe-eyed. almond. round. close-set. wide-set. squinty. monolid. heavy eyelids. upturned. downturned.

HAIR.

thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny. scruffy. frizzy. curly. wild. unruly. straight. smooth. wavy. floppy. cropped. pixie-cut. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length. floor length. buzz cut. undercut. bald. jaw length. mohawk. braids. vermilion. white / silver. platinum blonde. blonde. strawberry blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. jet black. ginger. auburn. dyed red. streaked. thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows.

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS.

full sleeve. partial sleeve. arm tattoo. thigh tattoo. shin tattoo. wrist tattoo. full back tattoo. lower back tattoo. hand/finger tattoo. foot tattoo. neck tattoo. face tattoo. chest tattoo. one tattoo. a few here and there. multiple. no tattoo.

monroe piercing. nose piercing. septum. industrial piercings. earlobe piercing. prince albert piercing. eyebrow piercing(s). tongue piercing. lip piercing(s). tragus piercing. angel bites. labret. stretches out ears. navel piercing. inverse navel piercing. cheek piercing(s). smiley. nape piercing(s). no piercings.

COSMETICS.

light eyeliner. heavy eyeliner. cat eyes. mascara. fake eyelashes. matte lipstick. regular lipstick. lipgloss. red lips. pink lips. dark lips. bronzer. highlighter. eyeshadow. neutral eyeshadow. smoky eyes. colorful eyeshadow. blush. lipliner. light contouring. heavy contouring. powder. matte foundation. shiny foundation. concealer. wears make up regularly. wears makeup from time to time. never wears make-up.

SCENT.

floral. fruity. perfumes. aftershave. cocoa. moisturizer. natural soap. shampoo. cigarettes. leather. sweat. food. incense. marijuana. cologne. whiskey. wine. fried food. blood. fire. metal. rain. grass. ocean. autumn leaves. baked bread. freshly baked cookies. smoke. campfire. lavender. trees. pumpkin pie. musk. rose. gingerbread. peppermint. oak. honey. lemon. vanilla. coffee cake. mint. rawhide. chemicals.

[enteringdullsville]

Bobbie Gobbes, the Bubblegum Pink Drewman

Be Unhinged

Rank: B+ (Season Two Major Character)

Visual Inspiration

Other Character Bases

How Many Beatdowns Do You Wish?

Bobbie’s among the shortest people of her age in Dullsville. Maybe she’s trained herself to fight to deter would-be threateners (hence her bat), but she’s more likely just insane. For her merrily bloodthirsty attitude, Bobbie doesn’t have the brute strength her fellow shorty squaddie Rudy has, but she knows just where to strike to make someone hurt for a long time.

Fun Facts

Bobbie’s surname is a play on “gobstopper”, otherwise known as a jawbreaker.

Bobbie is one of several characters to change colors and names in development, starting off as Lucy (puce).

Bobbie’s original design motif was a tiny, rabid animal, as “puce” comes a French word meaning “flea”. The same concept was used previously for Olaf the rat (off-white) and eventually for the current Lucy (formerly Bonnie; ebony). As a result, Bobbie’s hair and bow, on top of resembling chewed and pulled gum, resembles stylized bunny ears.

Bobbie was originally a slightly more relaxed character. She inherited most of Lucy (ironically) and Rosie’s (rose) hyperactivity.

Bobbie is the shortest ICT member introduced in S2, the shortest girl in ICT overall (beating out Chloe [green]), the second shortest Drewman (read: not Sylvester [grey]) in ICT after Cedric (citron), and the second shortest adult non-animal Drewman in Dullsville (again, after Cedric).

Bobbie was the first new character created in the jump to It’s Color Theory after Rough Sketch’s cancellation.

Bobbie originally had a mouth full of fangs rather than her canine teeth. The change was partially to avoid confusion with Tyler (teal) and partially because it’d be weird for a bubblegum themed character to have shark teeth.

Bobbie’s baseball bat was inherited from a scrapped characterization for Millie (vermilion). Her baseball motif is a nod to bubblegum baseball cards.

Bobbie may be ferocious, hyperactive, terrifying, and violent, but she’s actually not all that strong. If you can pin her limbs down, she’s basically harmless.

[god-wept]

gold dusted hues of amber.

warnings! ╱ weapons.

author speaks! a short scenario I wrote, inspired by a romance quotebot.

amid the shower of cold rain, two figures lay on the wet ground. a yaksha and an archon's experiment.

their vehement gazes would land on each other's faces, their soft lips, their gentle skin, those pretty eyes—swirling in need with that inkling of hatred behind their hardened look as they settled on each other's visage.

breathing erratic. their forms quivering under the glacial liquid pouring from above.

one bears a spear of jade, pointed at the puppet's neck. the adeptus's grip on the stem of his polearm unrelenting.

despite this, the defiled doll would only reciprocate with a maddening smile. as if he wasn't just about to be pierced.

amber hues would stare at the marred tresses of violet that splayed on the floor, flickering to those mesmerizing amethyst pools that mirrored his own reflection.

crimson liquid decorates his pale countenance—a sight he has become accustomed to.

the conqueror of demons, for once, felt a serene sensation within his body. it was as if he had swallowed a star. though, instead of burning, he was blessed with a sense of comfort and gentle warmth.

scaramouche would study every curve of his nose, every furrow of his brow, and every breath xiao would take.

it was as if a painting had come to life. his body was like a shrine, one he would worship. a marble sculpture engraved with not even a single flaw—he felt the air in his lungs leave him.

he was beautiful.

an unknown emotion swirled within him, invading every crevice of his body like a drug. as if he had consumed venom that attacked his senses.

every strand of verdant green, every remark that left his rose-laden lips—everything. he would drink in every intoxicating drop, the mellifluous words becoming his favorite music.

it was sickening.

love, it was an emotion that was so very human.

he hated it.

he hated how he was so infatuated with the adeptus—infatuated with everything about him.

it was like an illness.

an illness that made a tender feeling rise from his chest, blossoming like a flower of enamoration and adoration. petals of love adorning his stone cold heart.

and maybe that's why he hated it.

love.

it was so human—and he knew that he'll only fall to the caprices and treachery of mankind if he had felt this way so strongly to another.

through feathery lashes, xiao looks down and opens his mouth. such bittersweet poison pouring from his lips, despite the desire laced in his tone—displaying such vigor and disgust toward the man below him.

" I can't stand you. "

his utterances would be hardened, the timbre of his voice strong, and without a single thought of hesitation nor regard for how his words would leave the man feeling.

though, even with such a threatening presence and the words that leave the yaksha—scaramouche would only feel as if his ears had been graced with gentle hymns and a precious melody. he would reply with his own poison, smirk giving no signs of faltering from his face.

" the feeling is mutual, but I will die if I don't kiss you. "

xiao would grasp his nimble fingers around the harbinger's neck, a flush of red adorning the delicate shade of porcelain white as his mind would replay the words declared to him like a broken record player.

the balladeer's smirk only widens at the rare sight of the famed and distinguished yaksha melting like putty in the palms of his hands, the vermilion tint across his cheeks an evident form of his embarrassment and fluster.

it was adorable, he would think.

@god-wept! do not plagiarize, repost, or translate.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Halloween playlists:

[Playlist]

45 Grave — Evil

45 Grave — Partytime

Emilie Autumn — Dead Is the New Alive

Balzac — Inside My Eyes

The Birthday Massacre — Happy Birthday

The Birthday Massacre — Horror Show

Birthday Party — Release the Bats

The Brides — The Strange Passing of John Coal

The Brides — Whore Money

Bloody Hammers — Witch of Endor

Coven — The White Witch of Rose Hall

Creature Feature — The Greatest Show Unearthed

Creature Feature — Here Be Witches

The Cramps — Goo-Goo Muck

The Cramps — Surfin' Dead

Don Hinson & The Rigamorticians — Riboflavin-Flavored, Non-Carbonated, Polyunsaturated Blood

Einstürzende Neubauten — Ein Stuhl in der Hölle

HorrorPops — Where They Wander

HorrorPops — Walk Like a Zombie

Hamburger Brothers — Omar the Vampire

Inkubus Sukkubus — Belladonna & Aconite

Inkubus Sukkubus — Corn King

Inkubus Sukkubus — Song to Pan

Inkubus Sukkubus — Wytches

The Irish Rovers — The Banshee’s Cry

Jack Off Jill — Cinnamon Spider

Jack Off Jill — Witch Hunt

Killing Miranda — Burn Sinister

Mandragora Scream — Dark Lantern

Ministry — Everyday is Halloween

The Misfits — Die, Die My Darling

Mister Monster — I’ll Watch Them Die

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — The Curse of Millhaven

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — Red Right Hand

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — Up Jumped the Devil

Richard O’Brien — Science Fiction Double Feature

The Ramones — Pet Sematary

Rasputina — Gingerbread Coffin

Shonen Knife — Devil House

Siouxsie and the Banshees — Spellbound

Skycycle — The Ghost Is Here

Skycycle — It’s Terror Time Again

Sopor Aeternus and the Ensemble of Shadows — The Inexperienced Spiral Traveler II

ThouShaltNot — The Haunted Phonograph

The Tiger Lilies — Start a Fire

Jill Tracy — Evil Night Together

Jill Tracy — The Fine Art of Poisoning

Traditional — Down in the Willow Garden

Traditional — Pretty Polly

Traditional — Twa Corbies

Traditional — The Lyke-Wake Dirge

Type O Negative — Black No. 1

Type O Negative — Wolf Moon

Vermilion Lies — Circus Apocalypse

Xmal Deutschland — Incubus Succubus II

Zombina and the Skeletones — Come On

Zombina and the Skeletones — Hey Weirdos

Zombina and the Skeletones — Island of Zombina

Zombina and the Skeletones — New Orleans Incident

Zombina and the Skeletones — You’d Scream If I Knew I Did Last Halloween

Instrumental: [Playlist]

Johann Sebastian Bach — Toccata and Fugue in D Minor

Béla Bartók — Music for Percussion, Strings and Celesta: III. Adagio

Hector Berlioz — Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath from “Symphonie fantastique”

Johannes Brahms — Hungarian Dance No. 5

Fryderyk Chopin — Piano Sonata No. 2 III: Marche funèbre: Lento

Coil — Main Title (unreleased Hellraiser Theme)

Philip Glass — Candyman theme

Gustav Holst — Neptune, the Mystic from “The Planets”

Gustav Holst — Saturn, Bringer of Old Age from “The Planets”

Gygory Ligeti — Requiem

In Slaughter Natives — Beauty and Bleeding

Franz Liszt — Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2

Franz Liszt — Totentanz

Lustmord and Robert Rich — Hidden Refuge

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart — Dies irae from “Requiem in D Minor”

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart — Lacrimosa from “Requiem in D Minor”

Midnight Syndicate — Born of the Night

Midnight Syndicate — Carousel Ride

Modest Mussorgsky — Night on Bald Mountain

Nox Arcana — Calliope

Nox Arcana — The Doll House

Nox Arcana — Haunted Carousel

Nox Arcana — Hall of the Witch Queen

Nox Arcana — Once Upon a Nightmare

Nox Arcana — Shock Treatment

Nox Arcana — Temple of the Black Pharaoh

Nox Arcana — The Witching Hour

Sergei Vasilyevich Rachmaninoff — Isle of the Dead

Camille Saint-Saëns — Danse Macabre

Michael Shields — Ginger Snaps Opening Theme

Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky — Part I: The Adoration of the Earth from “The Rite of Spring”

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky — Swan Lake - 19 No. 10 Scène (moderato)