#VERY tentative name for star's cat form but it's the only one that came to mond

[niceyreflektor]

"There IS a real person here!" There was the sound of compressed air being squeezed out of a body. Who laughs like that?

Marcella Tally doesn't know who this Dr. Luna is. Neither does anyone else. And yet, Miss Tally seems to be the only one who sees them. That's okay. That was the plan after all.

:)

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Anon: I loved your Celebrian headcanons, do you have any on Manwe?

Ohhhhh anon, you’re asking if I have headcanons on my favorite bird boy? Do I ever. Get ready for this, because I’m about to give you way more than you probably asked for. Also please forgive how rambly and unorganized the headcanons are - I simply do not have the space of mind to be neat when I’m gushing about Manwë. 

(I’ve already done some previous headcanons on him xD You can find them here and here, even though this was a while ago and I don’t necessarily still agree with some of these anymore. What’s unchanging, though, is my eternal love for Manwë Súlimo.

The post got ahead of me and it’s quite long, so I’ll put most of the headcanons under a cut. 

Split off of the same thought of Eru, Manwë and Melkor were “born” at the exact same time. Because of this, there is no “younger” and “older” between them - they’re simply siblings.

I also consider them two halves of one whole, given that they’re literally products of the same thought broken in two. 

He and Melkor are chronologically the oldest beings, aside from Eru; they were the Ainur first created by Him. Nevertheless, they aren’t much older than a lot of the other Aratar, like Varda, Ulmo, Námo, Niënna, and Yavanna, and it’s definitely nothing so considerable that it would matter in the slightest to cosmic angelic beings like the Ainur

His closest friends among the Ainur are Varda and Ulmo, but he’s close with all the Valar, and at least on familiar terms with all the Maiar that serve the Valar in Arda

In addition, all of the Valar are part of the #manwëdefensesquad. I don’t make the rules. There are times when they don’t agree with their king, there are times when talk to him and voice their disapproval, but when it comes to action, they will always support him.

Varda and Manwë met in the Timeless Halls, sometime after their creation. (I’d pin it around a few centuries, but again, what the heck is time to the Ainur?) She was singing while she experimented with the light and the making of the stars; Manwë raised his voice, tentatively singing with her. They became fast friends. He was charmed by her quick wit, her willingness to share, and her open-mindedness and creativity.

He and Varda have made all kinds of odd structures together, combining their authority (Manwë over the air, wind, and skies, Varda over light). One time they produced a miniature tornado with stars swirling inside of it.

They got married before the creation of Arda, but after Aulë and Yavanna did 

He also met Ulmo in the Timeless Halls; they both found each other’s elements intensely fascinating. Manwë was intrigued by this water, and Ulmo became curious about this air and wind. They came up with clouds together, combining Manwë’s power over air and Ulmo’s power over liquid, to form vapor.

When Arda was extremely, extremely young, long before the Eldar awoke in Cuiviénen, the two of them were testing out their respective elements in the new planet and got a little carried away. Winds picked up, the sky darkened and flashed with thunder and lightning. The ocean rose, waves crashing and roiling, and the first sea storm happened as a result of their combined powers. After that, Manwë and Ulmo both decided they should probably be a bit more cautious if they didn’t want to render the place uninhabitable. 

At one time, there was no one Manwë was closer to than Melkor. Even though they were diametrically opposed in personality, they both had the same passion for Creation, the same love for their Father, and the same fascination with just the idea of creating in general.

Even now, with Melkor in the Void, a sensation of emptiness tickles at Manwë from time to time. It’s vacant and it’s bleak, like a phantom pain along the borders of his being, as if he’s missing something. This is his connection with his brother, severed now that they’ve gone down different paths and can no longer see eye to eye again

The break in their bond has left holes in both of their spirits. I mean this quite literally - because they were split off from the same thought, neither of them are complete without each other. Manwë is content now, because he (unlike Melkor, I might add, who can never be happy without him) is capable of finding meaningful and fulfilling relationships outside of his brother, but he will never be truly whole again. There’s always that sensation of something that was once there being gone. 

Canon says that Manwë has little understanding of evil, and I tend to agree. He doesn’t comprehend selfishness, the desire for domination, or the idea of wanting to hoard all the power, beauty, and joy to oneself. Where’s the good, the value, in that? But I do think that he knows intimately how Melkor’s mind works. It’s not the same as knowing how evil itself works - it’s just that he’s too well-versed in the way his brother in particular ticks. 

Despite this, he, along with most of the Valar, still gave Melkor the benefit of the doubt during his false repentance. He remembered the ages when Melkor was not so self-centered and not so concerned with only his own power and glory, when he would talk about Creation and about life with shining eyes, and how he envisioned a breathtakingly beautiful world full of vigor and possibility and opportunity. That was once who Melkor was, and he sincerely believed his brother could be that again. And besides, he wanted to let others try again - not only because this is his brother whom, despite everything, he loves deeply, but also because he doesn’t want to be the kind of person who won’t give second chances.

He was... disappointed, saddened, shocked, and discouraged, when it turned out that he was wrong. And, ultimately, he realized what betrayal felt like. 

Manwë is a natural charmer. I mean, he is magnetic. But it’s not because he flaunts his power and wisdom and has the “holier than thou” attitude that intimidates others - even though he’s just as capable of it as his brother, who utilizes that particular method to attract followers. Manwë’s  charisma comes from the fact that he’s just so down-to-earth, unpretentious, friendly, and warm, that you can’t help being drawn to him.

People are, like, in love with him and he’s thinking, “This is not what I meant to happen...”

He loves meeting people, talking to them, and getting to know them. Part of the reason so many people are loyal to him is because he’s a genuinely good boss. Treats everyone politely and considerately, gets to know everyone who works for him, makes all of them feel valued as individuals, lets them know how much he appreciates their hard work. 

As far as demeanor goes, he’s unassuming, modest, open, and relatively casual with everyone (unless there’s a reason not to be). Has been called “charming” more than once. He tends to be playful too, especially with the people he’s close with. 

An introvert. At the end of the day, he needs time to himself to unwind. 

He’s not closed off, per se, but he isn’t the type of person to actively start talking about his problems or insecurities. Someone he’s close to and trusts will have to notice he seems to have something on his mind and bring it up, to get him to mention what’s bothering him. 

During the darkening and after the Flight of the Noldor, relations between the remaining elves and the Ainur were strained. Manwë was distressed by the dissatisfaction of the Eldar and worked tirelessly to mend the subsequent rift. Negotiations, explanations, visits, apologies, reassurances - you name it, Manwë put his heart into it if it meant reconnecting with the elves. 

A much better singer than his brother, and among the most gifted Ainur in terms of song (although a few, like Ulmo and Melian, equal or surpass him). Once, Melkor loved and truly admired the beauty of the music that Manwë could create with his voice alone. Now, he deeply envies it and is extremely bitter, seeing it as another way that their Father “favors” his brother over him. This resentment only grew worse as Melkor gradually lost his ability to produce anything beautiful at all, including music. My headcanon is that Melkor was once a decent singer among the Ainur, but as he grew more corrupt and evil, that ability went away until he could no longer sing at all. But, as much as Melkor refuses to admit it to himself, he also desperately longs to hear Manwë’s songs again.

Very patient, very compassionate, very understanding... but Melkor can get under his skin like no other. Who, by the way, will attest that Manwë can whip up with some sick burns when he wants to. Manwë has facepalmed exactly three times in his existence, and all three times were because of his brother. 

The standard physical form that Manwë uses has long silver-white hair, copper skin, luminous, pale blue eyes, and full lips. It’s tall, on the slimmer side, and due to how pretty the face is, very androgynous-looking. However, he has a tendency to fool around, meaning that other bodies he’s taken include but are not limited to: a female version of his standard appearance, various other “human” shapes, male or female, a cat with wings and the feet of a bird, and an owl with the wings of a fly. 

Varda’s personal favorite incident was when he adopted the form of a petite young woman with black hair, purple eyes, and purple, black, and blue butterfly wings scaled to the size of the body. When interacting with the Eruhíni, though, Manwë, along with most of the Ainur, sticks with the standard appearance to avoid confusing them.

Speaking of changing appearances, in the beginning, he, like the rest of the Ainur, had little concept of a “humanoid” form being “normal”. This resulted in him becoming all kinds of eldritch abominations, again including but not limited to a mass of eyes surrounded by several sets of wings, a nebulous, writhing pinprick of clouds and light, and even a being that resembled a humanoid but with a single eye in the middle of the forehead from which two wing-like appendages, covered with more eyes, sprouted. What can I say, he was always creative. 

He still takes wacky forms from time to time for the fun of it, often when joking around with the other Ainur, but nowadays he tones it down for the sake of the Eruhíni’s sanity. 

Interacts regularly with elves of Valinor. It’s a common sight for him to be spotted mingling within the Eldar populations of Valmar, or Alqualondë, or Tirion. Gets invited in for tea quite often. Children love him. He has had dinner arrangements with several families before.

The elves send him gifts, usually in the form of clothing since he likes trying on all kinds of different styles. Manwë doesn’t care to appear kingly or sophisticated, so he has no problem going out dressed plainly, or even ridiculously. That weird experimental garment that didn’t turn out quite the way the designer wanted? He’ll take it, and wear it gladly! 

He also doesn’t care to be treated with particular veneration by the Eruhíni or by the other Ainur. He’s much happier being on close enough terms with someone for them to address him like, “Hey Manwë, my man, what’s up?” rather than “All hail the Lord of the Winds, the Breath of Arda, blah blah blah”.

BFFs with Ingwë, often either visits him or invites him to Taniquetil. This means that Ingwë’s entire family regular interacts with and is very familiar with Manwë. (Varda's with him most of the time - everyone loves her, too. It’s a wholesome family friendship.)

One time, Ingwë’s kids witnessed another elf being extremely formal and stiff with Manwë (the classic, “O Manwë, Viceregent of Eru, Elder King of Arda, etc., etc.”) and had whiplash, because that’s like... Uncle Manwë! He was telling us bad jokes at the dinner table last night! 

Also has a fairly confidential relationship with Finarfin. They both understand the pain of dealing with troublesome impetuous brothers, after all.

He used to be close with Finwë and Olwë, too, but their relationship became somewhat strained following the matter with the Flight of the Noldor and how the Teleri were caught up in it via the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. They’re still on good terms, but it’s no longer as carefree as it once was. 

Was also once close with Fëanor, having known him since he was a child due to his friendship with Finwë. That sapphire scepter that was said to have been made for him by the Noldor? Yeah, that was Fëanor’s handiwork. It wasn’t until after Melkor’s release that Fëanor and Manwë’s relationship began to sour. 

A natural with kids. He can get any child to cheer up, whether they’re crying, pouting, or throwing a tantrum. Knows just what to say and what to do and when to do it, but also draws a firm line between being kind and spoiling them. 

I know Tolkien discarded this idea, but I love love love the thought of Eönwë and Ilmarë being his and Varda’s children. They didn’t have them in the sense that we’d think of having kids - as in physical sex and labor - but they did put their powers into “conceptualizing” them, so to speak. Eru would still be their “creator”, since (for the most part) only He can create conscious, sentient beings, but Manwë and Varda had enough influence over their creation to be called Eönwë’s and Ilmarë’s parents. 

Speaking of sex, again I’m contradicting Tolkien’s canon, but in my mind the Ainur can and do have sex. Some might choose not to, but it’s fully possible. (I mean... Melian and Thingol had Lúthien, so clearly the idea of physical relations is not lost on the Ainur.) Manwë doesn’t have a high sex drive, but if he loves someone, he also loves being intimate with them. 

Sexuality is a complicated matter to talk about for the Ainur, and I articulated by thoughts on it here, but to summarize how I see it is that they’re all bisexual. They don’t care; they don’t even need gendered physical bodies to begin with. Therefore, whoever strikes their fancy is is whoever they’ll be happy to get it on with. It’s the same with Manwë. 

The Lost Tales and the Silmarillion have conflicting versions of the Valar’s Siege of Utumno. In my book it’s a combination; after aggressive, devastating battles that changed the face of the continent, the Valar decided to take a more roundabout approach. Manwë comes up with the plan - they’ll pretend to have realized that they’re unable to break the might of Utumno, and are ready to acknowledge Melkor’s victory. Some of the Valar aren’t sure about this, but they follow their king’s lead. 

Now, Manwë knows that Melkor isn’t stupid, but he also knows his brother’s prideful mind the best. (He might not understand it, and he definitely doesn’t agree with it, but he knows it.) So he deliberately phrases the message in a way that he knows will best stroke Melkor’s ego and satisfy his craving for acknowledgement. He also makes sure to tell his messenger to let Melkor’s herald know that Manwë specifically said these words.

As per Manwë’s plan, Melkor calls the Valar into Utumno to pay homage before him. They arrive, and to let Melkor’s guard down even further, Manwë kneels in front of him. 

It’s a moment of surprisingly complicated emotions from both brothers. Melkor, about to thoroughly revel in his perceived victory, was shocked into silence - he actually was not expecting this. For a moment, it dawned on him that maybe, he and his brother’s bond, which was once stronger than anything else, didn’t have to be severed forever. He still saw it from a self-centered angle of having Manwë serve him, but nevertheless the possibility that he could reconnect with his brother, have Manwë at his side again, something he thought he had resigned himself to as being impossible, filled him with emotion.

For Manwë... similar thoughts about their once unshakeable relationship, but unlike his brother, he knows the whole thing is just a ruse. Still, he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if he really gave. It was never a serious consideration, but the thought of what they had once been like, and the emphasis on the realization that they never could be that carefree and open with each other again, saddened him.

Manwë cherishes Creation dearly, loves it, fiercely and with every fiber of his being. Because of this, the utter destruction that he and the other Ainur wrought on Arda during the War of the Powers haunts him deeply, and he’s become wary of unleashing any might that is even similar to it onto Middle Earth. That, combined with his impression that the Noldor who left wanted nothing more to do with the Ainur, and his caution of interfering too heavily with the Eruhíni in Middle Earth lest the Valar start acting like Melkor, kept him from action until Eärendil and Elwing pleaded for help on behalf of the Children. Seeing all the suffering the Eruhíni went through, he sometimes regrets it, wondering if he had been more calculated about his moves, he could have prevented such heavy losses.

Nevertheless, he is firmly against meddling too much with the events of Middle Earth, especially because he understands that it’s difficult for the semi-prescient Ainur to see things on the same scale as the Children. He believes that there is always a possibility that they would get too heavily involved and end up unintentionally dominating the Eruhíni and the paths that they take, which is something he won’t allow. He was, however, very receptive to the idea of the Istari, and is also grateful for Ulmo’s occasional assistance and advice for the Children. Furthermore, he won’t hesitate to send the Eagles if anyone communicates the message to him.

There was one single time Manwë ever contemplated rebellion against Eru. It was during the Downfall of Númenor, when Eru made His intention known to wipe the island off the face of Arda known. Manwë pleaded with Him, argued with him, to reconsider, to find some way to punish only Sauron and Ar-Pharazôn, without the need to drown thousands, millions, of innocent people. Eru simply told him, unmovable, that Númenor had to fall, that there was to be no mercy, and Manwë genuinely wondered what would happen if he refused to comply. If he told his Father, “This is wrong. I won’t accept this.” 

But in the end, he realized that he was thinking the way his brother had, in the beginning. That it was unfair, that it was wrong, that only Eru have the Flame Imperishable and that no one else was able to create, in Melkor’s mind, true life. That’s the way Melkor thought, before it quickly became corrupted into, “It’s not fair that I don’t have the power to create true life.” And Manwë refuses to think like Melkor does, refuses to even let himself start down that path. He saw how it destroyed and twisted his brother into a menacing echo of who Melkor once was. And so he watches, still and silent, as Númenor is wiped out.

Manwë is loving. Very loving. He doesn’t hate anyone, doesn’t hold personal grudges, and he would like nothing more than for everyone to get along and be happy. He truly would love to forgive Melkor and everyone who sided with him, take them back and make amends. However, he knows that that’s impossible - that no matter how dearly he wishes to fix everything, if the other side (aka Melkor) isn’t willing, it’s just not going to happen. Sometimes he has moments of insecurity, when he wonders if it was due to his own shortcomings, his own failure to understand the Theme, that things won’t patch up. Objectively he knows - and the other Valar reassure him of this too - that he couldn’t possibly have prevented everything, and that Melkor and his followers made their own choices. But at times, it still stings him, thoughts of if only I did better or if only I was better.

As kind as he is, he is not a doormat - there are some things he will never tolerate. The destruction and pain Melkor caused the Eruhíni and brought upon Creation is something he will never approve of, will never condone, and you can bet he’ll use every ounce of his power to bring his brother to heel if it means putting a stop to that. 

Also, you can hurl barbs at him all you want and he won’t begrudge you, but do not insult his friends. He won’t smite you outright for it, but he’ll never forget it and certainly will never like you. 

There are times when you’re reminded that this is Melkor’s brother, that they came from the same thought of Eru, and that if Manwë was ever to allow himself to go down the same path of craving domination, he would be just as terrifying. Because on some days, he doesn’t feel like forgiving, doesn’t feel like Melkor deserves amends. He’s furious at his brother, furious at the things he’s done and the things he’s willing to do, and his eyes will glow so blindingly bright that it can be dangerous for any of the Eruhíni to look at him in that moment.

Sometimes during the First Age, when Manwë hears about his brother’s latest misdeed, all the wickedness and enslavement he’s attempted to bring into Arda, he doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure, his disapproval. Storm clouds roll in, the skies open up, rain starts to pour, lightning illuminates the entirety of the sky, and thunder crashes deafeningly - so loud that Melkor, even in the depths of Angband, can hear it clear as day. And he knows this is Manwë saying, “I know what you’ve done. You can’t hide it from me, brother.” 

[rhysatlas]

MELODY OF A MURDER : A Pretty Melody, part one.

MASTERLIST || AO3.

SUMMARY: He calls you and you know what that means; he’s tired of this game of cat and mouse, he wants a break from hunting you. He now wants to devour you and you can’t tell him no.

PAIRING: Din Djarin x f!reader, 2nd POV.

WORD COUNT: 5k+

WARNINGS: 18+, smut, some sad feelings at the end.

TAGS: modern au, alternate universe, rival assassins au, established relationship.

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from but I really needed to get this out of my system. This is the first reader anything I’ve ever written and this is the first fic I’ve posted in over two years, so there’s bound to be a few mistakes, so I apologize in advance. This was originally supposed to be a one shot but I left it with an open ending so... I could always add more. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this!

You know what he wants as soon as you enter his hotel room; the dark look in his chocolate brown eyes speaks more than his words ever could, the way they watch you as you make your way across the room. It’s clear what you’re in for as you brush past him, feeling the thick tension in the air, sending shivers down your spine; you act as you aren’t aware of exactly why he called you here. Though, you must admit that you’re surprised that he hadn’t forced himself onto you as you slid off your coat, revealing yourself to him, and in all honesty, you’re actually disappointed that he didn’t; considering you dressed up for him for that very purpose— hoping he would have grabbed you and had his wicked way with you. You made sure to wear a dress that was easy to remove, and showed off your long legs; and from the way his gaze drags across your form, you can tell he likes what you picked out. 

You don’t say anything as you make your way deeper into the room, heading over to the bar for a quick drink, not even asking if it was okay as you grab one of the expensive bottles off the counter, knowing he wouldn’t care as you grab a glass for yourself. You can feel his eyes on you as you pour the alcohol; feeling his eyes on you from across the room, making you feel hot all over; it’s thrilling, knowing the effect you have on him as well as knowing exactly how you’re going to feel after this. You down your drink quickly, hissing as it burns it's way down your throat, before you’re setting the glass onto the bar, turning towards him as you lean against the bar. He’s sitting on the couch now, his arms thrown over the back of it, legs spread wide; oozing that dominant swagger he probably doesn’t even know he has, making you slick without him even speaking a word or touching your skin. You find yourself biting your bottom lip as your gaze drags over his simple black button up and dark jeans, taking in the way he has the first three or four buttons undone, showing off his golden skin lying underneath. It’s a mouthwatering sight, seeing him like this; ready for you as his heated chocolate hues never leave you. 

“Come here,” he demands, and you follow his instruction immediately, going to stand between his legs. You want to touch him so badly, but resist as his eyes wander over your form, lust clear on his face as he once more takes everything in, licking at his bottom lip slowly— making you wish that tongue was on your skin, in your mouth, in your— before his hands move to you ass, squeezing roughly. A moan passes your lips, watching as his lips twitched with a slight smirk before he’s moving his hands down, tracing over your smooth thighs with his calloused skin. “You look so good like this,” he nearly growls, voice rough with need and want, making you swallow thickly, fingers twitching at your sides as you decide what to do next.

“Just for you,” you murmur, tentatively placing your hands on his broad shoulders, pleased when he doesn’t tell you no or push your hands away. He hums in appreciation at that, hands moving back up to slide under your dress, thumbs brushing over the lace of your underwear. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers go back down to your thighs, teasing you as you continue to stand before him. 

A nod and your own hands grip at the soft fabric of his shirt, tilting your head slightly to allow your hair to tumble over your shoulder. “Yes, Din, just for you,” you whisper, watching as his gaze darkens further at his name passing your red painted lips. 

His big palms meet the backs of your thighs, dragging you closer until you understand what he wants, moving down to straddle him; spreading your legs to settle on his lap, moaning at the feeling of his jeans against your lace covered pussy and the bare skin of your thighs. You lean forward, hands moving to his face as you lean down to kiss him, gasping against his chapped lips when his hands immediately grip onto your thighs with a grip you know is bound to leave bruises— marks you know you’ll trace tomorrow after you’re done hunting for him tomorrow. It only makes you deepen the kiss as he huffs against you, kissing you with the same passion you have for him; kissing you like he was a starving man, drowning in your lips and making you do the same for him. 

“Baby girl,” he growls when your lips part so you can both breathe, one hand moving to the back of your head to tangle his thick fingers in your hair, tugging slightly so you’ll expose your throat to his needy mouth— which you do without question, allowing him to do as he pleased— and Din leans forward to suck at the long line of your throat, his teeth and lips relentless as you grind down onto him. Your hands move to tangle in his dark locks, keeping him there while you moan softly at the drag of his stubble against your soft skin and the way his tongue drags across your neck, making your cunt clench around nothing. 

“How do you want me tonight?” you gasp, closing your eyes against the onslaught of kisses and nips he presses into your skin, wanting anything he’ll give you. 

His lips move to your shoulder, dragging them over your skin, making you shudder against him, your fingers tightening in his brown hair. He doesn’t answer you right away, much to your annoyance, continuing his path back up to your lips. His half-lidded eyes meet yours then, and you feel heady and breathless from that look alone. 

“What do you want, ad’ika?” he inquired, raising a brow at you, a hint of a smirk upon his lips, his hands dropping back to your hips. 

You aren’t sure exactly what you want besides him, so you settle for pulling his head back like he’d done to you, leaning down to drag your own teeth against his throat, listening closely as his breath hitches, his hands twitching at where they rest. 

“I want you to undress me,” you proclaimed, eyes bright as you move back to catch his gaze once more.

He doesn’t make you wait as his hands reach up to the ties of your dress, pulling them loose so he can rip the garment off of you, as your own hands begin working at the buttons of his shirt; itching to feel his toned chest against the skin of your palms, to trace over every single scar you’ve already mapped out a thousand times before. You get his shirt unbuttoned before he finishes with your dress, since he kept getting distracted by running his lips over your collarbone and throat, and you push the offending garment from his shoulders, nails biting into his skin once your hands are on him. He groans at the feeling, the sound shaking you to your core as he finally gets the last tie loose, the straps to your dress falling from your shoulders. You push it down the rest of the way to expose yourself to his hungry eyes, watching as they drop down to look over your black lacy bra now. He reaches behind you without you prompting him to continue, unclasping your bra with deft fingertips, and drags the straps off of your shoulders; and throws it somewhere to be found after all this is said and done, you don’t worry about it now. 

You stand then, letting your dress fall, the silky black fabric pooling around your feet— eyes never leaving his as you stand in front of him once more. He leans forward, ripping his shirt off in one smooth motion, and continues to move until he brushes his lips over your hips, just above your underwear. You lick your lips in anticipation, hands dropping to his shoulders once again, loving the way his muscle bunch beneath his skin at the touch. 

“Din,” you plead, tone more breathless than intended, but he doesn’t seem to mind as his hands grasp your hips, fingers hooking beneath your lacy panties. His brown eyes meet yours as he tugs them down with a quick movement of his arms, ripping your panties off and letting them fall to join your dress, leaving you naked before him. You bite your bottom lip as you step out of them, kicking them away as his lips return to your skin, kissing a path from your abdomen to your ribs, hands gripping your ass as he pulls you close once more. 

“I’ve waited all day for this, baby girl,” he growls against you, and you hum in agreement as your fingers run through his hair, soothing down the wild strands, smiling when he nearly purrs. 

Din’s hands move to your lower back, squeezing briefly before he moves to stand, and you already miss the feeling of his mouth leaving marks on your skin. He towers over you then, leaning in to press his lips to yours again; and it’s all heat and teeth clashing, sending a spark of pleasure throughout your entire body, stars exploding behind your now closed eyes as you throw your arms around his neck. One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers burying themselves in your hair as he holds you there, opening your mouth with his own to tangle his tongue with yours. 

“Bed?” he grunts into your mouth and you hum, breaking away only to hiss ‘yes’ into his. He’s quick to grab you, hooking his arms beneath your thighs as he lifts you with ease, making you cling to him as you suck a mark into the skin of his jaw. He makes his way over to the large bed on the other side of the room, holding you against him as you continue to mark him as he did to you, your nails digging into his back as he moves. 

Carefully, he sets you down, your feet meeting the plush carpet once again. You stare up at him for a moment, taking in the state he’s in; hair mused from your fingers, his cheeks are flushed from his lust, dark brown eyes smouldering as he seems to be analyzing you too. 

Your hands reach out to touch him, tracing over the defined lines of his body, and he lets you as his eyes drift shut at the soft brushes of your fingertips, a quiet sound leaving his throat. Your hands continue their movements until you get to his hips, eyes moving back up to his face to see him staring down at you with lust clear in his gaze. You want to kiss his skin, but decide to do that next time, because you want him now; so you drop your hands to the hem of his jeans, moving them to his back to remove the gun you know he has kept there. Your eyes catch his as you take the pistol in hand— he doesn’t look alarmed, knowing that in this room, you won’t be trying to do the one thing you were hired to do— and then move to place it on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. Returning to standing before him again, your hands go to his belt once more, unbuckling it as his palms cup your face, making you glance up at him while he leans close, pulling you into a kiss. Even as he kisses you, you continue to remove his belt until you tug it out of the belt loops of his jeans and you toss it away, hands going to grip at his hips as you let out a deep moan.

“I want you to fuck me,” you confess when he pulls away, and gasp when he turns, pushing you onto the bed without any further comment. 

You glare openly at him, mouth agape to spit out a curse towards him, when the words die as his hands drop to the buttons of his jeans, slowly unbuttoning each one as he stares down at you. Your mouth goes dry as he towers over you, looking like the very hunter you know he is, his dark hues watching you like a wolf looking at his prey; here in this room— you know you aren’t— you know that after tonight, you’ll both go back to this game of cat and mouse that’s been going on for years. It still sends a shiver down your spine as you move further up the bed, leaving your legs open for him to see how much you still want him, to show how much you need him to touch you there, to make you cry out his name in pleasure. His eyes drop down to your pussy, his hands dropping their motions of unbuttoning his pants, and you can’t help but smirk as you reach down to touch yourself, knowing it would rile him up. 

You keen against your own fingers when you brush them against your folds, watching him as he focuses on you, his jaw clenching as his nostrils flare. He growls your name and you bite your lip as you push a finger inside, whining quietly at him in response. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands leaving his pants to grasp your ankles to pull you down the bed once more, and you can’t stop the sharp gasp that leaves you at the gesture. “Stop it,” he snapped, a hand reaching out to grasp your wrist in a tight grip. “I’m trying to hurry up, but you’re so damn needy.”

You struggle to break his grip but decide to try and use your other hand to touch yourself, already knowing he’d catch on immediately; which he does, his other hand wrapping around your wrist and pushing your hands into the mattress as he moves to hover over you. 

“You’re taking too long,” you say with another whine, making him roll his eyes at you. 

“So impatient,” he mutters, moving your hands until they’re above your head, and he grasps both of your wrists in one of his large hands. You know he’s going to tease you now, and it makes you squirm underneath him as his free hand drifts down to the heated core between your legs. A soft sound passes your lips as his calloused fingertips brush your inner thigh, lifting your hips in hopes that he’ll touch you where you need him too, but you know it’s to no avail. This is what you get for being so impatient and teasing him. 

He takes his time getting to your core, fingers touching every inch of your inner thighs, always getting close to your pussy before he moves his hand away. You tug at his grip on your wrist, to try and make him touch you, but he only tightens his hold, eyes catching yours to tell you wait baby girl silently and you huff in annoyance, head dropping back into the mattress. He moves closer to you then, settling between your open thighs, putting some of his weight on you as his lips connect to the jut of your jaw, nipping sharply at your skin as his hand moves up, finally tracing over your slick entrance as your lips part on a choked gasp. You moan his name then, and he hums in response, just brushing your folds with his fingertips. 

“Din, stop being an asshole,” you grit out, trying to thrust against his touch, but he only chuckles darkly at you as he continues his almost timid touches. The bastard. “Please,” you plead instead, hoping it would appease him. 

“What do you want?” he asks again, repeating his words from when you were still on the couch. 

“Touch me, please.”

His lips twitch before he raises a brow, “I am touching you, mesh’la.”

“You know what I mean,” you groan in frustration, eyes narrowing at him as he continues his teasing. 

“Hmm? You just have to ask.”

“Make me feel good, Din.”

He accepts that as an answer to your relief and he finally presses a finger into your slick folds, causing you to moan out a curse as you twitch beneath him, spreading your legs even further to indicate that you want more. And he gives it to you as he begins to finger you with a steady pace, making you pant and moan and gasp beneath him, your body becoming nothing but a quivering mess as he presses a second finger in; groaning as he feels you getting even wetter for him, and you can feel the sound against your cheek as he kisses you there. His thumb brushes your clit, making you tense with a whine, lips parting as you cry out his name, unable to grab onto him like you desperately want to. 

“This what you wanted?” he chided, eyes locking with yours as you looked up at him, making your cheeks flush with color as you see the smouldering heat in his chocolate hues. 

“Yes,” you get out through gasps as his thumb moves in a slow circular motion over your sensitive bundle, making your fold flutter around his still fingers, and you whine once more. 

A hum leaves his throat at that, and his stubble rubs against your jaw as he ducks his head down to run his lips over your neck as he starts to move his fingers once more, thrusting them into you with quick jabs, your body slowly unraveling at his touch. His lips continue to run over your skin, until they get to your breast, and his kisses become nips as he presses another finger into you, making you feel full with three of his thick fingers, and you become desperate for anything as you feel the warm feeling forming in your lower belly. 

“I’m close…” you whimper, eyes closing tightly as your toes curl, your thighs trembling around his ribs as you try to squeeze your legs shut. 

“You want to cum?” he questions, his voice sounding rough and raw, showing that he’s enjoying this a lot more than he lets on. 

You nod your head, unable to form words as you feel your body tingling due to Din’s talented fingers, your folds tightening around them. His thumb goes back to playing with your clit, lips going back to paying attention to your breast. His facial hair scratches against your skin in the most delightful way and you whimper at the feeling of it as your sweet end comes closer and closer, until all you can do is arch your back to press up against him, lips open wide as you try to tell him you’re coming but the words never leave your tongue. He groans quietly against your chest, lips wrapping around your nipple as you come around his fingers, your cunt squeezing his fingers so tight as his thumb moves you through your orgasm until all you can do is twitch against his warmth. 

A sound of discomfort leaves your chest as his thumb presses your clit, and you kick at his thigh to try and make him stop, the stimulation almost too much. He grunts due to the kick and removes his hand away from your folds, moving to rest on his hunches between your spread knees, and with half-lidded eyes, you watch as Din brings his hand to his lips— his own gaze never leaving yours as he sucks your juices from his fingers— making a show of cleaning his hand as his pink tongue runs over his skin to get every last drop. It makes you moan brokenly, pussy clenching around nothing once more as you watch him, wishing he had used that tongue as well. Next time, you tell yourself, you’ll make sure of it. 

He lets go of your wrists then, but you make no move to reach for him as you catch your breath, humming when Din slides off the bed to slip his jeans off, not before taking the condom out of his pocket and tossing it onto your stomach; and your mouth waters as more of his tanned skin is exposed, realizing the asshole didn’t even bother to wear any underwear when his cock slaps against his stomach as he drops his pants. 

Din crawls over you then, his lips kissing his way back up to yours, and once he’s hovering over you again, you reach up to bury your hands in his hair. Your lips collide, and you both moan at the sensation of his cock brushing your thigh; you break the kiss then, reaching down to pluck the condom off of your stomach, ripping it open with ease despite your eager fingers. His hand reaches for your still dripping cunt, gathering some of your slick to coat his cock, and you smack his hand away to wrap your own around him, making him hiss sharply. If you weren’t so ready for his cock to be inside of you, you’d make him suffer as he had done to you, but you need him more than you are willing to admit. You slip the condom on, not waiting any longer than you need to, and once his cock is ready, you reach for his shoulders, fingers kneading the muscles there as he settles on top of you; he stops for a second and your eyes meet, the question there, and you nod. 

“Please Din.”

He doesn’t wait, his hands grasping your hips to angle them the way he wants, pulling you close as you wrap your legs around his waist; closing your eyes as his cock slides into your cunt, a long moan leaving your throat at the feeling of him filling you up. He groans as your nails bite into his skin, the grip he has on you tightening to the point you can almost hear his knuckles creaking with the harsh movement. Once he’s fully seated within you, he stops, body a wall of tight and tense muscle as he looks down at you, his eyes almost black due to the pleasure he’s feeling; and you can’t help the tiny moan that you make as you look over this beautiful man on top of you. The flush of his cheeks has moved down to his neck and collarbone, and part of his chest, a small drop of sweat on his temple from him holding himself still above you. Your hands drift from his shoulders to run down the length of his chest, biting your lip as you gently drag your nails across his skin, making his hips twitch against you. 

“Move,” you whisper, unable to handle him not fucking you. He doesn’t have to be told twice, his hips moving until only the tip of his cock is inside of you, only to thrust back into you with a sharp movement of his hips, making you cry out as you throw your head back, clawing at his chest; one of your nails dragging across his nipple, causing a rough gasp to leave him. He plows into you, his hips relentless as he fucks into you, grunting from the exertion of thrusting into you, and you take it in stride, moving your hips to meet his with all the strength you can muster. 

It feels so fucking good and all you can do is moan and pant his name, wordlessly begging for everything and anything he can give you, clinging to him as he fucks you. You’d been waiting for this for weeks, to stop hunting him so you can finish the one mission you never wanted to complete, so he could make your body soar with pleasure, so you could see stars and galaxies from his touch. 

You hate that you were assigned to kill him, and you used to hate that you were never able to kill him, but now, as you stare up at him as he makes you feel things you never felt before, you know this— Din— will always be the mission you’d never complete, the one mission you have ever failed in your career of being an assassin. And you knew that you would be the mission he’d never complete as well, considering he was supposed to kill you so long ago. 

He leans down, his arms moving so he can rest on his forearms above you, and the movement breaks you away from your thoughts, making you moan as his lips slant over yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rolls his hips against you, and you keep moving your hips to match his movements, your chest heaving against his as you breathe against his lips. 

“You feel so good, sweet girl,” he gasps, his raspy voice sending a pleasant feeling through your body, shaking you to the core. “Always feel so good for me.”

You can only moan in response, turning you head to the side as he runs his nose along the line of your jaw, his mouth settling on the arch of your throat in a tender kiss, groaning low in his chest as he starts thrusting into you again. A breathy gasp echos between you two as you move against one another, and you realize that sound came from you, but before you can feel embarrassed, he’s shifting again, resting on his hunches again; dragging you with him until the backs of your thighs are on top of his, and your lips part in a silent scream as he thrusts up into you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, moving your hips down into his, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as red hot pleasure courses through your veins, your skin damp with exertion and you can feel where it collects where your thighs are pressed to his, but you don’t care because it feels so good to be fucked by him like this. His jaw is tight as he grunts through gritted teeth, his brown eyes never leaving yours as he thrusts into you, and you can’t look away from him as you take everything he’s giving you. 

“I’m almost there,” he confesses with a strained tone, his hands gripping your ass as he moves your body into his, and you press a biting kiss to his jaw, hands tugging at his sweat damp hair. 

“Me too,” you tell him as you expose your throat to him as you pull him close, and he buries his face into your skin, moaning against you as he splays his fingers across the expanse of your back. “I’m so fucking close, Din.”

“Don’t cum yet, mesh’la,” he mutters, against your collarbone, and he moans your name quietly when your walls flutter around him, and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself in check.

“Together,” you tell him and he nods against you, repeating the word back to you before he’s pushing you into the mattress again, his hips relentlessly fucking into you, your chest jumping in time with his eratic movements. His hand finds where you meet, and you can’t hold back the cry that leaves your parted lips when he finds your clit, rolling it beneath the calloused thumb of his that’s caused you to shatter more times than you can count. 

“Din,” it's torn between a moan and a gasp, the way you cry out his name, your cunt tightening around his cock as you feel tears of euphoria leaving your eyes as you stare up at him with a pleading expression. 

“Almost there, baby girl,” he grits out, his forehead meeting yours as he closes his eyes, his chest heaving as his hips start to stutter, losing his rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his own climax. 

“I’m— I’m gonna cum,” you whine, hands gripping his forearms as he continues to move into you and play with your clit. “Please tell me you’re—” 

“Yeah,” he hissed, before you lose control of your body, nearly screaming as you come harder than you have in a long time, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold him close. Distantly you hear him grunting and you can feel him thrust once, twice, and then he lets out a deep sound, a growl leaving his chest as he reaches his end. His hips continue to twitch for a few short moments before you both still, panting harshly as he sags against you, his body heavy but you make no complaint as you try to catch your breath. After a few quiet moments, he rolls onto his back, his cock leaving you, making you wince and he hisses sharply at the feeling. You lay there for what feels like an eternity, staring at the ceiling as you let your body cool, listening to him next to you. 

You feel him shift next to you and turn your head to see that he’s thrown an arm over his eyes, his other arm thrown over his stomach, and you let out a tiny snort. He peeks at you from under his arm, shooting you a confused look. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You gonna pass out on me, old man?”

He huffs in annoyance before he rolls over, his head resting on your breast as his arms wrap around you. Your hands immediately find his curls, running your fingers through his hair as he relaxes against you. 

“Yeah, I think I will,” he mutters and you smack at his shoulder, causing him to chuckle before he falls silent once more. You don’t move for a while, and don’t plan to until you know you have to leave. He doesn’t seem to want to move yet either, and you know he’s not asleep because you can feel his hand tracing small patterns on your stomach, just basking in your afterglow for a little bit longer. 

When he does pull away, you ignore the ache in your chest, watching him quietly as he pushes himself off of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom, your eyes lingering on the muscles of his back as they shift. He disappears into the bathroom for a while, most likely cleaning himself off, and you settle into the sheets, eyes closing as you keep telling yourself that the pain in your chest doesn’t mean anything. 

You must have dozed off because you awaken to him calling your name, and when you open your eyes, he’s fully dressed, except for his helmet, jacket, and gloves. He’s holding out a rag and you say nothing as you nod, knowing his question before he asks it, and you moan softly when he cleans you up a bit before holding out his hand to help you out of the bed. You sigh softly as you stand, stretching your arms over your head with a moan, and without another word, you venture into the bathroom to clean yourself up so you too can dress. You jump in the shower and when you’re done, you find your clothes resting on the sink, causing you to smile softly at the gesture before it falters because you know what it means once you're dressed. You’ll both leave this room, and it will be another few months until you find yourself here again. Needless to say, you take longer than needed to get dressed.

Once you're clean and fully clothed, you take one last look at yourself in the mirror, staring at the hickeys and bruises already forming on your neck and collarbone, sighing gently as it sends an odd emotion to your brain. You don’t linger on that thought as you look away and leave the bathroom. You find him sitting on the couch, helmet and gloves still off but he’s put his leather jacket, and he’s scrolling through his phone. He glances up at you as you stand there, his expression unreadable as he stares at you. You briefly wonder if he sees his marks on you, and it makes you wonder what he thinks, but you push those thoughts away as you find your heels, slipping your feet into them. When you look at him again, he’s standing, his gloves on now, but his helmet is tucked under his arm. In his other hand, he has your jacket, which he’s holding out for you. You take it, averting your gaze as you slip it on, ignoring the way your heart drops and how you feel sad about saying goodbye to him. 

He says your name though, and you can’t not turn to him, your gaze catching his as he steps forever, gloved hand cupping your jaw as he leans down to press one last kiss against your lips. You grip at his jacket as he kisses you, your heart pounding against your rib cage as you let yourself have this. He pulls away all too soon though, leaving you wishing you could have more. But then he’s sliding his helmet on, and you’re stuck staring where his eyes once were, already missing those gorgeous brown hues. His hand lingers on your jaw though and you feel him brush his thumb over your bottom lip before he drops his hand. 

“Until next time, cyar’ika.”

[chaoswillfallrpg]

KEIRA GREY is TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD and a JUNIOR FORENSIC PATHOLOGIST for THE MORTUARY at ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL. She looks remarkably like ALICE ENGLERT and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, bodily harm

A Bambi-eyed girl with a mischievous streak, Keira Grey is a lionhearted witch born in East London to parents ANDREW and GINA GREY, the family had a relatively calm and simple life. Gina was a nurse who worked long hours though Keira could never remember hearing her mother complain, whilst Andrew worked as a dentist and regularly partook in moaning enough for both her parents. Their life was pretty clockwork in the little street house they struggled to afford off Brick Lane. Tea was always ready and on the table for Andrew getting in at five made mostly by her grandma PEGGY who took care of Keira around school and lived in their third upstairs bedroom. The only thing to break this clockwork cycle was the birth of her sister, EMILIA when Keira was five. Having a baby in the house was incredibly exciting for Keira and instantly when she laid eyes on her she loved her with all her heart. Keira became something of a second mother to Emilia, picking her sister up like a doll and walking around the house with her on the side of her hip whilst her grandma cooked their evening meal. The birth of her little sister spurred her parents to begin looking outside of London to raise their children and the reason they left the house one day and never returned. 

It was just an ordinary weekend that her parents kissed them on the forehead and left Keira holding a little two-year-old Emilia on her side and drove out to Kent to go house hunting. It was such a normal moment that would stick in Keira’s mind for the rest of her life. Their happy faces, her mother’s laugh, her father trying to hurry her into the car. Keira couldn’t believe they had been taken from them. Her grandma breaking down in the kitchen or the image of the car which flashed up on the evening news announcing they were survived by two children of the same names didn’t allow the realisation to click for Keira. It was one day after the funeral when her little sister asked when their parents were coming home did Keira fully accept they never would be. All Emilia would ever have of them were photographs, newspaper clippings and the memories of Keira and their grandma which made Keira’s heart break all over again. Keira became much older after her parents died. She wore a sullen expression on her face and dressed and bathed her younger sister with the expertise and seriousness of someone twice her age. Their grandma was elderly and although she was a no nonsense woman Emilia was a handful that Keira did her best to try and control, especially when strange things began to occur. 

Around the time her parents died Keira found it hard to contain her emotions, which seemed to spread out from her body. When she sat alone in the garden at times and cried it would snow, if she sang to Emilia as she slept she saw tiny stars and beams of light fly over the ceiling. Her magic always presented itself in a beautiful and visual way that although she had no explanation for she accepted and appreciated. For a time Keira believed it was just her that possessed the same gifts, but when Emilia turned six and she found their cat Marmalade flying through the air as she giggled Keira realised it may have been something that ran through their family. Keira’s letter to Hogwarts differentiated from any other letters that had come to their house. An envelope made from old paper with loopy calligraphy, as she peeled it open a strange sense of excitement built up inside of her she hadn’t felt since her parents passed away. Emilia Gray was a witch and as she went to bed that night dressed in a witches Halloween costume and clutching a plastic wand she felt more alive than she had done in years, her inner child having finally woken up after a long hibernation. Emilia was in love with Hogwarts and although she had no idea what it meant to be in Gryffindor until ARTHUR WEASLEY and TRYSTAN WARRINGTON happily told her over full plates of pumpkin pie. 

A Muggle-Born student, Keira received her fair share of bullying whilst at school but was more than equipped to handle it. A spitfire of a girl, she became known for her kind heart and an East London attitude which meant giving anyone as good as you got, both in the corridor and out on the Quidditch pitch. Keira shined as a Chaser for the team, supported by a gaggle of friends who cheered her on at every game and were more than ready to jump at her side to defend those who dared to bully her. JENNIFER VANE was her best friend and greatest companion as they strolled the halls of Hogwarts, though unlike their friends CONSTANCE SONG and LAUREL LINWOOD they never went looking for trouble, though it still seemed to find them particularly in the form of LACHLAN MCTAVISH, a Ravenclaw student who thought very highly of himself and enjoyed putting Keira down at every chance he got. Bartimus was irritating to Keira, but he was tolerable compared to the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain TOMAS WOOD. Tomas often enjoyed stepping in to defend Keira when she didn’t need his help whilst simultaneously lauding himself around the pitch as the self-proclaimed best player at Hogwarts. Everyone who attended school at the same time as Tomas was in love with him, though Keira had never quite understood the infatuation herself and found him to be quite an arrogant and unpleasant individual. 

Although she loved Quidditch, Keira had another career path in mind and longed to follow somewhat in the footsteps of her parents and enter the medical profession. Graduating from Hogwarts with pleasing grades she began working as a Healer for The Wigtown Wanderers. Keira loved working with the team, bandaging them up and sending them on their way. The injuries were interesting and some of the tasks challenging, but not enough to truly stimulate Keira. Her brain worked in a methodical way, having found she enjoyed figuring out what had caused the injuries rather than fixing them. When a job working in the morgue came up working under PROFESSOR HERBERT SPLEEN, Keira tentatively applied for it, unsure as to how she would feel being surrounded by so much death but after being accepted quickly found joy in what some might consider morbid. As Keira saw it, she used her medical expertise to help catch criminals and enjoyed working with the Auror’s Office to bring about justice.She lived a fairly happy life but it was no small secret that the Grey family had always had financial issues, with Keira working longer hours to support the family as the primary earner and it was that well known fact that someone began to take advantage of. 

The day BOOKER BAGNOLD arrived at St Mungos, Keira had been very sure what had killed him. It was an advanced spell, a one that cut the body like a sword or a set of claws but a spell nonetheless. Keira’s judgement would sadly never make it to the Auror’s Office. Shaking hands with CORBAN YAXLEY they made an unbreakable vow, promising to use his influence to get Emilia her dream job at The Daily Prophet and money in exchange for this change and her silence. A few days later Emilia began her job at the paper and Keira silently paid off the mortgage on their little house in Brick Lane as she watched the chaos she had caused play out in front of her. Since her parents died Keira has always tried to live her life according to what would make them proud, vowing to do her best by them and take care of Emilia the way she always had done. Keira finds it hard to look at herself in the mirror knowing the reason people are looking so closely at SILAS CRUMP is because of the deal she struck, but it has become even more difficult now FRANK LONGBOTTOM and REMUS LUPIN have come back round asking more questions. With her life on the line, Keira knows she has to continue to keep her secret but it’s only a matter of time before someone realises her mistake and her lie begins to unravel with potentially deadly consequences, prompting her to wonder how much it was all worth it. 

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Muggle-Born

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality  → Up to Roleplayer  

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Societies → Sorcerers for Equality 

Family → Emilia Grey (sister)

Connections  → Jennifer Vane (best friend), Arthur Weasley (close friend), Trystan Warrington (close friend), Laurel Linwood (close friend), Glenda Chittock (close friend), Natan Diggory (friend), Daisy Hookum (friend), Constance Song (friend), Mafalda Hopkirk (friend), Tomas Wood (acquaintances/potential love interest), Professor Hebert Spleen (boss), Remus Lupin (friend/colleague), Frank Longbottom (colleague), Corban Yaxley (adversary), Lachlan McTavish (former adversary)

Future Information → Wife of Tomas Wood, Mother of Oliver Wood (subject to change)

KEIRA GREY IS A LEVEL 7 WITCH.

[thewindsofsong]

get to know me

tagged by @xcziel. Took me a few days, but I finally just sat down at my computer and got to it.

name: my internet name is thewindsofsong. I also go by windy. I don’t give my rl name to anyone i haven’t met irl because I am technically internet old and trust no one with personal information

pronouns: she/her

Break so this isn't super long and annoying to get past

star sign: aries but I don’t really know what that means because I don’t follow astrology at all

height: 5'4"

time: 9:42

birthday: 4/10, but sometimes i say 4/13 because thats two unlucky numbers in one birthday

nationality: american

fave bands/groups/solo artists: Hozier, Florence and the Machine, Mitsuki, Liu Chang are the ones that come to mind right now. There’s more, but those tent to be the artists I come back to a lot. Neutral Milk Hotel is old and gone and only listened to when the mood is right

song stuck in your head: Highland cathedral because of a tiktok atm. A bunch of people sang different notes and layered on top of each other to sound like bagpipes. It was pretty awesome.

last movie you watched:Rurouni Kenshin! The 2012 live action movie!! Currently one of the organizers for a weekly watch party that happens in the dmbj discord server. Its been a lot of fun watching movies with everyone there every week!!!

last show you binged: Does Moonfall Echo count? I technically binged it, but the whole series is also like a hour a most and I watched half of it on my lunch break today

when you created your blog: some time in early 2012 i think?

the last thing you googled:月陨回声 - would it surprise anyone to know that thats the original Chinese title for Moonfall Echo? No? No one? ok….

other blogs: twoscats. I sent all the cute animal things there and then watch them on worse days.

why i chose my url: I was young and knew that i liked music and that my favorite element was air. One day the winds of song came into my head and it has been my online handle ever since.

how many people are you following: 140 which is actually a lot for me. I should go through and do some pruning… I usually keep it down to around 100. I curate my tumblr experience a lot and I credit it to being the reason why its been as positive as it has been.

how many followers do you have: 675, but my blog is also suuuuuper old so the majority of them are probably inactive blogs that are just hanging around.

average hours of sleep:6-7. I’ve tried to sleep more than that but it just doens’t happen easily. I tent to wake up super early and have a hard time falling asleep again

lucky numbers: multiples of 3 and 13

instruments: marimba. Used to play it back in high school and just loved the sound of it. Also have a lot of great memories playing in both marching band and drumline.

what i'm currently wearing: halloween pjs. They’re very comfy and Halloween is great and deserves more than just one month ok?

dream job: housewife/artisanal soap maker. Let me do nothing but focus on keeping a clean house, cooking new foods, occasionally making and selling fantastic handmade soaps! I could binge all the dramas! Write all the fanfics!! DO ALL THE THINGS!!! But alas, I live in a capitalist hellscape and must work to contribute to bills. I think I’m doing close to the next best thing which is working from home atm tho.

dream trip: all expense paid trip across japan during a non busy season. My Japanese is bad and suuupeer informal because I absorbed it all from watching 15ish years of anime, but it's workable.

fave food: right now the first thing that comes to mind is a great breakfast sandwich.

top three fictional universe you'd like to live in: star trek times? Where capitalism has been abolished and things are pretty great? Ummmmm beyond that, maybe Natsume Yuujincho universe because interesting things can happen, but they aren’t world ending. Spirits exist and sometimes they form heartbreaking connections to mortals, but they're still so beautiful! Third might be idk, dmbj world so long as I never enter a tomb? Hearing about Wu Xie’s disastrous adventures could be fun

last song: That wasn’t the tiktok one? Probably Golden Sands sung by Liu Chang

last stream: I watched a bit of Liu Chang’s 4/28 stream that got uploaded to youtube. I do not have a problem, don’t judge me.

currently reading: Cats Paw by Merinnan & xantissa for like the 16th time. I don’t really read books and i’ve never really taken the time to examine why, but with fics like theirs, I never really saw a reason to try and go into reading random books that I don’t know or characters that I don’t already have a connection to.

currently watching: Moonfall Echo. I’ll probably be rewatching it a few times because I can. Its so weird. I don’t understand how they’re actually making this work with everything else? And apparently A Chinese Ghost Story is a part of this somehow?

what is antipoetry to you: Absolutely no idea. I had to analyse a bunch of poetry back in high school, but that was a long time ago. Is antipoetry just prose?

currently craving: takoyaki lowkey allllllllll the damn time. I actually have a takoyaki pan, but making takoyaki takes so much work. I usually just make pancake balls and drench them in syrup.

[etn-story-archive]

Enter the Nomicon - Chapter 14: Blood Spilt

.

Red. It clouded his vision. A strong, bitter and sulfurous smell filled his nostrils to the point where it was almost suffocating. The entirety of this was unpleasant. What was this exactly? Nomi couldn't tell, in fact, he couldn't recall anything that had mounted up to whatever was going on. He had no idea where he was, nothing. It all was just a blur. 

It kinda felt like swimming in the ocean, except, it felt even lighter, almost completely weightless, engulfed in a sea of red. It was almost calming, which is what surprised Nomi the most. Everything just felt calm and relaxing, despite the mild discomfort. That didn't seem to be right. Not at all.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. But what? What was wrong? What unsettling and unsavory thing was transpiring? Nothing felt right, that deep peace Nomi felt had seemingly vanished, replaced by a sense of wrongness, like the world was being torn apart, piece by piece. That dull ache of discomfort itched at Nomi, the red that filled his senses suddenly made him feel weak, vulnerable, scared, and alone.

But why?

...

The hideous scream echoed loudly throughout the halls of Norrisville High, causing the school to tremble to its very foundation. 

Both Randy and Howard looked to each other with wide, panicked gazes. Neither teen had an explanation as to what was making this blood curdling scream.

 "Howard!"

"N-ninja what's going on?!"

"I-I don't know!"

The two stumbled about, unable to keep their balances. Randy crashed into an empty desk, as Howard tripped over a chair, before landing on top of the still unconscious body of Mac Antfee.

As the scream passed, a sharp, biting sting tore into Randy like billions of needles pricking his body mercilessly. He gripped the edge of the desk with one hand, in order to support himself, while the other gripped at his stomach. As he forced himself upright, a pained gasp escaped him, only muffled by the ninja mask.

"H-aah."

Randy could only squeeze his eyes shut as pain spread all throughout his body.

"N-ninja?!"

Howard's voice could barely be heard.

"Ninja, look at me--say something!"

Randy forced his eyes open, and stared up at Howard dazedly.

"H-Howard?"

The pain began to slowly subside, though it was still painful for Randy to move normally, his tummy extremely tender.

"Ninja, you're glowing!"

Randy blinked owlishly, his movements and thought process seeming slower than usual. 

"What?"

"I said you're glowing! You're completely red!"

Randy nodded distractedly. He couldn't quite register what Howard had just said.

"Cunningham?"

In any normal circumstance, Howard would never use Randy's last name when he was wearing the suit, but this was certainly not a normal circumstance.

Randy stared at Howard in a daze. He hadn't even bothered to scold the chubby teen for using his name.

"Something's wrong...I-I have to find Nomi."

"Are you insane?! The book can take care of himself, just wait here!"

Randy hesitated, before shaking his head.

"No, I have to find him...Whatever just made that scream...Nomi might need my help."

Heatedly set on searching for Nomi, Randy pushed himself completely away from the desk, wobbling slightly.

"Well, what do I do with him?!"

Howard gestured to the unconscious Mac Antfee lying on the ground between them.

"Just...keep an eye on him. You hit him pretty hard, so I don't think he'll get up any time soon."

Howard scowled, before looking down at Mac, then reluctantly nodding. 

"Fine, but hurry it up."

Randy nodded.

"Thanks, buddy."

Howard huffed as Randy charged ungracefully out of the room, using the wall as support.

Suddenly, the body lying in front of Howard began to stir.

...

For the most part, the school seemed entirely deserted. The halls were littered with papers, notebooks, pencils and bags. Clearly everyone had left in a hurry.

The further Randy walked, the more on edge he felt. He felt vulnerable, and with every creak and shudder the school gave, the more it unsettled him, making him even more paranoid about his surroundings. It almost tempted him to pull out his sword, however, he refrained from doing so. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Randy wouldn't be able to hold it, let alone use it. 

As he ventured further down the hallway, he noticed how much more destroyed the classrooms were. Had he and Mac made this much of a mess? Randy glanced over a scorched piece of building and shook his head. No, no they hadn't.

Suddenly, before Randy could have a chance to even blink, a burst of colorful doodles flooded the hallway. They burned everything they touched, reducing them into nothing more than ashes. 

Randy was unable to move away fast enough. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the burning sensation of fire to rip through his body and burn him to a crisp, but it never came.

Daring to open an eye, Randy found himself staring face to cover of what looked like a tiny, colorful doodle of Nomi in book form, complete with tiny stick figure arms and legs. For a moment, he stared at the little doodle dumbly, before it suddenly began to nuzzle Randy's cheek. 

Randy froze in surprise, he wasn't sure what to do, so he allowed the act, which was soon added by other doodles that began rubbing themselves against his body.

A light feeling of warmth began to spread throughout his body, seeping into his very veins. Any pain Randy had previously felt slipped away, until there was no pain at all. He flexed his fingers curiously, still feeling no pain. The tiny doodles seemed to sense this as they all pulled away. The Nomicon doodle lingered for just a second longer, before it too floated past Randy, and finally fading away into nothing. He glanced down at his hands, and found that he was no longer covered in stank.

To Randy, the entire transaction was odd to say the least.

“What the juice just happened?” 

Randy didn't have much time to ponder over it, before suddenly--

"Hello, nice wad."

Randy had barely managed to turn around before something smacked him hard against the side of his head. He was sent stumbling to the ground, stars dancing in his eyes. He could feel Mac's presence looming over him. Randy turned his head as best he could to look up at him. The man held a wicked smirk on his face. Randy saw a large wooden board in his hands. 

Mac raised it again, before bringing it down upon Randy. Darkness overcame his vision.

...

A deep groan.

"Hmm, I think he's waking up. Good, I thought you killed the brat."

Randy shifted, his eyes beginning to adjust.

"Too bad, it would've made things easier. Ah well, fucking with him is gonna be even better."

His muscles ached, and his head stung.

"Uuugh..."

Randy moaned out. He turned his head to the side, and at first could only see a wall, but soon someone stepped into his view. Randy's eyes widened as the Sorceress stood before him. She gave him a smile that could rival the Cheshire cat's.

"Hmm, for such a puny little rat, you've caused quite a bit of trouble. I suppose I can't complain though, you being such a weakling made it easier for us. The Norisu brat wasn't all that much different either. Shame, I expected more of a fight from the worthless worm."

Randy began to tremble violently, 

"W-what?"

The Sorceress's smile grew wider, but before she could utter another word, a deep growl resonated from somewhere Randy couldn't see. She began to giggle and coo.

"Oh, it seems he's quite the impatient one."

Randy swallowed. He tried craning his neck further to see what the witch was talking about, but to no avail. What was holding him down?

Randy felt added pressure on his back, and he let out a sharp gasp of pain.

"What, excited to see Teach?"

Oh. Right, Mac. Oh no, Howard! He'd told him to keep an eye on Mac! Did he do something to him?! 

Randy began to squirm around vigorously.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"L-let me go! LET ME GO!"

Mac chuckled darkly. He lifted his foot from the small of Randy's back before viciously stomping down on him between his shoulder blades. Randy cried out.

"I believe it's time we ended this. No need to prolong this brat's time." 

The Sorceress scowled, clearly more intent on finishing things up quickly. She knew that if the young ninja somehow managed to gain some form of upper hand, it would all be over, and their plans would go down the drain.

"Aw c'mon, I'm just getting started! I want this stupid fucker to pay. Let's just have a little fun with him. Besides, the 800 year old newspaper isn't gonna be any trouble, now that he's under your control. Besides, I have the mask."

“WAIT WHAT.”

Randy's eyes shot open, his pupils shrunk. No, it couldn't be!

The Sorceress eyed the purple haired teen tentatively. The idea was much too good to simply pass up. The ninja had been a thorn on her side for centuries. And now, the opportunity to make him pay was practically laid out in front of her. Even better, she had the right weapons for the job.

"Hmm, I guess we aren't in such a rush. And this could be the perfect chance to practice my control over the Nomicon." 

Her eyes glistened wickedly as she spoke.

Meanwhile, Randy's heart was beating madly against his chest. He was in a full fledged panic. They know who he is, his secret identity exposed, and Nomi was sta--

Snap!

The Sorceress had snapped her bony fingers, and instantly a blur of black and red was at her side.

Mac Antfee removed his foot, lifting Randy by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him face to face with what had become of his teacher.

Nomi's body was long and slender, with short, muscular legs, each equipped with long red talons. His snout was long with two feelers on either side of his cherry red nose, and a small beard grew on his chin. On top of his head sat a set of antlers and a mop of long, red hair that ran from the top of his head and ended at the tuft on his tail. The entirety of Nomi's body was coated in impenetrable black scales, and a cream colored underbelly with the glowing red symbol of the Norisu Nine engrained at his chest.

"Nomi..." 

His name was all that he could manage to muster.

The Sorceress cooed as she ran a sickly green hand against the smooth scales. 

"Yes, he'll wreak havoc upon this pathetic town, and soon the world will be ours. Hellion, destroy this pitiful building."

"No, Nomi don't! NO!"

Nomi ignored Randy's pleas. He snarled, baring his large fangs, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nostrils. He then turned to the nearest wall, and without batting an eye, released a powerful torrent of colorful doodles that acted like flames, eating away at the wall and anything beyond that with ease. He then rammed his antlers against the smoldering room, destroying any surviving material, before moving on to the next room, all within a matter of seconds.

Randy could only watch on in horror, before he was promptly shoved against the wall, away from Nomi. He could just imagine Mac was grinning from ear to ear. 

Randy squeezed his eyes tightly shut as Mac Antfee began to beat him. He was punched numerously against his head, before being thrown like a ragdoll against the cool tile. One of his eyes was swollen and black, blood leaking profusely from his nose.

"You were such a fucking pain in my ass, kid. You don't even deserve that mask. I'M the best ninja that old twink has ever taught. You're worthless compared to me! Do you hear that?! WORTHLESS! And I know you like him. It’s almost painful with how obvious it is. But you know what?"

Randy swallowed a sob as Mac kicked him in the stomach.

"He doesn't care about you. He just sees you as some poor kid who's stuck doing his dirty work."

Another swift kick, this time to Randy's ribs.

"You're nothing to him. You're just a replaceable pawn!"

Mac grabbed Randy by the throat, lifting him up high. He began to squeeze, barely allowing any air to pass through his lungs.

"He won't miss you, let alone love you. I almost feel sorry for ya. Too bad I'm gonna fucking kill you."

"N-Nomi!... NOMI!..NOMI HELP!...PLEASE-!" Randy rasped out desperately.

Mac snickered, he watched, utterly amused, before digging his nails harshly into Randy's neck, cutting off almost all air from his lungs, leaving the teen gasping.

"The book isn't gonna do a thing to help you now. He belongs to us now."

Randy's hands shot out and grabbed at Mac Antfee's hand, trying to pull it away, but it didn't budge.

The Sorceress watched the display, a sense of sickening satisfaction crossed her wrinkled face.

...

Nomi had gone far off down the hall, far away from the brutal beating of his student. He had already destroyed nearly a third of the nearby classes in less than a few minutes. 

He could hear the sounds of a fight, and despite his mind being completely under the control of the Sorceress, some form of curiosity entered his mind, and he found himself twisting back around down the hall from where he'd previously come from.

Nomi couldn't quite place why he was so interested in the sounds of the skirmish, yet continued on, ignoring his previous orders to destroy. 

It was odd, but even the idea of destroying things was actually quite foreign to Nomi. Why did everything feel so off? So wrong? 

Nothing made sense.

Nomi marched on as he tried to make sense of everything, but it was as if something was preventing him from doing so. But what and why? He couldn't say.

"N-Nomi!"

Nomi froze.

"... NOMI!.."

Who was that? Why were they calling for him? They sounded familiar...

"NOMI HELP!...PLEASE-!"

This time, something snapped. It hit him like a ton of bricks, reality came pummeling down on Nomi. The deep red veil that had clouded his mind vanished. He remembered. The fight that had broken out between himself, Randy, the Sorceress, and Mac...the rage that led to him getting stanked.

A deep bubbling anger flared through his mind, and Nomi suddenly began to barrel his way down the ruins of the demolished hallway with no signs of stopping.

…

Mac watched as Randy struggled, slowly suffocating within the tips of his fingers. Just like the Sorceress, a swell of satisfaction puffed inside his chest.

Randy's mouth fell open as he despairingly tried to breathe in any air he could, but Mac did not allow him. He squeezed just enough to cut off all air supply to his lungs, and when the man relented enough to let him take a breath, it simply wasn't enough. Randy could feel his eyes beginning to roll backwards as the lack of air was causing him to slowly lose consciousness again. 

He knew that it would be permanent this time.

Seconds passed, and Mac did not give Randy the relief of even a small amount of breath. His grip on Mac's hand weakened.

“This is it,” Randy thought, “this is where I'm gonna die.” 

Just as Randy was about to pass out, a loud snarling roar startled Mac, causing him to release Randy's neck, just barely enough for the teen to breathe. And the man was almost instantaneously torn away from him.

Everyone, even the Sorceress, seemed shocked.

Mac was on the ground, utterly terrified as Nomi hovered over him, pinning him down with one large clawed hand, his long red talons threatening to pierce the skin on his chest.

Randy wheezed, as he took desperate gulps of air, coughing every few seconds. He laid there limply, his eyes closed and tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Small sobs escaping him.

Mac squirmed underneath Nomi, staring up at the ancient being with a fearful gaze.

Nomi leaned down, a resonating growl erupted from his maw, and he bore his long fangs, clearly intent on using them.

The Sorceress, who had been watching the entire display, acted fast. She created a ball of pink energy and aimed it skillfully at Nomi, hitting him dead on, causing the dragon to rear up, releasing his hold on Mac. The ginger haired man wasted no time to scramble away. He reached behind him and pulled out the stank covered katana, the Sorceress joining his side.

"YOU FOOL! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN TO NOT HAVE LISTENED TO A WORD YOU SPAT OUT! THE NOMICON IS NO LONGER IN MY CONTROL!" The Sorceress snarled.

"Then get him back in your control!" Mac hissed back.

Before the Sorceress could retort, a large billow of colorful doodles smacked her, sending her flying down the end of the hall. She was out, cold.

Mac stared after her, in complete shock, before turning back around in front of him. That was a huge mistake. 

Nomi's reptilian tail swung out at Mac like a whip, snatching his katana from his grip.

Randy watched quietly, having at some point managed to push himself into a slumped, sitting position against the wall. To him, it was like watching a scary movie, as the monster was being cornered, getting ready for the final stretch of the film. 

Unfortunately this was no movie. This was real.

As Nomi lunged, Mac darted around the mouth full of teeth, just narrowly escaping by a hair. He hastily went for his katana, which sat an inch or two within the tips of his fingers. However, Nomi was quicker. Like a rubber band, Nomi snapped around faster than a whip, snapping his large jaws onto Mac's hand.

Mac Antfee hollered loudly in sheer pain, before being tossed into a pile of rubble.

Randy watched in silent horror as Nomi opened his bloody jaws, preparing to enlist a final blow, but just before he could, a pink blast hit him squarely in the jaw. 

Nomi roared angrily, turning to the source of the offending blow. The Sorceress. 

Nomi narrowed his eyes darkly, and was quickly upon her in seconds.

Having been unprepared for  Nomi's speed, the Sorceress was useless in fighting off the redhead's devastating attacks.

Randy continued to watch, breathless, as Nomi unleashed ferocious attacks with brutal force and absolutely no mercy. 

Suddenly, a deep grunt of pain caught his attention and instantly, fear swarmed his mind.

Mac was slowly getting back up onto shaky feet, one hand bleeding profusely, the other grasped at the glowing green katana tightly. He began to stagger towards Randy. A maniacal grin was stretching itself across his face, eyes wide and wild.

He began to laugh.

"I'm gonna finish what I started. And there's nothing he can do to save you now."

Randy pressed himself against the wall. He felt small, compared to Mac, as he loomed over him. Randy whimpered as Mac grabbed at his throat again, lifting him up high, his body pressed against the wall. Randy closed his eyes as Mac began to squeeze his neck again.

Mac chuckled softly as he slowly raised his katana, before plunging it straight into Randy's stomach.

Randy threw his head back, his mouth fell open as he let out an odd, strangled cry that quickly fell silent as Mac tightened his grip on Randy's neck, his dark grin only growing at the sight. 

...

Howard moaned out pitifully, his face stung, and he was more than sure his nose was broken.

The last thing Howard could recall was Mac getting to his feet. Howard had tried to call for Randy to come back, before he felt a sharp cuff to his face that rendered him unconscious.

For how long was he out was a mystery that seemed like too much work to ponder. He simply hoped that Randy was okay. That way, when he saw him again, he could slap him, because holy cheese, he was left alone with that maniac! 

Howard huffed in annoyance at the thought. He then pushed himself back to his feet, but only to be knocked back down again.

The entire school began to tremble, sounds of destruction radiated off throughout the halls. It was almost like an earthquake had hit.

Howard gripped at a desk and pushed himself up.

Random chips and pieces of the ceiling began to dust his hair, which he brushed off in aggravation. He turned to the rest of the room, and could tell that Mac was definitely long gone, and Randy still hadn't come back yet.

Wait.

“CUNNINGHAM!”

Randy wasn't back, the whole school was shaking, and oh my cheese there's some huge monster outside the room.

Howard froze at the sight of what looked to be a black dragon passing by. The large beast appeared to be in deep thought when--

"N-Nomi!"

The dragon paused, raising its head just slightly, before moving closer to the source of the voice.

Howard's heart skipped a beat. That had sounded like Randy.

"... NOMI!.."

It started to walk faster, ears perked up in alert.

"NOMI HELP!...PLEASE-!"

Then it started to run. The large dragon was a blur, and was gone in seconds.

Wait. Was that-? No, it couldn't be the book? Could it?

Howard decided he wasn't going to wait and find out, he had to go after it before it could get to Randy. 

With that, Howard made his way into the hall.

...

The taste of iron intoxicated Randy's mouth. His lungs cried out for air, and the urge to vomit attacked his insides. It didn't help that a sword was literally hacking at him either, even more so when the sword wielder was twisting it around.

Randy could only squirm around weakly. He couldn't even call out to Nomi anymore.

"You know what, nice wad? You're absolutely pathetic. If ya had just given me the mask, I wouldn't have to kill you. But you just had to play the hero, huh?"

Randy could only squeeze his eyes shut as Mac continued to berate him. Tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously fucking crying?"

Soft whimpers escaped Randy's bloody lips.

It wasn't the response that Mac had wanted. He slowly slid the the katana out of Randy's gut, and held it up to the teen's bloodied face. Randy squirmed, crying out.

"Look at it."

The young ninja didn't open his eyes.

The ex-ninja ninja scowled darkly at him, before violently shaking him.

"I SAID FUCKING LOOK AT IT!"

Randy whimpered, slowly opening his eyes and peering face to face to Mac's bloody sword. Tears blurred his vision, turning the sword into a smeared blob of red.

"You're so fucking useless, a waste of space. You're the shittiest ninja ever, a huge fuck up. I don't know what Teach saw in you. He must have been desperate."

Randy stifled out a sob.

…

The Sorceress hissed, as wall of colorful doodles nearly burnt her to a crisp. She raised a part of her shroud to shield herself as it passed. She had so far managed to evade most of the Nomicon's more vicious attacks, but just barely. She knew though, that eventually it wouldn't be long before the large dragon would manage to land a hit on her, and she would be thrown into another deadly foray. Thus far she's been on the defensive, and that quickly needed to change. She was already cornered against a wall, her magic useless against Nomi, and she was slowly running out of ideas. She needed to distract the beast.

Her eyes darted around until they landed onto her ticket of escape, the purple haired brat that Mac was currently torturing to death.

The Sorceress grinned darkly, and fell into her usual act of manipulation. Cooing, she narrowed her soulless yellow eyes, lips pursed,

"Poor, poor Nomicon. Do you really believe that you can have that little ninja as yours? You aren't human anymore, remember? Any form of humanity you show is simply an act you put up to fool everyone around you. Now, you've even managed to fool yourself. He will grow old, while you'll continue your miserable existence."

Nomi paused.

"Besides, the boy despises you. He wouldn't have to deal with any of this had you not burdened him with your duty. You've ruined his life, and now he will die, because of your incompetence! I'm sure Mac Antfee agrees, after all, he seems to be having quite a bit of fun torturing your little toy to death." 

As the Sorceress said this, she lifted a bony hand and pointed at Mac and Randy, a wicked grin on her face.

Nomi hastily spun around, eyes immediately landing on the two. Mac holding Randy up by his throat, and a blood soaked sword in his other. A large gaping wound decorated Randy's gut and was gushing out large amounts of blood.

Nomi's eyes narrowed, he let out a blood curdling roar, and charged straight to Mac, completely forgetting about the Sorceress.

...

Mac sneered.

"Fucking weak. A damned pathetic, cock sucking brat."

Randy closed his eyes, his mouth fell open as strangled sobs left him.

"You and your fat fuck of a friend. Can't believe he wants you."

Randy's eyes shot open. He tried to mouth a 'what?' to Mac, but Mac simply rolled his eyes. He seemed bored, and even mildly disappointed.

"I think I'm just gonna wrap this up. You're such a damned crybaby, not even worth my time--"

A loud roar cut off the rest of Mac's sentence. He turned to where he guessed was the source, but immediately found himself being bulldozed away, releasing his grip on Randy.

The man's eyes were wide with fear, and his mouth wide open as a pained, gurgled cry escaped him. Nomi's antlers impaled right into his arm, ribs, thigh, and cheek, barely missing the temple.

With brutal ferocity, Nomi snapped his head in an effort to shake the man off, and once he did, Nomi began to violently tear into Mac Antfee. With no mercy, Nomi began to tear him to shreds, viciously tearing off an arm.

Randy laid where he was dropped, his own blood already pooling around him. He'd already lost a good amount before. It was a miracle he hadn't passed out yet.

He took in deep and heavy breaths, savoring each swallows of air he got. His vision, though blurred by his tears, and one eye swelled shut, it didn't completely hinder him from the the grizzly scene that was playing out before him.

Mac was shrieking loudly, painfully, as the sounds of his flesh being torn apart could be heard.

Randy shuddered at the sounds, disgusted. 

His whole body ached, his face especially stung, but indescribable pain spread from his stomach. This entire moment seemed so unbelievable, like something from a nightmare. 

Was this a nightmare? Wasn't he going to wake up and find himself in his own room?

The Sorceress, in all her centuries of existence, was actually mortified by Nomi's gruesome performance. She needed to leave now, unless she wanted to end up like Mac, but first, she needed to grab something, something important.

 Making her way around the Nomicon in silence. She stopped by a seemingly insignificant pile of rubble, and pulled out the Ninja mask. Originally, the witch had been willing to hand it over to Mac, so long as he kept up with his end of the deal, which was to help her gain control of the Nomicon. Of course, that clearly wasn’t what was happening, and that being said, the Sorceress decided that this was her time to take her leave.

...

Nomi had made quick work of Mac. What was left of him was barely recognizable to anyone.

Randy stared weakly up at his teacher, and for the first time ever, he actually felt afraid of Nomi.

The older male slowly turned to him, his jaws dripping with Mac's blood, and he began to make his way towards Randy.

Not sure whether or not Nomi would attack him, Randy hastily reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet. With trembling hands he dug around and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Nomi paused, watching in curiosity as Randy began to unfold it, before holding up the parchment. It was the painting of Nomi and his siblings.

Nomi blinked, he stepped closer. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but still came out as an inhuman rasp.

"RAnDy? ....bROtHerS AnD SisTeRs...HOw...?"

Nomi carefully pressed his nose against the ancient painting, sniffing it lightly. A purr emitted from his throat, and he laid his head on the bloody tile in front of Randy. 

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.  What had he just done? Something unforgivable, sick, and brutal. It was wrong and selfish, worse, Randy had to witness it all, endure through it all.

The black dragon let out a shaky whimper, a puff of air escaped him, and with it so did the stank.

Randy watched as the red air slithered away, out of sight. He turned his gaze back to Nomi, and stared in silence as the older teen reverted back to his normal self.

"I'm so sorry. Randy, I...I'm so sorry..."

Tears rained down Nomi's cheeks as he continued to vainly blurt out undecipherable apologies. He buried his face into Randy's chest.

Randy smiled, he opened his mouth as if to say something. It was weak and soft.

"Nomi...I love... " 

But just like that, he trailed off as his vision became black, and he finally passed out.

Nomi hadn't noticed that Randy had tried to speak, too stricken with grief and shame at his own, despicable actions. 

He did, however, hear the sounds of distant vehicles, and more than likely they were police officers, ambulances, news vans...the usual group of vultures.

"What did you do?"

The voice startled Nomi, and he pulled away to find Howard standing only a few feet away from them.

"Howard--"

Nomi could hardly even get in Howard’s name, before Howard rushed over and harshly shoved Nomi away. The redhead didn't fight back as Howard began to berate and shout at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM YOU BASTARD?!"

Nomi's eyes widened slightly. Did Howard think that he...?

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM! DON'T EVEN COME NEAR HIM! IT'S YOUR FAULT YOU STUPID BOOK!"

Nomi winced, but otherwise didn't react. Howard glared at him murderously, before turning away and hastily lifting up his best friend's limp body. He shot Nomi another look as if he wanted to say something else, but decided against it, and ran off.

Nomi cringed as the sound of the school's front entrance slammed shut behind the chubby teen. After that, an unsettling quiet set in.

Nomi's eyes fell upon the painting of him and his siblings that Randy had dropped, and carefully took it into his hands. He clutched it closely, not daring to look at the faces of the people that he clearly disappointed.

He pondered how on earth Randy had come across it.

Nomi knew that he should probably go after Howard and Randy, at least to make sure his student made it to the hospital safely, but he didn't. The words of the Sorceress and Howard echoed through his mind, and he stayed, glued to the floor he was sitting on.

...

Hours passed by, before a gentle but firm hand placed itself onto Nomi's shoulder.

Nomi silently turned to the hands owner and he found himself staring up at a familiar face.

A man wearing a cowboy hat glanced down at him forlornly, his expression grave, yet at the same time, sympathetic.

It was Nomi's "uncle" Charlie. There was very little Nomi knew about the man, for one, his name wasn't Charlie. No one knew what it was, not even his parents knew. Two, Nomi and Charlie were certainly not related by blood, but he was a friend of Nomi's family, long before he had been born. Though the southern accented man was still a complete mystery, there was no doubt that he was an ally. How he came to be an ally was a long story, but for another

The point was, "Charlie" cared, and that was that.

Said man carefully kneeled on the ground, avoiding the pool of blood that Nomi was laying on, and wrapped his arms around Nomi. The redhead couldn't resist and returned the gesture, breaking down into loud sobs into the man's shoulder. 

It had been centuries since the last time the two had actually embraced, let alone speak. Still, the blossoming familiarity pulled Nomi in and kept him there, until it overwhelmed him. Nomi pulled away and numbly got to his feet, brushing off any other forms of comfort the man offered.

"You gon' be okay?"

Charlie's deep southern voice strung against Nomi, and all the teen could do was shake his head, before walking off.

Charlie stood there, and watched as Nomi walked off, making no movements to stop him. 

He simply nodded, and walked off to his own direction.

As Nomi walked off, he tried to ignore Mac's mutilated body, barely resisting the urge to vomit.

He clumsily hopped out a nearby window, and headed into town.

[problamaticparagraph]

The old hunter:

Fanciful notions never appealed to Boris.

He much preferred what was in front of his face.

Up to now anyway.

The snow collected on his cloak, making it heavy and hard to move his shoulders.

There was a time he would have cared about that, the time when at a moment’s notice- he’d need to heft the weight of his sword.

But not now.

Now he was an old man and now monsters where more frequent, but impossible to fight.

Boris sat by his smouldering campfire, watching the flames. Occasionally he’d throw a lump of wood on the embers that would catch and prolong his only source of warmth. Boris liked fire, it hurt of cause. If you were stupid with it. Then again if you were smart it could cook a meal or dive away wolves or light the way. Boris liked fire.

He didn’t speak. There was no one to speak to, so he didn’t but Boris enjoyed the sound the bards sometimes made. So, he hummed a tune. Short and simple sounds that didn’t really have much of a structure, but it made the landscape feel less lonely.

He’d make it to a town in the morning, he’d have to see people and if no other option presented itself, talk to them.

Boris didn’t like people, they… where difficult but for now Boris had the evening. The howl of the wind made Boris think of the cry of yetis, how guttural they were, the power, the violence. Boris took a deep breath and for a moment could almost smell the stench of their hide.

That night, he happily slept under the vail of the stars dreaming of frost covered beast trying to tear him limb from limb.

----

He woke with the sun in his eyes and about a foot of snow around his body, his louche warm flesh left unfrozen by the layers of furs from rare creatures.

Begrudgingly Boris gets to his feet and begins walking toward the distant coeloms of cooking fires.

As he strides through the deep snow, after about thirty meters from is buried camp, the cracking of ice comes from under Boris’s feet.

“River… Fuck…”

The icy water closed over Boris’s head, for a moment he imagined massive pair of jaws about to close over him.

No churning water. No razor teeth. Just freezing water and the bed of the river lit by dull grey sunlight through the ice.

Holding his breath, Boris sawm under the ice to the far bank, drew is well aged sword, and plunged it into the ice, carving a hole that could accommodate his bulk.

Should anyone have been watching the frozen over river bank, which no one was but if they had been they would have seen a section of snow covered ice sink out of sight and then followed a large blank faced man lumbering out of the freezing water as if this near death experience was more boring than tax filings.

Ice formed in Boris’s hair and in the pelts covering his body as he entered the small town. People watched in confusion as this massive man covered in ice tracked ice onto the cleared area of snow. This man was clearly a barbarian but he wasn’t screaming for drink and women, nor money. He just walked into town and asked where the nearest inn was in an old language.

After several people not understanding him, one old man was able to point him in the right direction.

Then Boris sat at the bar, the man behind it took some time before asking but inevitably asked if he wanted a drink. Boris, his furs steaming gently in yhe warmth looked confused and mined chugging an invisible glass, the barman nods. Boris shook his head and reaches to a coin pouch, placing three of its coins on the counter.

Boris bit his lip and tried out this new language, “SSStories.”

The barman raised an eyebrow.

Boris try’s a further faze, “Bar, Hear, Everything.”

The barman looked around the empty room and starts rambling about various rumours. Boris let him talk without really listening until the man got to a word he knew. He raised a quieting hand, “Say, Again.”

The word repeated but covered with other drivel.

“Grateful.” Boris sits up and leaves the Inn.

Boris made his way to a leafless tree at a small way from the town, far enough that they were unlikely to try and talk to him but close enough to not be inconvenienced should he need return.

Boris sat at the base of the tree and pondered about the word.

“Dragon.”

It was an old word, older than him and that was something. He’d seen them, great hulking things, swarming like wasps and tearing at towns like they’re great walls were made of sand. He hadn’t fought them though. Not once.

Everything else yes. Trolls, defiantly. Ogres, sure. Gorgons, difficult but yes. Leviathan, with enough planning.  Fay, one or two. Giant spiders, absolutely. Orcs, by the dozen but never a dragon, not one drake. Monsters where getting fewer and further between. The last thing he’d slain had been an elk. The last vagally interesting thing was a damn nymph. Hardly a challenge for a dagger, let alone his well-honed blade.

The man had mentioned the new name for a distant peek, a foolish thing; no Drake ever dwelt there.

Nevertheless, hope burned is Boris’s soul. Hope that perhaps this tall tale was true. That perhaps he could finally find a Darke, that he could find a path forward, away from all this strangeness.

----

Boris sat under the tree for a long time. After a few hours a woman from the town came and tried to ask Boris something. He gave her an impassive look and tried to deduce what she was talking about.

“Need. No. Food.” He concluded waving a dismissive hand. After some time spent with her standing passively.

The woman looked confused and repeated her question.

Boris’s brow creased. “No. Roof. Have many pelts.”

The woman repeated herself again.

Boris stood up in mounting confusion. “Not. Understand.”

The woman reached into a bag at her side and withdrew a piece of parchment and a quill.

Boris took a step back, his eyes locked on the paper.

The woman tentatively stepped forward and tried to press the evil fiddley tools into Boris’s hands.

Boris in a moment of shock took them and found himself staring at the page.

Perspiration pored of Boris’s brow as he looked uncomprehendingly at the first line. Then those areas around it, decorative. Completely unnecessary. After a moment even colder than the snow, Boris whipped his face on his sleeve and quietly handed the two items back. “Have no use for such things.”

Boris left after that.

He’d considered buying some food before going but this place was too odd and there would be wolves on the way, he had made a plan now anyway.

That page really bothered Boris. The strange curly things inscribed there on, Nothing like that of his mother Tung. He could read, not very well it was true. Not very fast either, but at least in the old days people wouldn’t thrust sheets of paper at people clearly minding their own busyness.

The snow started falling again a few kilometres. Somehow that was comforting. It showed that at some level the world was still working. Tung’s change, people change, everything changes but snow will always fall.

Boris wore many skins. They were trophies of his kills, marks of pride but Boris liked the cold; it remined him how good warmth was.

That made him think about dragons. Most of them couldn’t breathe fire but they all loved the stuff. Polished there scales up really good, everyone knew they were vain as cats.

Some people said they hadn’t died, simply- left. Gone somewhere else, some far undiscovered land.

Boris didn’t know where he stood on that. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t.

Boris went over the horizon in pursuit of this supposed peek. Headed west.

After days of snow, ice and old dreams of fighting in-human evils. Boris spotted a coelom of smoke.

As Boris neared it, music flowed over the snow.

Boris stopped, listening. It was an old song. Played amateurishly but Boris had though it good enough to insight some nostalgia.

And then a discord. Nostalgia died. The wind blew cold.

In the same tune, the same key something new echoed out over the snow.

Boris Approved the small lodge, the familiar feeling of twigs raking over his skin making him think of great Ents trying to smash him into the dirt. He stopped and waited in the lee of a great pine; it’s needles reminiscent of spines in Boris’s mind.

After some time, listening Boris approached the tiny log hut. He loomed as the approached, the music faultered into silence.

“Song. Change. Why?”

The young man opened and closed his mouth in panic. Boris looked at him for some time. After a while the boy seemed much paler than when Boris hard first seen him.

“WHY?” Boris repeated.

The boy’s flute fell from his shaking hands. He ran inside his tiny shack and slammed the door behind him.

Boris stood as the bolts of the door shot home.

“Rude…”

Boris left after that, there was still a smouldering fire but he didn’t want to scare the man anymore then he already had.

----

The remainder of Boris’s journey was largely uneventful up until his destination, funnily enough people don’t tend to question a six-foot six man with a great sword on his back.

He’d had wolf the previous night, they were mostly genital creatures and he’d felt bad about killing it, but winter was reaching its peak and hunger drove them to hunt anything that moved. That and waste had no place on the road, he’d buried the bones properly after his meal; as a thank you.

Boris traipsed up the side of the mountain. His stride slightly diminished then from the start of his journey.

He neared the mouth of the cave and stood, outlined against the white of the snow; a clear target to anything within.

The snow blew.

Boris drew his sword.

The snow started to collect on it.

For a several minutes, Boris waited for something to happen.

The wind howled.

Boris sagged.

And sheathed his sword, turning his back.

“What do you want, little ape?” The voice was alien, old and rumbling, it was deep and regal. It was that of a beast of imagination.

Boris’s eyes lit up. Slowly, as to not insight hostility, he turned.

A black mussel protruded from the darkness of the cave, two meters from Boris; above its scaly black maw two blue-gold eyes shone in the shadows.

Boris very calmly, sat on the snow looking up at the thing.

“You are a warrior? You desire gold, I have none. You desire maidens, none are here. What for have you come? To slay me. You may try.” The drakes voice booms with gargantuan menace.

Boris pats his knee as he thinks.

“I want no gold, no women, no men, no blood. I come for other reasons.” Boris says thankful to be speaking to someone versed in his old language.

“Then why, ape? Answer.” The dragon withdraws slightly, as if preparing for something.

“Your people where evil but you only sought dominion. To rule all you saw. There is a new evil, more oppressive then you ever could be.” Boris says with uncharacteristic splendour.

“Taxes.” Boris says flatly.

There is a moment in which the dragon weighs its options. It cupped is jaw in its massive hands, “Tell me of these, ‘Taxes’.”

“Tithe. Penance. With no gods or kings. Can run from gods, can run from kings; cannot run from taxes.” Boris spits at the dirt.

“This evil has many allies, more than gods and kings?” Asked the dragon visibly intrigued.

“There minions have many names, ‘Secretary’, ‘Deputy of Hace RRR’, ‘Dave from accounting’…” Boris trailed into silence.

The dragon ponders for a few moments, “Some men with slips of paper came by a few months ago. Apparently, some lord owns this mountain now, they said I was… I believe ‘evicted’ is the word they used. Whatever they wanted I ate them on general principle. A few weeks later some other men collapsed part of my cave. It took days to dig my way out and when I did my gold was gone. It would seem these ‘Taxes’ can over-power even a drake. Perhaps I will burn them to the ground.”

Boris crosses his arms, “No. No blood. No more. We are both of the old world, the world before taxes and paperwork.”

The dragon cresses its scaly brow, “So? That makes us what? Obsolete?”

“Allies.” Boris reached behind him and allowed snow to collect on his hand. Then brought it around so the fresh snow was under the dragon’s nose. “We are of the same time,” closing his palm forcing the snow to melt and drip to the ground; “We no longer fit.”

The dragon’s voice emotes it rising boredom, “And what do you suggest?”

Boris wipes the damp from his palm, “I have travelled much, even with raiders in my youth. They had ships, good ships. I have seen distant lands, places that resist the grasp of taxes and building permits. No ‘Census’, no ‘most recent address in the last five years’; a place with no more ‘sir, ‘cave’ is not a recognised street address’.”

The dragon huffs hot steam in Boris’s face, “Interesting. How do you suppose we get there?”

“You can fly yes?” Boris says standing with a wide grin on his face.

The dragon stretched like a cat that weighed fourteen tones. “You intrigue me ape, very well; let us find this land.”

And they flew.

[bexterbex]

Masking the Heart | Ch. 3

A new galactic war was forming, and your star system needed to create an alliance. Your father, the king, made a deal with the First Order in a promise of protection for guaranteed trade. You are arranged to marry the Commander Kylo Ren, apprentice of the Supreme Leader. A man who is hidden behind his mask. Will your husband show you his heart? Or will it be forever hidden behind a mask?

No tag lists | Masterlist

*Note: The author of this work does not condone arranged marriage practices, domestic abuse, or non-con sexual encounters, this work is for fictional uses only.*

Chapter 3

You woke up with a kink in your neck from falling asleep in the window seat. It was a comfortable place to read and sit but not one to sleep. And you could feel the effects your body had after the last two days, you were sore and aching in a way you never knew was possible. You struggled to get up and walk back to your room to grab your datapad. There was a new message in the inbox from your husband.

Princess Ren,

Today a droid will deliver a pill to you. Take it. I was aware that you were not on any sort of birth control when we married, and this will rectify any possible problems from our last two rendezvous. That same droid will also implant a device into your arm to prevent any accidental pregnancies from happening.

I am aware that you will need to produce an heir for your star system at some point, but for now I require you to remain childless. We will have a further discussion in the future on how we are to go about this.

You are also expected not to leave the chambers without my permission. This will give you plenty of time to learn about the First Order. I will inform you when I am to be back, at my earliest convenience.

                                                                                             Commander Kylo Ren

              Apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke and Master of the Knights of Ren

So he was going to keep you infertile until he needed you to be pregnant. Now you didn’t have a possible excuse to escape his needs. You were going to be forever trapped in a cycle with him, but at least you had a week to be away from him.

You ordered yourself breakfast as you scrolled through your ‘learning’ material. All of it seemed to be some sort of propaganda that the First Order fed to its citizens and ‘troopers. You had been eating and reading for a bit before you heard an alert at the door. You answered it, and in came a small flying black droid. The one that would give you the pill and the device.

It prompted you to sit in one of the chairs as it dispensed the pill and a small glass of water for you to take it with. Then came the insertion of the device. It prompted you to hold out your non-dominant arm which you compiled as you watched it inject you with a local anesthetic. You watched as it effortlessly sliced a small line into your arm and inserted the device. And then it applied you with a layer of bacta and a bandage. Once it was finished it gave out a happy trill sound before it left you completely alone once more.

You sat in the chair for a while, thinking about your future, or rather the lack of it thereof. You were to be his wife, but not just that, you were to warm his bed whenever he saw fit; you were to obey his commands and stay isolated in your chambers, only coming out whenever he approved of it. In many ways you felt like a concubine, the only real difference was the ring on your finger and the last name you had taken.

You had no future without him, but with him you had no future of your own. You were bound to him, now for eternity and there was nothing you could do about it. Especially because it might come as a cost to your people. Your freedom for theirs. ‘Your duty was to the crown and its people.’ He was now the future crown, someone you would have to obey always.

The next few days came and went with a blur. You had tried to make a regular schedule of getting up, having breakfast, daily hygiene, learning, and some light exercise. You were grateful that the main living space was large; it meant that you could walk in a large circle around the room. There really was little for you to do, you had tried to order just ingredients through the datapad but the authorization was denied. You needed to ask your husband directly to approve it and according to the message center he was offline all week.

So here you were a day before he was supposed to return bored out of your mind. In your pacing you had accidentally hit the entry button to your husband’s room with your arm. It made a loud error sound. Curiosity killed the cat, so you actually placed your hand against the sensor and it repeated the sound. So now you knew that you were not allowed access to his room, but he was allowed access to yours.

Fitting.

Today you tried to entertain yourself with some videos on the holonet but nothing seemed to be working. Nothing at all. You had been basically isolated for the past week with your only contact being that of the droids that delivered your food. You were lonely, and by all accounts you missed your husband, because even if he didn’t treat you like another human being he was at least one himself. But that seemed to be all that you could say about him.

You heard your datapad ping with a message alert. It was Kylo.

Princess Ren,

I will be back earlier than expected, 1 H from now.

                                                                                             Commander Kylo Ren

              Apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke and Master of the Knights of Ren

That hour did not give you much time to prepare. But why did you really need to prepare? He hadn’t given you any orders to be properly dressed for him. Or really do anything for that matter. But you decided to do it anyway, you weren’t ready to try to test the boundaries yet, so you got ready. By the time you were done and had exited your room you had a few seconds before he came barging in.

You were two steps out your door, as he crowded into your space pushing you back into the bedroom. You could see his robes were dirty and singed, he smelled as if he had gotten off straight from the battlefield. You were pretty sure that there was probably blood on his robes too as he shoved you down onto the bed. Like the kitchen before he left, he did not strip you; he did not face you; he was going to take you from behind.

Although this time he wasn’t going to bind your wrists, it seemed like he didn’t even have enough patience for that. Your skirt was hiked up, underwear once again ripped off as he quickly sheathed a full gloved finger inside of you. Your cunt clenched around it for a few seconds before it was replaced by his hardened cock. Like the previous two times he had taken pleasure in you, he was unrelenting. You were practically being smothered in your own sheets as you struggled to breathe.

While there were tears in your eyes from the pain, you could hear his vocal pleasure through the mask. The distorted sounds made him more animal than human, which wasn’t far off from how he was acting. You were there for him; you were his prey. It seemed pretty evident that he did not care for you, he only cared about what you could offer him.  

You wondered how your life would be different, if you were married to another man. Would he take you just as harshly? Would he speak to you? Or would you be in roughly the same boat? As far as you could tell right now your husband wasn’t a kind man, nor was he gentle in any way. You also wondered just how many men were built like him in the galaxy. He was certainly very strong as he seemed to demolish your cervix. Even with your uttered lack of experience you knew he was large for a man, especially as each thrust bruised you to your core. He was large enough to cause a lot of pain, stretching you completely.

You felt his already crushing grip tighten. His grunts got longer and deeper as you felt his pace stutter. And then you felt him spill into you, the hot rushing cum filling you. You were now thankful for his insistent use of birth control, this was not how you wanted to bring a child into the world. Especially when its father would be a practical stranger to you, let alone help you raise it.

And like before he slipped out of you without any word, without any signal to tell you he was really through. And he left you there on your tear-stained mattress, the skirt of your dress still around your waist as the door shut behind him. As you attempted to get up, you could feel the remnants leak out of you. You practically crawled into the refresher. Starting your usual scalding hot bath to clean yourself, to attempt to get rid of his remnants. To scrub your skin absolutely bare.

You had a relatively shorter bath this time around; you had already been through this twice before. You left the refresher in only a towel, but this time as you were getting dressed your husband re-entered your room. His robes were changed and you could smell the fresh scent of soap on him as he crowded into your personal space. He had bathed just like you had done. Still in the towel you clenched it around you, although it really wouldn’t do you much good as he has already seen you naked, and could request you as such any time.

He leaned down to your level, his masked face inches away from yours. You could see your breath fog up the black steel. It was like staring down the most dangerous predator in the galaxy. He brought his hand up to yank the towel away, leaving you exposed to him. His hand trailed down your body, the leather causing goosebumps along your skin. He trailed down to your pelvis, his hand dipping between your thighs. You could feel his fingers tentatively tease your folds, before he plunged his middle finger into you before he forcefully used his thumb against your crotch, pushing your canal forward. Squeezing your delicate parts forward, like the organs were just movable. The grasp made you yell out in pain, and then he pushed two other fingers into you. It was like the grab of death. The pressure on the inside of your walls was basically unbearable.

As he continued to cause immense pressure and pain he started to thrust his fingers in and out of you. This went on for a while as he watched your face closely, while you writhed in pain. Eventually he pulled his fingers out and while you prepared for his dick to be shoved in, that wasn’t what happened. Instead, he brought his now slick leather-clad fingers up to your mouth. Pushing them against your lips. “Open,” was what he commanded. You compiled as he shoved them into your mouth, almost gagging you. “Now clean them.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the vulgar request, but you couldn’t help but obey him. Tasting yourself wasn’t an overly pleasant experience, from both the actual outcome of the tasting and the taste itself. But once you had sucked them clean his fingers slid out of your mouth with a pop. You then watch as he unzipped the front of his pants, his erection springing free. In an instant you were shoved down hard to your knees. As you gasped at the sudden shock of being pushed down, he took this as an opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth gagging you.

“Take it,” he commanded.

If there weren't already tears running down your face from his initial hold on your pussy, they definitely were now as he rammed himself down your throat. “Suck and take it,” his voice was harsh and menacing coming through his mask. You did as best as you could, but you were sobbing the whole time as he continued to thrust down the back of your throat. He was hardly allowing you to breathe, still seeking his own pleasure. You were just some toy for him to play with, an object for him to use. You could feel your own saliva dripping out of your mouth and running down your chin as he continued his harsh fucking of your face.

As he unloaded into your mouth, you started to gag even more, “Swallow Princess.” Your title came out like an insult on his lips, but you did your best to obey him, choking down his hot cum. Once he was finished he pulled out and ordered, “Clean it.”

You looked up at him, rather unsure as to what to do since when he ordered you to clean his fingers he just shoved them into your mouth until you sucked them clean. This time however you lick him clean like his cock was an ice cream cone, only this cone was hot, salty and thick. Once he was satisfied with your cleaning job, he shoved his cock back into his pants before he leaned down to you. His face still above yours, but he didn’t say anything. He just seemed to stare at you while you were beneath him. He held his position of power over you, both figuratively and literally. And then he left, leaving you alone once more.

And here you were crying while butt naked on the floor. Your husband was just using you, not caring for your feelings or wants. No. You were his and his to own. You must please him, he is the future of the crown. ‘Your duty was to the crown and its people.’

[artificialqueens]

Something Just Like This, Chapter One (Trixya) - Calliope

a/n: hello hello hello, this is cal, the writer of cirque d'amour and I'm back back back again! (with a slightly different pseudonym)

this fic will be the slowest of slow burns if y'all can handle that, with the beloved friends to lovers trope; however, that friendship will always be a little blurred...

I'm actually quite nervous to post this! I do hope you enjoy it.

*TW: MILD MENTIONS OF UNDEREATING/OVEREXERCISING

---

Trixie is sweating.

Trixie isn't quite used to the sensation - the fire on her skin, the rush of blood throughout her veins, the protest of every single sinew - and to be beetroot red in front of a wealth of fit strangers.

Trixie could hardly care, though; her mind was in a thick fog. She'd force-fed her thick thighs into some loose leggings, had pulled a baggy t-shirt over her head, and lost herself in arguably the healthiest form of self-punishment. Trixie was by no stretch interested in becoming a gym bunny - but today, she needed the release.

Trixie cranked the height of her treadmill up higher, feeling her muscles screaming in protest. She ignored their pleas, puffing out laboured breaths as she increased her speed. Her neighbours, all buff and beautiful, paid her no attention, and that is exactly what Trixie needed - to be ignored, whilst she punished herself.

Her music was cranked up as loud as her broken iPhone would allow, and she pitifully replayed Ed Sheeran on a loop as she climbed. Every time her mind dare wander to the forbidden fruit she had just tasted, she would stubbornly shut her thoughts down.

Trixie was not a home-wrecker. Not, of course, on purpose, anyway.

But despite telling herself on a loop that this was the truth, Trixie couldn't help but feel like she was, at the very least, being white-lied to.

A bead of sweat trickled from Trixie's pounding temple, which she quickly dashed away with a feeble hand. Her insides felt weak, and she couldn't quite decide whether that was from lack of food and forced exercise, or because she couldn't help but think about what happened only two days before.

***

4 years earlier

K: hi :)

Oh for the love of all things, what am I doing?

Trixie rubbed a weary hand across her face, pressing sharply into the cheeks that poked out from under her skin. Her phone vibrated a second time, a new message waking her phone from its momentary sleep.

Trixie glared at it as though it was betraying her, and she silently turned her phone face-down against her desk.

Trixie had joined a dating site. A dating site named Brenda, no less. She uploaded her cutest photos; where her tiny cat Kim were pressed against her cheeks, or the one where she were her skinniest; make-up painted and hair in perfect ringlets.

This was not her current reality, though: Kim had stubbornly ignored her all night, probably judging her every move, and Trixie had gained a little weight. It was okay, though, because who wanted to date someone who had their spine on show? Damn, fuck. Be friends with . Not date.

The thing is, Trixie wasn't looking for love.

A third buzz from her dormant phone jumped Trixie from her fervent haze, and she snatched it into clawed hands.

Pearl: I can't come this weekend - gotta work. sorry

Trixie's baited breath shuddered from her lips, the familiar feeling of upset creeping at her insides. This was the very first message she'd received from her long-distance girlfriend all day, and hardly a pleasant one at that.

Trixie lay her phone flat against the desk where she was perched, and drew her legs up onto her computer chair. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her chin resting somberly against the soft fabric of her Disney pj's that were littered with tiny grey thumpers.

No, Trixie wasn't looking for love. Her heart was occupied; occupied by someone far away, someone who had stolen her heart at a time she thought she needn't have one. Someone who was now so distant, not only in a physical sense, but miles apart emotionally.

Trixie couldn't understand it. Her and Pearl were a match made in heaven; even their astrological signs had aligned, making Trixie think that the very stars wrote out their love in ageless constellations. Pearl would smoke a short blunt, her arm wrapped tentatively around Trixie's small shoulders, and they'd play old runs of GTA on her dusty PlayStation 2. Pearl would cook beautiful dinners for her, vegetarian of course, and let her watch reruns of Barbie's Dream House, despite her disdain for its childish backdrop. Pearl would fuck Trixie into oblivion, tending carefully to all of her kinks and indulging full-heartedly into every single fantasy that Trixie had ever had.

Would. Pearl would do these things. But not anymore.

Trixie carefully plucked her phone back up, turning it over in her hands for a few hesitant moments before finally unlocking it.

T: hey :)

Trixie felt a prickle of guilt gnaw away at her bones as she pressed a thumb to the "send" button on the Brenda messenger. No, she thought. I am doing nothing wrong. I'm just making friends.

She turned her attention to the pitiful thread of texts from Pearl.

Trixie: okay… I could come to you? I don't mind hanging out at your flat while you work.

Trixie knew that Pearl's reply may not come for hours, days even. She heaved a shuddering sigh, forcing herself to her slippered feet in search of her grumpy cat.

Her phone buzzed against the thick of her thigh from her pocket, and she snatched it up immediately, hoping desperately for Pearl's response.

No, it was the girl from Brenda.

K: how are you doing? I'm not very good at this malarkey, but you seem cute, so… here I am

Trixie snickered slightly, deciding to inspect this person further.

She thumbed at her profile picture to get a closer look - she was butch, but softly so, with dirty blonde hair that was religiously scraped back throughout all of her profile photos. She seemed cute, though, Trixie thought. She had piercing green eyes and Trixie swore she could spy a chiselled abdomen beneath her plain t-shirts.

T: thank you, that's sweet! you seem cute too, is that a guitar I spy in one of your photos?

Trixie knew this game she was playing was inherently dangerous. She knew that she was projecting dissatisfaction from her current relationship, and seeking some form of, well, anything , from anyone . Still, she couldn't help but feel a thrill when a second message - from a different girl, no less - brightened her dormant screen. Another butch, with thick, jet-black hair, and piercings on her lip, offending her with the opening line of "hey there ;)".

Still, this fruitless back and forth with cute, eager bachelors certainly beat her usual evenings of misery; overeating, overthinking, and waiting for a call from Pearl that would never come.

"What's up?"

Trixie nearly flung her phone from her palms with fright, her hair whipping her pink cheeks as she spun on her heels to greet the intruder, fist raised with a warning.

Of course, it was only her roommate, Blair - a boy who, despite creeping past the age of 20, looked like he belonged in a primary school. His deer-like legs stretched below him, and in his tiny arms lay a bag of what could only be Chinese takeout.

His sculpted eyebrows raised in wonderment at his roommate's defensive stance. "Trix, hun - - - are you alright?"

Slowly, deliberately, Trixie lowered her raised fist, choking back a fit of laughter. "Jesus, fuck, Blair. You scared the living daylights out of me."

Blair carefully laid the takeaway bag onto the dining room table. "I was singing as I came in. How did you not hear that?"

Trixie audibly groaned. "Show tunes?"

Blair grinned, all teeth. "What else?"

"What did you bring me?" Trixie asked, trotting excitedly over to the dining room table towards the source of the delicious smell.

"Sweet and sour tofu," he shrugged, heading for the kitchen to retrieve some cutlery. "I figured you could use some cheering up."

Trixie could've kissed him right there and then. "You are the best housemate ever."

"I know!" Blair sing-songed in response from the kitchen, the tell-tale sound of clattering telling Trixie he was picking out plates. Trixie thought for a moment.

"Wanna watch Chicago?" she called out, already knowing the answer.

Blair's boyish face appeared in the doorway at once, his cheeks flushed red and his bright blue eyes wide. "Of fucking course! "

Trixie chuckled. Blair was the pinnacle of the gay stereotype, she thought, listening to her friend hum along to an 80's power ballad she had forgotten the name of.

Trixie was in such high spirits that she almost forgot the back-and-forth she was having on Brenda, and the reason for it. That was, until part-way through the film, and a mouthful of crispy tofu, her phone buzzed angrily against the countertop.

Both Blair and Trixie startled, and Blair's carton of seaweed went flying across the room, littering the hardwood floor with tiny, crispy sprigs.

"Fuck sake!" Blair exclaimed, throwing his hands up and staring with dismay at the mess.

Trixie shot him an apologetic glance, before throwing herself at the vibrating phone.

Pearl.

"H-hey, baby!" Trixie babbled into the mouthpiece, clutching the phone as if it were a precious gemstone. Blair rolled his eyes to the heavens with great exaggeration, and Trixie promptly gave him the finger.

"Hey," Pearl's voice, deep and soft and laced with sleepiness, was like music to Trixie's ears. The mounting unread messages from Brenda now evaporated into nothingness.

"How are you doing, I---" Trixie stumbled around the coffee table in her haste to reach her bedroom, the spilled seawood crunching beneath her bare feet. Mouthing another "I'm sorry" at Blair, Trixie managed to reach her bedroom, and collapsed onto her bed, clinging the phone to her ear with desperation. A smile crept against her dainty lips. "How are you?"

"Tired," Pearl muttered, though Trixie could hear the smile in her voice. Trixie's heart fluttered.

"All done in the studio?"

"Just about," Pearl mumbled boredly. Trixie's heart sank at the pause that followed; hollow and vast.

"Listen," Pearl's voice was slightly muffled, and Trixie knew immediately that she was rolling a cigarette between her perfect teeth. "I got your message, and I appreciate the offer, but I'm doing overtime at the bar. There'd be no point in you coming down this weekend. By the time I get back home, it's late, and then I'm back in at 10 in the morning."

Trixie nodded somberly, feeling utterly stupid for allowing herself to feel a flicker of hope that she might see Pearl this week. Or this month.

"Trixie? You there?"

"O-oh! Y-yes, I'm here…"

"Oh, come on, Blondie," Pearl's words were blown out in exasperation, and Trixie could visualise the tendrils of smoke rising from her nostrils like a dragon as she smoked. Trixie wasn't sure why Pearl had christened her with the nickname "blondie", when she herself was also a pale, silver-blonde. "Don't give me that sad, sad voice. You know I have to work."

Trixie could feel pricks of upset choking up her throat at the bemused tone from her girlfriend. She shook herself slightly, forcing a shaky smile despite it not being visable. "No, no, of course. I get it, it's fine. What about a call? A video chat?"

Pearl hummed against the cigarette in her mouth, and Trixie knew at once that she was to be further let down. "Probably not, babe. I'll be tired. I have music to make."

Trixie nodded again against the handset. At least, she thought with a tiny glup, at least Pearl had called tonight.

"Well---" Pearl blew out smoke again, and Trixie swore she could taste it. "I need to go… love ya."

The call went dead in her hands, but Trixie still cradled the phone to her ear, as if in doing so would bring Pearl's voice back. She thought bitterly about how they used to spend hours on that very phone, talking about everything and nothing at all. Trixie continued to listen to the tone of the terminated call, and she couldn't help but think it sounded like a flatlining heart.

[cammi-writes]

Title: Lucifer’s First

Parts: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n | warnings: subtle mentions of abuse | just so yall know it took me forever to combine all of the tags lmaooo if it’s crossed out it’s because tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Tag List: @alvarezsamy1106 , @violetlilites , @reindeergames13 , @mateihavenoidea , @waddles03 , @shikigami-the-paper-spirit , @shabamf , @bcfangirlthatswhy , @fandom-trash-worth-it , @fangirlbookworm , @anxious-trashpanda , @foofee0924 , @whatiswrongwithpeople , @cat-n-claw , @brookepalmieri , @itsybitsytinygirlsblog , @thefandombandit , @billywig-on-baker-street , @camu-winchester , @squirrellover1967 , @partyelleth7601 , @thepjofanqueen , @this-darkness-light , @lucifer-theone-true-king-of-hell , @myfandomlife-blog , @hcliff56 , @mushroomquee-n , @kristina818 , @suckystoryteller

“Did you paint all of these?” Sam asked as his eyes scanned over the dozens of paintings in your tent. 

“Yeah!” You smiled proudly. You loved painting. You don’t know if you painted before the accident but you did now. 

“These are beautiful” Mary commented and you blushed.

“These are all religious events” Cas noted and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know about that” You laughed, twirling your paint brush. “I’ve always felt a connection to religion but everything I paint isn’t exactly based on anything in the bible” 

Lucifer’s eyes were focused on one of you larger paintings. It was of a blonde man, with gigantic wings sprouting from his back. But it wasn’t just a man, in a lighter stroke, Lucifer could see his true form. Lucifer’s eves traveled down the arm of his first vessel to wear it met the hand of another. He stared at the abused and tortured woman, the bruises and cuts lacing her arms.In the painting, he couldn’t see the woman’s face but in his memory he could. 

Lucifer felt nothing but rage as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

How could humans do that to one another?, Lucifer would wonder. 

He could hear the woman’s screaming and pleading with the men as they beat her. He turned away, ready to leave them, to obey his father’s orders not to interfere with the humans. 

But then he felt guilt as he heard her whisper quietly. 

“ God of all comfort, our very present help in trouble, be near to me. Look on me with the eyes of your mercy; comfort me with a sense of your presence; preserve me from the enemy; and give me patience in my affliction. Restore me to health, and lead me to your eternal glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. “ 

“Do you like it?” You smiled shyly up at the familiar man as he stared at your painting. “I painted it in the hospital, after the accident. It was inspired after a dream I had. The first dream I remember” 

“It seems more like a nightmare” Lucifer whispered. 

“Maybe in the beginning” You smiled sadly. “But he saved her”

Lucifer looked down at you. He had missed you so much. For the millennia he’s been alive, he has only wanted one thing truly. You. To see your deep e/c eyes and your beautiful h/c hair. You were a goddess to him. 

He had kept the image of your dying body in head for so long that he turned bitter. Angry. Hateful. But all it really was, was mourning. He had lost the one good thing he had done. 

“I wonder if I’m basing him off of someone I knew” You spoke, snapping Lucifer out of his thoughts. “He’s the star of a lot of my paintings” 

“May I see them?” Lucifer asked and you smiled up at him, making his grace stir. While he loved that feeling, it reminded him of how he had created you. And that memory tormented him. 

You lead Lucifer over to a pile of paintings that you kept in the corner, you hadn’t been able to display them yet. 

You looked through the paintings and pulled out one that you had painted recently. Lucifer inhaled at the sight of that scene. 

“Hello, Y/n” A deep voice said and you looked away from the painting you had been adding your finishing touches to. 

“Who are you?” You stepped back, slightly afraid.

“My name is Raphael” The man spoke, giving you a slight smile. “I am one of Lucifer’s brothers” 

You furrowed you eyebrows. While you knew Lucifer had brothers, he had never spoken about them. That worried you. 

“He has sent me here to collect you” Raphael spoke again. 

“Why could he not come get me himself?” You asked, not ready to trust anybody but Lucifer. 

“He is busy doing God’s work” Raphael explained. “Lucifer wants you to meet our father, Y/n” 

Your eyes widened in shock and excitement. You were going to meet the creator of the universe and so much more. You felt lucky. 

“Really?” You asked and Raphael nodded. “I would feel much more comfortable if Lucifer came to get me, himself” 

“Do you, not trust Lucifer?” Raphael asked and you frowned. 

“Of course I trust him” You did. You trusted Lucifer with your life. 

“Then you do not believe he cares for you?” Raphael looked confused and so were you. 

“I know he cares for me” He wouldn’t have saved you and gave you this power to protect yourself if he did not. 

“Then why would you believe that he would let someone cause you harm? I promise, if I was any threat to you, Lucifer would have smote me down already” Raphael explained. And you took his hand, letting yourself believe him.

“This one was filled with confusion and uneasiness” You explained as you stared intently at the painting in front of you. 

“Y/n-” 

“So what are we going to do now?” Jack cut Lucifer off. 

“What?” Lucifer glared at Jack. 

“Is Y/n coming back to the bunker with us?” Jack further explained. 

“The bunker?” You furrowed your eyebrows. That sent a strike of fear into your heart. 

“Don’t be afraid, dewdrop” Lucifer stared down into your eyes. 

For a split second, you had flashbacks to the same man in your paintings calling you that. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe. 

[maximoffzinha]

Candyman (50′s AU)

The war is over. Poe goes out to drink and can't help but to feel lost. What he's gonna do? His life was only war, and now it ended, and all he has left is a Corgi... And the memory of a voice as sweet as candy.

A/N: So, this is the first time I tried to write something like this... Never done reader inserts before but Poe really puts me in the mood. PS: Please have in mind that english is NOT my first language, I'm sorry for any mistakes

°°° It was a warm night; people were dancing around the bar finally being able to enjoy parties again. The War was over, for good this time, and Poe wasn’t going to waste any time. Being a Pilot for the royal fleet wasn’t easy, he lost many colleagues and many friends, but tonight was about happiness, a celebration! His best friend Finn invited him and two of the nurses of their squadron, Rey and Rose, for this party, they had become good friends besides the environment where they met, and while he was walking around he saw Snap and his wife Karé together laughing and enjoying each other presence in the midst of the drunk mess and the dancing couples.“I’m telling you man, I think I have a shot at the academy.”- Finn told him excitedly, he was looking for work after the army dismissed him at the end of the war.“That’s awesome Finn! I got a job at a local hospital, if you need a place to crash, we have a spare bedroom since Rose and I share the suit.”- Rey says with a smile, the two women have been living together after the hell they’ve been through on the field.“And you Poe? Any plans?” Poe stared at his friends, had he any plans really? Those five years fighting had been the only thing occupying his mind, he never thought he would get a chance to do something else, hell he never thought the war was going to end. Except it did, what did he have left? Sure, he was a General now… But he didn’t see himself in the military front forever… He wanted a domestic life, a house to get back to, someone to get back too… He even knew who he wanted, but the was too much of a coward to look for her… What could he give her?  Scars, psychological trauma and a corgi. At least BB wasn’t expecting much more of him than belly rubs and food. All of his friends had some sort of last resource, someone to get back to (well he had his father, and his sort-of-maybe-adoptive-Mother Leia, but it wasn’t the same). He mumbled some idiotic answer to his friends that seemed pleased enough, and was shaken out of his sadness by the sound of applauses and a familiar up beat tune.“Holy shit, they brought her!”“I thought she had retired!”Soon enough a velvet like voice began to sing, and Poe didn’t need to look up to the stage to know it was really you. Two Years Ago… Poe and his squadron were back to the base after a month long operation that took them all the way to Eastern Europe, they were tired, beat down, and grieving with the loss of many colleagues, so imagine their surprise when they saw a show stage in the middle of the field. Colonel Solo gave them the day off to enjoy the show paid by the US allies as a reward for their backup.Poe and the guys did their best to freshen up and went on their way to the show, some girl choir was there and the guys were excited to maybe get laid. It was nice to see them hoping for something else besides survival. A upbeat sound started and some well dressed women were up, their outfits reminded him of some military secretaries back home, their hair in perfect Victorian Rolls with a hat on top that resembled the formal uniform he had stored away. They began to sing and dance some sort of mock up march, and then there she was… Y/N Y/L/N. The men around Poe started howling and whistle when they saw the American beauty. Poe was frozen, as she sang the song (so full of innuendos that got him in a mood), somehow their eyes locked and the words coming out of her mouth held a lot more of meaning.“There's nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm... He’s a one stop shop, makes the panties drop...” -She licked her deep red tinted lips and Poe found himself doing the same. “He’s a sweet talkin’, sugar coated Candyman”- The other girls supplied backing up her strong voice.The lead lady then took of her blazer living her in a tight blue tank top like dress that had the soldiers screaming louder. “Well, by now I'm getting all bothered and hot…When he kissed my mouth, he really hit the spot… He had lips like sugar cane, oh” “Good things come for boys who wait!”- She winked giving a side smirk then turned around to dance with the backing vocal ladies.She then opened space for two girls come to the front, a red headed, and a blonde.“He's a one stop, gotcha hot, makin' all the panties drop…”- The blonde one sang and danced her way next to the red head. “He's a one stop, got me hot, makin' my (uh) pop…”- they both dance to stand next to the main singer who smiles before singing. “He's a one stop, get it while it's hot, baby, don't stop”- She sang and they got on to the next part. “He got those lips like sugar can…- They belted a high note in harmony and Poe saw some of his mates literally drooling. - “Good things come for boys who wait” “He's a one stop shop with a real big (uh)… - The main lady sang without breaking eye contact with Poe who swallowed dry. – “He's a sweet talkin' sugar coated candy man…”  After the show Poe didn’t try to invade the stage like his desperate friends, he went straight to the backstage, nervously passing his hands on his dark curls, he avoided the other girls going straight to her, every second he got less confident but he found himself knocking on the support bar of your makeshift tent.“Yes? Come in please.”- Poe stepped inside the tent and saw her wearing a lighter blouse, in trousers and a pair of black boots, still with her make up on, he thought she was even more beautiful that way. “Hello? Anybody there?”- She was snapping her fingers on his face, and he felt the warmth spread across his face. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m Commander Poe Dameron, from the black squadron.”- He said still embarrassed. “Commander? Very interesting… I’m Y/N. So Fly Boy, are you here to show me you have ‘The lips like sugar cane?’ like every other officer on this camp might try later?” Poe was taken back, what was exactly his plan? He really didn’t think this through, and was feeling kind of stupid, I mean, did he really thought he was the only man that tried to win her? “… That must be tough.”- He found himself saying. “It’s more tiering than anything else really… Most of the times the guys understand the meaning of NO, but other times… Sorry, you don’t have anything to do with this.” “No, I don’t mind… I can’t imagine that is easy to be out here having to entertain a bunch of needy man.”- He said with a smile, she sat down on a bed and motioned to him to sit with her. “I shouldn’t complain, you are doing an essential job, taking the real risk, and I’m a showgirl. I wish I could do more, maybe being a nurse… Or even fight like those Russian girls.” – She sighed. “Try to fight? That’s not something you see everyday… You any good with a pistol?”- He said with a smile and an idea popping into his mind. “I know some stuff, my dad taught me even though I was a girl… It came with the singing classes.”- She smiled a little as she got a small pistol from her boot.Poe let a small laugh out as he got up and gave out his hand to the woman, she hesitated a little but accepted his silent invite and followed him out of her tent.It was already night and the sky was clear and the star shined bright.“Where are you taking me Fly Boy?”- she said smiling. Poe could see the stars reflected in her eyes, as she could see it in his. “You’re gonna have to trust in my Showgirl…” – He smiled back at her.This man was weird, but by far the gentlest and educated one she found on this tour through the camps. It also helped that he was devilish handsome, his smile was broad and true, his hair was beautiful even though she knew the supplies were few, but his eyes… His eyes dragged her in and she found herself lost in them already. She was no fool, she knew love at first sight didn’t exist, but damn if this wasn’t a close to the feeling.That night he took her to the forest, and he showed her the beauty behind all the pain they were living. Present times. He had kissed her, he had loved her in the short while they were together, after he took her back to the camp she gave him her full name, told him to look for her after the war, she said she would be waiting… And he didn’t do that. Not because he had forgotten her, God knew there was no way for him to forget her, but because he knew better. She was a star, a fucking singer, with a brilliant career ahead of her, and he was what? Another soldier. Just another pilot without a plan.When she started to sing, that same lewd song that got him and so many other soldiers crazy, he only smiled, making way to the front of the stage being pulled by Finn and the girls who were dancing happily.She saw him. How could she not? Right there, with the formal uniform that made him look so damn good, she was singing that same damned song that she sang the night they met. And fuck if it didn’t make her remember him, it was like the lyrics were about him. Fucking gorgeous bastard… She thought without stopping the show, and while he looked at her singing, she formed a plan to never let him go again. “He’s a sweet talkin’, sugar coated Candyman… A sweet talkin’, sugar coated Candyman.” As the crowded bar applauded Y/N got down from the stage and staying in front of Poe she got him by the neck of his shirt and brought him down for a heated kiss, it didn’t take long for him to respond to it letting even a small moan as he held her by the waist and felt her fingers tugging in his hair. “Wow… Showgirl… What’s this for?” “I missed my Fly Boy and his candy cane lips…” – She whispered against his mouth, they separated when finally noted the whistles and cat calls around them. “You didn’t look for me, so I came after you, Commander Dameron…” “It’s General now actually…”- He smiled at her surprised face. “It seems like we have a lot of catching up to do.”- She said playing with the medals on his blazer. “We do… What do you say we come back here… Thursday, 7 p.m. sharp.”- He said smiling. “Is this an order, General?” “It’s a hopeful request from a stupid man that almost let you go.” “Then it’s settled. 7 p.m. sharp. Dress nicely, you look good in tuxedos, Candyman…” She went away with a sway of her hips and left Poe smiling like a fool not even noticing the sheer disbelief on his friends faces… He didn’t know what the future would be like… But at least he had a date.

[ducktracy]

162. porky and gabby (1937)

release date: may 15th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: ub iwerks

starring: mel blanc (porky, gabby, truck driver)

a new name in the director’s guild for the first time in 9 months! feels longer, doesn’t it? ub iwerks, as in flip the frog creator and co-creator of mickey mouse iwerks, landed a very short term gig at warner bros. his warner bros gig was essentially a freelance gig as he floated around studios. he got some work to do, and leon schlesinger was able to meet his cartoon quota. he only directed 2 cartoons until one day he just up and left, leaving his unit to bob clampett. after jack king left the studio in 1936, iwerks came. bob clampett, who had been promised a position by schlesinger for quite some time, wasn’t too happy that this new guy was stepping in and taking a directorial position after HE had been promised a position for quite some time, so schlesinger appointed him to help iwerks out and to get that looney feel in the cartoons. clampett took chuck jones, bobe cannon, and manager ray katz with him. thus, when iwerks left, clampett inherited the unit. essentially, he, chuck, and bobe acted like co-directors on the iwerks films, refining them to give the films a more warner bros feel. clampett’s first entry, porky’s badtime story, was started by iwerks before he left the studio. this newly formed unit became known as the ray katz unit, separate from the leon schlesinger unit.

with a new director comes a new “star” (or not): gabby goat. gabby was warner bros’ response to donald duck. a temperamental, brash, angry sidekick to balance out the good-natured, happy go lucky, though slightly bland porky, whose personality was still up in the air. bob clampett credits cal howard for the creation of gabby, who would actually voice him in gabby’s final appearance, get rich quick porky. gabby himself only starred in three cartoons, never making it out of 1937. however, storyboards for clampett’s porky’s party (1938) DO show gabby (and petunia) starring alongside porky in the short. gabby really interests me as a character. he was so rude that his brash personality was considerably toned down by his last entry. he paved the way for daffy as a sidekick—in fact, clampett would remake porky‘s badtime story in 1944 with tick tock tuckered, daffy usurping gabby’s role in the cartoon. while gabby (and iwerks)’s stint was short, he was actually revived in the second season of wabbit/new looney tunes in 2018, voiced by bob bergen! he’s an interesting case who i like a lot, even though he doesn’t have much to show for himself.

the synopsis speaks for itself: porky and gabby are headed for a peaceful camping trip, but a variety of mishaps threaten any ounce of their enjoyment.

iris in with porky and gabby (literally) trucking their way through the rolling country side, their car brimming with camping essentials and more. a jolly motif of “gee, but you’re swell” scores quite a majority of the cartoon, and the opening scene is no exception. gabby doesn’t seem to share the same appreciation porky does for the outdoors, haughtily slumped over in his seat as porky asks “sure a swell day to go camping, isn’t it, gabby?” 

before gabby can respond, their jalopy hits a rock, which catapults all of their camping supplies up into the air. thankfully--because why else?--the supplies piles back up neatly in the trunk, recovering from the bump. that is, except for one. a frying pan smacks gabby right on the head and gives him a shiner, much to porky’s amusement. gabby, full of malice, growls “YEAH!” in porky’s face.

just then, the two get stuck behind a moving van. we hear excessive honking as their jalopy zigzags back and forth, attempting to squeeze past, but the van is too big for the small country road they’re on. gabby is the perpetrator behind the horn, doing a fleischer-esque shiver take in anger as he honks on the horn and hurls insults. “hey you! get that big crate off the road! move over, we ain’t got all day! what’s the matter with you, you deaf!? you can hear that, can’t ya!?” while gabby engages in his hotheaded rant, porky, behind the wheel, is able to pull up next to the van, where gabby now yells at the bewildered truck driver in person. “get over, ya big sheep!” 

as gabby threatens to “bounce one up [his] chin”, the truck driver pulls on a lever, attached to a hand shaped paddle. the paddle smacks gabby right in the face, causing him to spin around and dangle helplessly from the outstretched paddle as porky drives on ahead, clueless. reused from porky’s romance and from the radio show community sing, the truck driver tells gabby not to get excited. gabby retaliates in a flurry of sped up anger (the voice clip reused from porky’s romance) “EXCITED?? WHO’S EXCITED!? I’M NOT EXCITED!!!”

conveniently, the paddle dumps gabby right in a mud puddle, sparking another angry outburst, now spewing insults and mud alike. porky, still driving on his merry way, overhears gabby’s rampage and screeches to a halt, now driving in reverse. the animation in this scene and the next one is nice and rubbery, very elastic and stretchy. ub’s cartoons are hardly the most entertaining, but i do love how rubbery and tactile his animation is. a jolly underscore “gee, but you’re swell” triumphantly scores porky’s demise as he too is smacked by the passing paddle on the moving van. he’s then tossed out of the driver’s seat and splayed onto the hood of the car.

while gabby continues his muddy ranting and raving, the car conveniently runs right over gabby, halting just above him. porky looks around, befuddled, stuttering “hey, gabby! where are you?” mel’s deliveries as gabby are more than amusing as gabby growls back “where am i! where am i? now ain’t that a smart question! i’m under the car, you big fathead!” porky, unscathed by the remarks, climbs back into the driver’s seat and tells gabby he’ll pull up. he does so, running over gabby’s head in the process. more scathing remarks from gabby, with some particularly fluid and lovely animation as he jumps up and down in the mud puddle.

transition to the two back in their car, inching their way up a very steep incline. there’s some lovely synchronization between the animation and music as the car trucks its way up, the water in the engine spurting with each push up, all in time with the music. this collaboration is furthered as the score slows down, now as fatigued as the car trying to truck its way up. very clever indeed. just as they finally reach the top, the engine dies.

porky suggests pushing, much to gabby’s chagrin, making his distaste known by slamming the door as he begrudgingly exits the car. more rubbery animation as porky pulls at the bumper from the front, gabby pushing from the back, griping about how he wishes he’d stay home. “i don’t like camping, anyway!” porky manages to pull the bumper off the car entirely, just in time for gabby to get a running head start and ram into the back of the car, causing the car to topple over porky and barrel down the hill.

quite an interesting switch in angles as the duo run down the hill to catch the car, the decline turning into an incline once more, with the car slowing considerably and beginning its journey up the hill. now, porky and gabby run AWAY from the car, not towards it, as the car slides back down the hill, seeing as it can’t accelerate or decelerate on its own. predictable, yet fun to watch as porky and gabby engage in a game of cat and mouse with the car, the car ultimately barreling into them, sending the two twirling up into the air and landing neatly back in their respective seats. cartoon physics to the rescue!

a bit confusing as the car suddenly gains life again, trucking uphill, exhaust coming out of the pipe, but so be it. porky and gabby FINALLY reach their destination, the score now a rendition of “speaking of the weather” (which is the title of a frank tashlin merrie melody as well!) but, as we all know, this is only half the battle. porky triumphantly declares “well, here we are! i’ll put up the tent. you unload the car.” judging by the way porky moves and how gabby squints at him in contempt afterwards, i’d wage this as bob clampett’s animation. gabby retorts “yeah, i get all the hard work!” he struggles to untie the endless luggage piled up on the car. instead, he pulls the weight of the entire car on top of him, luggage spilling out on the ground as the car does a few barrel rolls, landing neatly right side up. gabby pokes his head out of the luggage pile, giving the audience an angry trademark Gabby Wink/Grimace. 

elsewhere, while porky’s setting up the tent, a pesky bee comes to assess the situation. i wonder if bees in cartoons are an ub iwerks thing, or just a coincidence--in porky’s badtime story, which was started by ub, there’s a scene where porky tries to swat a bee away with a pillow, hitting gabby in the process. this could have been a clampett gag, but it wasn’t included in the tick tock tuckered remake, so who’s to say. some more interesting rubbery animation combined with a shiver take as porky angrily attempts to swat the bee away, getting stung in the ass in the process. the tent collapses, pinning porky and the bee together under the same tarp. the animation is just lovely to watch as the bee swoops around in circles, the tarp leaving a trail behind. very rubbery and malleable.

gabby begrudgingly prepares the furniture when he hears porky. “gabby! gabby! get a sly fwatter--a-a--a fly swatter!” gabby mutters to himself, scouting out a fly swatter, when he hits gold. a shovel. three times as big and three times as effective! gabby’s gleeful, slightly twisted grin as he charges towards the tent wielding the shovel is priceless. he’s a little too eager to bash some sense into that bee. 

porky’s still being stung to pieces when gabby arrives. this is probably one of the funniest moments in an ub cartoon at WB, the timing is just too good: gabby hesitates, watching porky writhe around in agony under the tarp, before bashing porky’s head in. porky (rightfully) cries “OW!” and we hear silence. no movement. even better is when gabby carefully picks up the tarp and looks inside, making sure his pal is still breathing. instead, the pesky bee flies out from the tarp and stings gabby right on the nose.

more wonderfully fluid animation and speed lines as gabby now chases the bee with the shovel, cursing all along the way. ub’s flip the frog cartoons didn’t shy away from cursing (lots of “damn!”s), so i wonder if he ever thought about giving gabby a proper sailor mouth. seems likely. the bee lands on the exhaust pipe of their car, and when gabby hits the pipe with his trusty shovel, the force is enough to knock out the engine of the car, popping out of the grill.

more bob clampett animation as porky recovers, struggling to tie the tent’s rope to a stake in the ground. now, porky asks for a piece of rope, much to gabby’s chagrin. “rope... rope... i ain’t got any rope! guy’s always wantin’ something. why don’t he get his own rope? ah, here’s a piece!” sure enough, a spare piece of rope slithers out from the pile of junk by the car. treg brown’s use of a donkey braying as gabby pulls on the rope is a great touch. 

unfortunately, we see that the rope is attached to the outboard motor. gabby gives a hearty tug, and the rope is freed from the motor, which activates it. the motor flies into the air, threatening to guillotine anyone who comes in contact with the blades. gabby is knocked into a hole the motor dug into the ground, peering out of it for safety (in a very similar manner to porky poking his head out of a hole in porky’s last stand). speaking of porky, he dives into his tent for safety as the motor cuts the tarp away into pieces. 

the animation in this sequence is lovely, accented by carl stalling’s favorite “black coffee”. gabby resorts to shooting at the motor with a rifle. cartoon physics--the knockback from the rifle sends gabby flying, landing on a car horn, which catapults him forward. he shoots, he bounces, he shoots, he bounces, and so forth. one excessive shot sends him flying onto a spare mattress, the spring catapulting him into the air. gabby shoots himself down, but it’s no use. the spring gets caught on a tree branch. the motor threatens to graze gabby as he yells at porky for help (”i’m caught on a limb!”). rather, the motor runs into him, sending gabby twirling around the branch and hurtling towards the ground, the spring coming loose. it’s difficult to put into words, but it’s a lovely scene with some lovely animation. 

porky, who has now miraculously found some rope, fashions a lasso and corrals the motor. “i got it! i got it!” but, as always, there’s a catch. a loop ties around porky’s legs, the motor dragging porky along in the wild goose chase. gabby scales up between two, lanky trees for safety, the motor cutting the bottoms off and making makeshift stilts. more beautiful animation as gabby struggles to stay put. eventually, the rope attached to the motor ties the two trees together, the rope loosening from porky’s legs and sending both him and gabby toppling to the ground. 

befuddled, both investigate the eerie silence--no motor in sight. that is until the familiar sound of whirring grows louder from off screen. in a panic, the two bump into each other as they scramble to escape, both flopping to the ground just in tiem for the motor to rocket over their heads. 

all hopes of a camping trip are out the window as the two scramble into their car. the engine, which had been catapulted out the front, is now pulled inside as the two speed away, hoping to outrun the deathtrap. i LOVE the detail of porky paddling at the air as they drive away, as if his meager attempts to paddle would speed the car up even more from the motor that flies threateningly close behind them. 

meanwhile, they encounter an old friend: the moving van that gabby had harassed from before. once more does gabby berate the innocent driver (”HEY! MOVE OUTTA THE WAY, WE’RE COMIN’ THROUGH!”) as we get an interesting angle of the motor heading straight towards the audience. 

porky and gabby duck, ready to meet their demise when the motor crashes into their car, pushing the car forcefully into the moving van. a cloud of smoke as the crash ensues. the truck driver has a tire dangling from his next, much to gabby’s delight. gabby bursts into a fit of hysterical, bleating laughter, nudging a dazed porky so he can get a good look. the van driver pulls on his trusty lever, and the hand shaped paddle from before gives gabby a well deserved smack. iris out as both the van driver and even porky beam at gabby’s humiliation.

what an interesting cartoon, to say the least! there’s a lot of layers to it, while simultaneously, there aren’t at all. to put it bluntly, at surface level, this isn’t a very good cartoon. a few plotholes (like porky randomly finding a rope after he needed one, the car miraculously working again after it had died, etc--but these are mainly cases of cartoon logic, don’t take these too seriously. these are observations rather than critiques), and the plot itself is very bare-bones. this is moreso a series of mishaps rather than a cartoon with a concrete storyline.

yet, with that said, i still enjoy it. the animation is the best part of the cartoon. i’m a very detail oriented person, and not a big picture person, which serves me well and detrimentally at the same time. so, i absolutely love how fluid, bouncy, and fun the animation is in this cartoon. that’s certainly an incentive to watch it. carl stalling’s music score, as always, compliments the cartoon quite nicely. and furthermore, this cartoon has some historical significance to it. not very much, but it’s there: it’s gabby’s first cartoon. that serves as another incentive to watch--gabby isn’t too exciting of a character, but he’s so fascinating to me that i can’t help but like him. he’s like a hidden secret. porky’s first sidekick, unless you count beans, but porky was moreso beans’ sidekick rather than beans being porky’s sidekick. gabby’s pretty obscure, but someone from the simpsons was a big enough classic cartoon fan to know who he was--they make a reference to him as “disgruntled goat”. this could be a coincidence, sure, but i’m definitely thinking this is a reference, especially considering another episode referenced friz freleng’s pigs is pigs from earlier in 1937. 

in all, this isn’t a great cartoon, and you probably COULD go without watching it and be fine, but i say watch it. there’s some wonderful animation and it has some interesting history, such as ub iwerks’ first cartoon at WB and gabby’s first cartoon. check it out for yourself and see what you think!

link!

[hiddendreamer67]

Dragged From The Depths (5)

Summary: Thomas isn’t dead, and he’s not sure why.

(Check my reblog for links to previous parts and the taglist!)

Shoutout to @oxygenandduchess for commissioning this chapter, as well as the last one! It was my pleasure to write these! :D

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Thomas was dead… right? He had to be dead. He should be dead.

He remembered that monster coming out of the water, so terrifyingly gigantic. He remembered feeling like the boat might just topple over, like a bath toy sunken by a teasing child. Thomas had been thrown about, desperately clinging to the railing, but the metal was slick with sea spray and Thomas had tumbled overboard into the waves.

Frantically Thomas had attempted to tread water. Where was the surface? He kept trying to push his legs up but after a while he didn’t know where ‘up’ was; it was an overbearing darkness, the currents dragging him down into the depths like a sunken prize. 

Is this how I die? Thomas had thought to himself, floating further into the murky blackness. His lungs began to burn, desperate to take in air, and Thomas knew he couldn’t hold his breath much longer. Were Remy and Deceit next? Would they join him? Thomas’ eyes stung, straining to make out anything in the opaque waters. He could only see shadows, large ominous figures that appeared too impossibly big to be swimming this close to the surface.

All of a sudden, a massive embrace crushed around Thomas’ stomach. Against his will Thomas let out a gasp, and instantly water began to pour into his lungs.

NO! Thomas wanted to scream, thrashing wildly as his abdomen felt as though it was on fire. Thomas squirmed against the impossible grip, terrified as he renewed his desperate attempts to get to the surface. I DON’T WANNA DIE!

There were noises, horrible noises, muffled by the waves but still sounding like a mix of a jungle cat and the screech of nails on a chalkboard. Thomas’ shoulders shot up to his ears, intent on blocking out the sounds before a flash of pain racked across his chest and Thomas realized at least when he was dead in a moment he wouldn’t have to hear the awful wailings.

Thomas’ vision was spotty now, he could feel the strain on his eyes. The tears he released mixed with the salty waters all around him. Thomas tensed, feeling sharp claw nails pressing against his neck. A moment later a new sensation began. Where the creature’s palm touched against his skin, a burning icy fire began to spread, forcing Thomas’ chest to contract inwards on himself. If there was any air left in his lungs Thomas would have screamed, squeezing his eyes shut tight and wondering if his ribcage was just going to collapse in on itself like a dying star.

Yes, Thomas should be dead by now… but he wasn’t.

“I did it!” There was a voice, sounding right behind his ear. It had a strange accent to it, sounding overly bubbly. The feeling of strong limbs wrapped around his torso remained, but the constricting feeling of death seemed to have vanished. His lungs no longer burned, and Thomas could feel his heart pumping away normally as though it did not care about his near fatal departure.

...what?

Thomas opened his eyes, blinking in surprise. He was still underwater, yet he could see.It was as though someone adjusted the brightness of a laptop, and now Thomas could make out two huge expanses of midnight blue and scarlet red smooth skin.

Thomas gasped, and realized that when he did so that burning sensation did not return to his lungs. There was still a faint tingling sensation on his neck, left behind as though the creature still holding him in a vice grip had marked him. Thomas reached a hand up, tentatively touching his neck, and his skin felt cool beneath his touch. Slowly, Thomas looked up, trying to get a better look at his- captor? Savior?

“Aw, you’re welcome lil’ minnow!” An almost human face grinned down at him, but it was far too large with too many sharp teeth. Thomas gulped. Was this mer just going to eat him now? Maybe it saved him just because it wanted to hurt Thomas himself… but when it had spoken, it sounded so human, and even now Thomas noted a certain playfulness in the creature’s eyes. Hopefully it didn’t want to play with him like a cat plays with its prey.

“Ah!” Thomas gave a small cry, shocked to hear his own voice as he was all but crushed once again against the mer’s chest. He struggled, trying to make sense of what the heck was going on. Why could he all of a sudden breathe underwater? What had this creature done to him?

Thomas flinched, hearing those strange noises again rumbling through the waves. He turned, spotting the two intimidating figures a little way off. They were so massive that crushed in this grip Thomas could only make out part of their tails, never mind their faces. Were they…talking to each other? But why couldn’t Thomas understand them? He had definitely heard the light blue one using him as a teddy bear talk.

“W-what…” Thomas croaked, testing his voice out under the water. It felt wrong, letting salt water fill his throat but feeling no burning need for air. “What’s happening?”

“EEEE!” The shriek the mer gave was not unlike a dolphin, but it was so high-pitched right near Thomas’ ear that the human desperately wished he could cover them. Alas, his hands were still strapped firmly to his sides by the unrelenting grip. The mer didn’t answer his question, instead turning excitedly to the larger giants. “Logan, he can talk!”

This time Thomas expected the rumbling that came in response, and even in mer-language Thomas recognized that parental tone of ‘yes yes, very nice’ when an adult was off-handedly praising a child.

“I- why do you know English?” Thomas said blearily, so many questions floating around his waterlogged brain.

The mer tilted his head, looking into Thomas’ eyes with a questioning gaze. His sapphire eyes felt like they might peer into Thomas’ soul. “…English? What’s English?”

“It’s…what we’re speaking?” Thomas frowned, slowing his struggles as he got a little more wiggle room, the mer having loosened his grip to let Thomas lean back. “Like, the language. I mean, we are, aren’t we? Why else could I understand you?”

“Why, your mark silly.” The mer giggled, tapping that spot on Thomas’ neck he had touched before.

Thomas felt a jolt tingle through his veins, his body reacting intensely to the mer’s touch. To Patton’s touch. Patton, the Oceanic whitetip reef mer, second youngest of the clan.

Wait, why on Earth did he know that?

Patton seemed surprised by the interaction as well, peering down at the human curiously. “Thomas.” Patton said his name, and Thomas nearly shivered as a cool wave of energy washed over him. “Aww, what a cute name, it suits you!”

“Thank … you?” Thomas felt his nose scrunching up. “And you’re, uh, Patton, right?”

“You said my name!” Patton shrieked again, eagerly cutting off Thomas and once again Thomas wished he could protect his ears. “Do it again!”

“Patton!” Thomas said it in a rush, eyes widening in horror. He hadn’t tried to say that. It was as though the words had been ripped from his lungs, the human having no choice in the matter.

Was this magic? Is that what was happening? Thomas felt himself growing uncomfortably tingly, too many unanswered questions giving him anxiety. He wished he could run his fingers along his neck, if only to try and figure out what exactly Patton had done to him. Was there a bruise? A glowing circle? Did he have gills? Considering he was breathing underwater and talking to a merman, Thomas would believe it.

“What’s happening?” Thomas asked again, beginning to feel lightheaded. His eyes darted around, trying to find answers in the unyielding murky depths. Even with his newly enhanced underwater vision, only shadows loomed in the distance. “Where am I? What’s going to happen to me?”

“Oh, Thomas, shhh.” Patton shushed him, pressing the human’s head to his shoulder. His slightly webbed hand began to brush Thomas’ hair, making Thomas shudder. It was such a familiar action and yet so foreign. The hand was too large, the form he was pressed against too unfamiliar. It was like one half of Thomas’ brain fought against this, and the other half wanted to submit into the embrace of his mer.

…his mer?

“Just sleep, mini minnow.” Patton giggled. At the sound of his command, Thomas’ eyelids drooped, and the world went dark.

[commander-luna]

Save Our Souls, They're All The Worth We Have Left

Relationships: Tomomi/Canach

Characters: Luna, Ashal, Tomomi, Canach

Tags: Minor Character Death (mentioned)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149831

Summery: At the afterparty of Tomomi and Canach renewing their vows to celebrate 5 years of marriage, Luna gets rather drunk and starts telling stories about her and her brother's adventures.

“He must have been… Well, not much past being a sapling and I remember,” Luna giggles into her drink, her attempts to take a sip disrupted by her laughing, “I found him scrambled up a tree chucking water down at a very unimpressed Stalker who was clawing at the bottom, like a human flicking water at their misbehaving house cat!” She tilts sideways to lean on Ashal as she cracks herself up again, missing and nearly falling off the seat she’s perched crosslegged on – only the quick reactions of her twin saving her from face-planting the floor.

“Alright Luna, that’s probably enough alcohol and embarrassing stories for now.” Tomomi takes her drink from her and steps back as she tries to grab it from him, once more only saved from falling by Ashal’s hug pulling her back. “You’ve drunk enough for three Norns and I think you’ve given my squad plenty material to use against me for one night.”

She slumps back into her seat and pulls a face so childish, one his squad did not expect from her. It looks out of place on their Commander, most of them have only met her a handful of times, and its always been before, during, or after battle when she is high authority.

“Fine…” She drags the word out and sounds as if she’s ready to sulk, until something in her posture changes and her voice drops softer. “What if I tell you about the time he saved my life.”

His squad had started to gather themselves to leave, but she had definitely caught their attention again. They settled back into their places, spread across the floor in-front of her seat like she was a carer getting children ready for bed.

“It must have been, what, six years ago?” She looks up at Tomomi for confirmation, but he says nothing. He’s sat down with his squad and his husband, who’s come to join them after curiosity got the better of him. Tomomi has pressed himself into Canach’s side, seeking comfort from him before the story has even been told. “It was before the Pact had been formed, I was rising in the ranks of Whisper while my brother did the same within the Vigil. I knew what I was going into I wouldn’t be able to manage with just Trahearne, Tybalt, and myself,” Luna’s voice catches on Trahearne’s name and most of the people listening bow their head for a moment in memory of their late Marshal. All except Aurora, who’s gaze snapped up again at the mention of Tybalt – he was an old friend of hers but it had been so long since she had contact from him. “So I contacted Warmaster Laranthir and requested Tomomi and a handful of other soldiers he could spare to accompany us to Claw Island.” Luna reaches out to Ashal sat beside her and grips her twins hand tightly before continuing.

“We made it there in good time. We knew an attack was coming enough of Zhaitan’s spies had been found loitering nearby that we were well aware it was only a matter of time. Watch Commander Talon had become regrettably complacent in his time on Claw Island and didn’t think it was necessary to listen to us. We tried to warn him. We tried to save everyone… There was only a few at first, few enough that the Lionguard didn’t need our help to take them down. We cleared the beach with them anyway, and maybe thats where we went wrong. That fight was over so quickly Talon was even more sure of his decision that Claw Island was incapable of falling. But then came the ships.” Tomomi stands and walks away from the group, choosing to talk to the other members of Dragon’s Watch rather than relive the battle within his sister’s story.

“Built from bone and rot, they rose from the water bringing the stench of death with them. Their catapults bombarded us with corpses. Most of them stood up to fight, but a few just hit the ground and coated the floor in a thin layer of flesh. We fought off as many as we could and managed to sink one or two of the ships but it made no difference. The walls were overrun, we had to fall back. Talon was a stubborn fool who wouldn’t call the retreat, said that Claw Island had stood for nearly a hundred years and how they couldn’t fall. Took a fatal blow before he realised his mistake. I’m not saying he deserved to die, but out of everyone we lost that day, he’s the one I miss the least. A lot of good people could have survived if he’d swallowed his pride.”

“The Lionguard rallied in the courtyard with the few Vigil I’d brought, drawing the attention of most of the undead while Trahearne, Tybalt, Tomomi, and I fought our way around the edges to reach the beacons. At least if we all fell that day, Lion’s Arch would be warned and ready to fight. We made it, and with all the beacons lit we made the foolish mistake of feeling hopeful. With all our remaining forces gathered in the courtyard, it felt like we could fight our way out without having to lose anyone else. There was already so many good soldiers laying dead by our feet. That was when it arrived. We weren’t ready to face one of the dragon’s champions, no one had any idea what it could do. It came from the skies, crushing one of the outer walls as it landed and letting in the undead that were trapped behind it still. But the worst part was its breath. It spewed corruption like it was Zhaitan itself, crippling and blinding our soldiers as we struggled to retreat. And those of us that had already fallen… The corruption wove its way around their corpses and dragged them into servitude. We found ourselves facing people that mere hours before had been our companions.” As she talked, Luna’s glow had faded to a dull, almost sickly colour, which was made all the more obvious by her twin at her side glowing as brightly as any sylvari in the low lighting of the night should be. On hand was still tightly holding onto Ashal, and with the other she had pulled an amulet off from where it hung at her neck and was gently rubbing at the back, a habit anyone who knows her will have seen her do before when she starts to reminisce.

“Those of us who were unaffected did our best to carry the wounded, but it was clear we weren’t going to get to the ships at the rate we were moving, and it did not seem like the winged beast would let us sail even if we did make it. And then… Tybalt stoped and at first I thought he was hurt. But he turned to me and said that he haven't always lived bravely, but he thought he’d like to die that way. He asked me to believe in him. I trusted that bastard so much, he’d been my partner since I joined Whisper and the chaos we’d gotten ourselves into and out of with the other at our back… Of course I believed in him. He turned and he ran back towards the fighting, closed the gates behind him. Last I heard from him was his shout that he wouldn’t let them have us, and the fiercest battle roar any charr would be proud of. I tried to go back for him. Tried to run in after and take him with us, but Tomomi held me tight. He wouldn’t let me go and dragged me back to the ships along with the rest of the survivors, we barely had enough people to fill one ship, let alone the eight moored there.” Luna stands, a little wobbly from the remaining alcohol in her system, but the stance she takes is one they recognise. It’s a far cry from their captain’s sister sat telling embarrassing stories that she had been earlier in the evening, this is now their Commander stood before them once more, ready to address the soldiers that fall under her lead.

“I would have died with Tybalt that day, if Tomomi hadn’t forced me to retreat with them. I’d never have been here to see the Pact be formed, let alone take command beside Marshal Trahearne. But I can’t help wonder what could have been if Watchmaster Talon had listened to us in the first place. If there’s one thing you take from this story, be it that hubris will not only get you killed, but will get everyone around you killed as well. Or perhaps a fate worse than death, should there be dragon’s corruption involved.”

With that final statement closed, she gives a half bow and leaves them, her wolf having moved from where he was resting on the outskirts of the party to take his place by her side once more as she returns to her own tent. The mood is sufficiently brought down and Tomomi’s squad find themselves unwilling to part ways, instead finding comfort in each other’s presences and choosing to move their bedrolls out under the stars so they can all rest together.

Ashal departs not long after they set themselves up, moving off after her sister to see how she’s faring, and leaving Canach alone to think on the story he’d just heard. His husband had never even shared the information that he’d been at that first fateful battle, and it occurs to him now why he goes so quiet and uncomfortable when Aurora mentions her charr friend, the mechanic. Still, these are thoughts for tomorrow, and he sets off to find his husband so they may enjoy the comfort of a long night in each other’s arms and let what tomorrow brings be the problem of the future.

[arcana-dumpster-on-fire]

✧･ﾟ: *Ignis Maikori*:･ﾟ✧

At some point I will add some more info&details to it - I promise! But before that, feel free to ask questions, I’d love to answer them for sure haha

The wild and free-spirited magician with a great love for gold and luxury, always looking for a new spotlight to jump under ♌ 

Favorite Food: Couscous Favorite Drink: Palm Wine Favorite Flower: Gazania

Height: 5′10.87″   Age: around 27-29 years (bday ~ August 14th) Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Polysexual MBTI: ESTP Zodiac Sign: Leo

LI: Lucio, Nahara and other OCs

Familiar: Jafari (hafa-ri) the lion Uncommon Abilities: Circus Arts Magical Abilities: Pyrokinesis, divination, and basic spells

Begining: In the distant south, where the ground is roasted by the sun every day, and the rainfall is worth its weight in gold, many centuries ago a city was founded, whose origins have long been consumed by waves of oblivion. However, magic has accompanied it from its very beginnings and it has managed to remain a present, inseparable part of society. In itself, it was seen as an ability to manipulate natural powers, a pure and unstigmatized activity. Only the intentions of the magician made it possible for it to be judged as bad or good. The first one marked itself on the pages of history bringing a lot of suffering and pain, and every time it came, there was a shadow of death and destruction - that is why after years people managed to push it out of the kingdom. After that, it was filled with magic associated with goodness, well-being and help. Not everyone, however, had the ability to perform it, so those affected by magic talents were highlighted above all others by their unique class and role in the society. There were four families marked out in this way, each representing a completely different subjugation of supernatural forces. Medicine - although it was a field of science, here was deeply connected with magic and herbalism. There were not many doctors, but thanks to innovative solutions and treatments, there were also proportionally few patients. The Rain-Makers were thought to possess magical powers, which were given them by the Sky God. Rituals performed by people of this rank required not only the usage of enormous quantities of magic, but also the spiritual support of the public. They were a monthly ceremony celebrated by the entire city, and a big ball was held at which everyone was invited to attend, celebrating not only the coming rains but also the close-knited community that was the kingdom. Another of the houses specialization was called divinaton, an attempt to form, and possess, an understanding of reality in the present also to predict events and reality of a future time. Ignis family was one of them. The last class was the most respected of all magical arts, and its members were called priest-magicians. They had to keep reality in balance in many different ways; understanding the nature of the climates, forms of energy in the universe, the functioning of material objects and the hyper-natural ones. Standing by the rulers and with the help of the other three classes, they tame all the magical elements to help their people. Moreover, it was their eldest representatives who were part of a high council, one of whose duties was to gather at every birth of a child in a magical family and look at its future, its destiny - to read what aura accompanies conception and to give a proper name to the newborn child. On the day when Ignis was born, everything was screaming “fire”, “conflagration”, announcing the arrival of a free soul, devouring everything that stands in its path. In another place that kind of omen might have been received as unlucky, but it must be remembered that the people of Ignis city did not weigh the magic, but the intentions of the user. With a fiery name, the girl grew up far from the title of “head of the family”. From her very branch, a brother and two sisters stood in line in front of her, so the necessity of fulfilling her role was not so oppressive. During her childhood, she avoided learning, preferring to wander around the kingdom, more willingly sitting in the palace than in her own backyard. She was always attracted to what was comfy & luxurious, and from an early age she loved the gold ornaments and rich jewelry of the royal family. So it is logical that in order to stay close to luxury, Ignis did her best to win the sympathy of the royal children. Fortunately, she had an natural talent for it - charisma, a sense of humour and impressive magic arts, which fascinated everyone at the court. It was due to this that she became deeply interested in magic, discovering very quickly her deep connection with the element of Fire. Like every magician in the kingdom, from the day she was born she attracted a particular element, but rarely did anyone focused on it, preferring to devote years to the practice of powers useful to society. Luckily, the young pyrokinetic girl saw only the tip of her own nose and let herself be swallowed up by the flame, to the displeasure of family members. Equally annoying was the lack of a familiar, despite the approaching nineteenth spring, she still did not make up her mind on this subject. Her younger brothers, twins born five years after her, managed to find their spiritual connection before her! Luck in misfortune, it was only a matter of time when she feels her own connection…

Circus Life: It was an unusually hot day, and ahead of Ignis some very productive hours of hard intellectual work on a pile of books brought by her grandma. However, it took a split second for the young woman to run out of the building, seeing in the distance a completely new object that she had never noticed before. It would be hard for her to miss the big colourful tent for nineteen years of life in this city, so she, driven by a burning curiosity, she run to see what a new attraction has been put up. The Circus. She assumed that it was the royal family who brought it to the occasion of the upcoming Rain Celebration, so the guests had an original spectacle before a big ball. The closer to the place fenced off by the text “entrance for performers only”, the more strongly Ignis felt a strange tingling in her stomach. It was a completely new feeling, as if something was watching her from hiding, playing cat and mouse. She had been wanting to go behind the fence, ready to explore the whole camp set up behind a huge tent, when suddenly, as if from under the ground, the owner of the whole circus had grown up before her. She was quite literally informed by him where she belongs and how to leave the circus, preferably immediately. It was an incredibly foolish thing on the part of the man, as he only offended Ignis’ blown-up ego and made himself problems for the opening night. Motivated no longer by the desire to discover to a strange inner feeling causes, but with a simple envy, woman came back in the evening. She managed to fight herself a place in the front row and quietly let herself get stunned by the astonishing and breathtaking circus shows. It’s funny how a small fire can cause a big stir, and even more hilarious when the audience assumes that the burning scene is part of the show. The great horror and panic has swept over the performers, while Ignis was having a great fun manipulating the big flames as she wanted, ending this little show with a picturesque scatter of sparks all over the public, as if suddenly all the stars fell from the sky. Shortly after the show ended, a large man with whom the magician saw herself on the same morning took a keen interest in her - her powers precisely. The offer to stand in the spotlight, to focus all attention on herself, crowds paying huge prices to see her - these were arguments that Ignis’ nature could not reject. The woman was hungry for attention, fame and general love of the audience. For this reasons, she accepted the proposal to join the circus troupe almost immediately, making only one condition. Before she agreed, she wanted to walk around the camp. The owner of the business smelled an income per kilometer, so he instantly accepted her conditions, inviting her on a tour. Passing smaller tents lit by lanterns, laughing people congratulating her on her performance, slowly passing exotic animals so friendly and eager to stroke - the woman immediately fell in love with the circus atmosphere, more than with the palace walls or her own home. She never felt so sure she found herself in the right place. She has always felt different from the rest, although probably everyone thought so when looking for more reasons for their uniqueness. Nevertheless, she could not get rid of the feeling of finding more happiness in this place than the kingdom had ever offered her. What for are her banquet romances and charmed faces when someone offers her the whole world right at her feet?! Besides, she was still tingling, not just her stomach but her whole body this time. Something drew her, attracted her, desired her on a spiritual level. That night Ignis not only decided to give her life to the circus craft, but she also condemned herself to a lack of sleep and loud quarrels heard all over the city - about the abuse of her power, about her crying for attention, about signing a contract with a stranger and her whole persona. Fortunately, in the morning, when the whole family was preparing for the Ceremony of Summoning the Rain, instead of hateful looks, she was met with a shadow of resignation and a sad smiles. When she left her hometown, she was leaving in contractual agreement with a mute promise to return when her inner fire would burn out completely. As the troupe left behind the city, she left the princes who fell for her charms and the worried family, and a whole new chapter in her life began - with the release of the animals from their cages. Circassians travelled together, which meant that “dangerous” animals on the road could freely walk between the members, caged up only when a camp was set up close to the inhabited place in order to protect the residents from the beast’s unpredictable behaviour. Jafari ran into Ignis - literally. He jumped on the woman from behind, nailed her to the ground, causing general horror and the belief that the troupe would lose a new member. Instead of tearing the magician’s face apart, a wild cat licked her face with a rough tongue, seeking petting and attention. This is how Ignis found out about her familiar and the reason for the mysterious draw to the camp. With a big lion at her side, Ignis quickly became one of the main circus attractions, which forced her to learn circus arts in an expressive way. She had to understand basic tricks on the trapeze, acrobatics - the worst in all of this was stretching her body and merciless muscle soreness. Luckily, all these efforts were mitigated by the kind and warm atmosphere between her and the other artists. In fact, she won their hearts and minds within the first week and this friendly attitude paid off when her new family showed Ignis unconventional means to deal with inhumane training. This is where the pyrokinetic experience with psychoactive substances began. By that moment she had already dealt with them - during the spiritualistic séances, for example - but she herself had never snorted, consumed or smoked such things. As it turns out, the best choreographies and tricks are created on drugs. For years, travelling with circus artists, the woman has visited a large part of the world. She was in the freezing north, the wooded east, she hooked up to the west and even performed at sea. She was sure she would never leave the stage and the performance would continue uninterrupted until her death. Fate revised these plans, introducing her to Vesuvia. Count Lucio paid a high price to bring the renowned circus in which Ignis performed, as one of the entertainment for the Masquerade, which he organized. The magician had no idea that this would be her last performance - fortunately giving the best of herself anyway, as she did every time the eyes of an audience fell on her standing in flames body.

Pre-Plague Vesuvia: It was an unusual sight - a woman coming out of the flames unharmed with a big lion by her side. Certainly a thrilling and dangerous performance of Ignis impressed the Count, who in contrast did not evoke the same feelings in the magician. A self-centered, attentive and artificially complimented ruler - she knew such a kind for handfuls! Fur, gold, and power were the advantages that spoke for an innocent flirting, as was the artist’s habit when she performed for the upper classes, but something effectively distracted her from this action. It took a good few hours before Lucio managed to catch her on her own, during which she managed to fall in love with the people of Vesuvia. She moved from room to room with Jafari at her side, joining the people enjoying themselves, getting most of the spotlight on herself. She liked all the gossiping and the hectolitres of greate tasty alcohol - there was no better combination at such parties! But Ignis had the greatest fun at a poker game in one of the halls, where she won half of the Vesuvian shop, waving her hand at the slate, with a confident “I won’t stay here for more than a few days anyway”. A few days became a few years, thanks to the Count, who was so unhappy with the lack of attention of the crowd in the confrontation of the unknown sorceress. His attitude, though naturally repulsive, amused Ignis frankly and it would probably have ended there if Jafari hadn’t been interested in Lucio. Familiars are always right to see more than an ordinary man, so this friendly lion curiosity of a man automatically triggered woman’s interest. Her furry friend was calm only in her company or among circus performers, to strangers as a general matter of principle - negative (not without reason he was locked in a cage for years). Wanting to look at this phenomenon, she managed to convince the owner to keep the circus in town one more night. Instead of the desired answers, an unwanted feeling came, because of which intrigued Ignis decided to stay in Vesuvia, taking the opportunity of a poker win. The contract was not binding, she could resign at any moment, but this did not change the pain of separation from the performers. Ignis was afraid that she would regret her decision, and the only comfort was that she could return to “her people” at any time. And that’s how the pyrokineticist moved in with the older woman, finding a third place she could call home. She spent her days entertaining children on the street with her tricks, just like she did during her teenage years in her hometown. In the evenings, she would spend time enjoying herself in taverns, and if lucky enough, she would sneak into the palace dinners or lunches. Jafari stayed in the flat, or run around the forest by himself - he lived as happily as his fiery friend. All relations with LI were passionate and on fire - unfortunately, like every fire, they finally had to burn out, and the biggest bucket of water poured into this love fire was the coming plague…

Plague Vesuvia: From a series of dumb bets, one of them surely was to bet with the Count on the fact that Ignis would be able to learn the medical arts in less than two months. Lucio as way of taking it easy on her, recommended her to a “friend” - Julian Devorak’s, who was very difficult for a woman to get apprenticeship with. Actually, she was going to study at his side, but all that mattered was to rub the Count’s nose and prove to herself that she was smarter than she had expected. The doctor completely disapproved of such an attitude to the matter, especially as the hard times came and the number of patients for unknown reasons tripled. These were the beginnings of the Red Plague, which completely destroyed the lives of many of the people of Vesuvia. It was the worst possible time to train medicine - especially when it was so different from the one known from her home town. There was no magic at all in this art, which annoyed the woman who was forced to look through books and remember an infinite variety of strange useless medical terms. And to top it all off, there was a disease that nobody could find the cause, not to mention the cure! Everything started to fall apart, starting with the great stress put on the shoulders of the fresh nurse that Ignis accidentally became, and ending with an exhausting coughing she couldn’t get rid of at the moment it started. Lucio was dying, it was obvious at first glance, this was yet another distressing pressure on the magician, already in total disarray. She wasn’t even surprised when she noticed one of the one of palace mirrors, when she passed by, her eyes were flooded with blood. She knew what awaited her, but she didn’t want to die in disgrace like others - she was not willing to die at all. The thought of passing away, leaving Jafari alone, paralyzed her with pure fear. All Lucio could do was complain, repeating all her anxieties, making everything worse by supposed “worrying about her”. When the woman looked more like a corpse than a human being, she decided to put an end to her own suffering by freeing herself from her infirm body. She sent letters to her two families - the circus and the blood one. Those friends living in Vesuvia could guess what happened to the talented pyrokinetic. She was supposed to visit Lucio that evening, the man supposedly wanted to tell her something very important, but instead of the palace,  woman went to the island to which the sick people were transported. There was no rescue for her, Jafari sensed it too, and yet he decided to stay by her side, although Ignis expressed great dislike for his presence. She did not want the animal to die because of her, she would not forgive herself even posthumously. On the island, she did not wait for death to get to her, she helped her [death] by committing suicide in the most poetic way that came to her dying mind. She literally burned herself out from the inside, leading to the denaturation of protein in the body, painlessly taking her own life away. A faithful lion remained at her side long after the woman took her last breath. Apparently he felt that this wasn’t the end of the story, and when the story continues, Ignis will need him like never did before in her life.

Main Story: Amnesia is the worst thing that can happen to a man in Ignis’ opinion. Without memories you cannot be yourself, because it is the past that shapes character and person. How can one exist without knowing how a dish that reminds of one’s childhood tastes - what’s worse, without remembering said childhood at all! From the moment she woke up on a grim island, surrounded by unknown characters, Ignis lived in a constant state of fear. She was tortured by nightmares, constant headaches and a bad fear of fire. She had no idea where it came from or why the flames made her so afraid, but she assumed it might have something to do with the strange scars on the inside of her cheeks. As if someone put burning coals in her mouth, or something like that. She devoted every moment of her existence searching for her roots, grasping every letter she could find in her apartment, every little thing that seemed to have a story behind them. In the moments of her greatest anxiety, Jafari was with her - Ignis wasn’t sure how she knew that this was the name of a lion, but something told her that she was right. Animal seemed to be with her long before she lost her memory. A few months before the Countess came to her door in the dark evening, the Magician discovered her connection to the element of fire by accident causing a small conflagration in one of the coastal taverns, drunk falling into the flames. Not only did she leave the fireplace without much damage to her body (not counting the burnt clothes), but she managed to silence the fire caused by the alcohol spilled over the floor. Some people have already told her that they remember her amazing tricks, but the woman never believed them, thinking they were making fun of her. At Countess Nadia’s request, she agreed very confidently, quickly - enthusiastically ready to work. One visit to the palace was enough for this enthusiasm to fall diametrically. The Countess’s dogs seemed to know her, and even liked her, similarly, some of the staff seemed to remember her, although Ignis would not recall ever being there. The wing in which the Count died (nomen omen in the fire - how convenient…) had aroused the great aversion to the woman, mainly because she felt as if something was preferring her from there. She did not want to get involved in spiritualistic séances, avoiding this place as much as she could, trying to fully focus on the task entrusted to her, hoping to find out more about her past, but a visit to the godforsaken wing was inevitable. Jafari took care of this by running there at the first occasion when he found himself with Ignis in the palace - oh the damned lion.

[pseudofaux]

Congratulations on 1000 followers darling ❤❤❤ Requesting Señorita by Shawn Mendes and Camilla Cabello with Shakespeare (Ikemen Vampire)

(Rose kindly did not mention here that she had to resubmit this request because my DUMBASS THUMB deleted her first ask instead of opening my draft. 🤦🏻‍♀️)

THANK YOU BB! You are always so supportive! I have now listened to Señorita approximately 5 million times and have 0 regrets. Thank you for requesting as part of my follower celebration!

Cut for length.

That afternoon, as she dressed, she had thought to herself that she had earned this. She had settled in to her life in the mansion and worked diligently alongside Sebastian. All her time in Paris had been instructive, but her… housemates were protective, and she had not yet had any time out in the city alone, to learn the way she liked. She had, apparently, spent enough time in the city to make an impression on some of their neighbors, enough that when invitations to a ball honoring a Spanish Ambassador arrived, one of the envelopes bore her name in lovely script. Her would-be escorts mysteriously all had something to do that night (aside from Napoleon, who had been hired as a sword for the evening long before she knew anything about it). Le Comte had fretted, but when she pleaded with him he smiled, presented her with a set of star sapphires, and sent her off with his blessing. She knew as she stepped into the warmth of not-yet-sunset that the evening and the party were hers, chances for her to be a part of Paris the way she dreamed.

It turned out to be her chance to get caught in a sudden summer rainshower, halfway through her walk to her coach at the end of the drive. Her skirts were immediately soaked, and the shock of the storm’s crescendo disoriented her so severely that she couldn’t think to turn back or run forward. The rain around her was so dense and constant she couldn’t see the mansion or the coach, anyway.

Her brain was eager for something to locate in the confusion. So when a breathy voice cooed right beside her ear, she didn’t even scream.

“Well met, poor maid begowned by firmament! Clouds should repent their sunset sins ‘gainst you.”

As she parsed out the speech, a hand slipped over hers. She allowed herself to be pulled to one side. The torrential downpour alarmed her more than a stranger she couldn’t see. She did not object when another hand found the small of her back and gently pressed her forward.

“Your form delights,” the voice murmured, both close and loud enough to be heard over the roar of the rain. “Witness its fit to one/humble admirer who offers aid.”

These frenchmen! “Please get us out of this!” she shouted. Her hair and dress were already heavy.

“My ev’ry step so devoted, sweet star,” her rescuer assured. When he moved around her body, the fluidity of it established he was a vampire. For less than a second his form blocked some of the rain, then he had her up in his arms and seemed to be running. She could not imagine how much her skirts weighed, besoddened– oh, dear, his speech was catching– as they were, but he showed no tension as he carried her. So smooth were his steps that she missed entirely when he took them out from under the pelting rain.

He set her down gently but immodestly: she did not think her body needed to be dragged quite so far along his before her feet touched the floor, and she took a step back once she could. She recognized that they were in one of le Comte’s pavilions in the gardens. Her fleet-footed rescuer had run around the mansion to take her there. The realization put her on guard.

He shrugged off his brocade jacket and squeezed it. Water splashed on the floor of the pavilion, loud enough to hear over the downpour. He offered it to her. “My coat is yours, to dry your personage.”

She took it, curious deep rose color that it was, and wiped the water from her face as best she could before she attempted to get some more out of her hair and dress. The pavilion was safe but humid. Her dress was plastered to her body; the air was hot from summer rain.

She stilled when a loose and still very wet lock of hair was pried off her neck. She had not realized he was close enough to do that.

“Sapphire moonlight,” he murmured, his voice sounding charmed as he did. “Magic stone aglow.”

She moved another step back. “These stones are a gift,” she warned, “from le Comte de Saint Germain.” They were a loan only for the evening, but she didn’t think this stranger needed to know that.

Her rescuer froze and smiled. His hands came up, palms golden in the light that moved through the slowed rainfall.

“From me, sky’s darling, fear nothing at all,” he said. “What vows need you? I will give all, gladly.”

“Stay back, then,” she answered immediately. “At least while I am drying my hair.” He smiled without apparent reservation and took his own step back.

“Who are you?” she asked as she pulled down her hair and squeezed it in his coat. The sound of the rain remained constant, but significantly softened.

“I am a figure known to our dear Comte. ‘Guillaume,’ I sign my bills, and am so called.”

She thought that over as she wrung more water out of her hair. He had not said le Comte liked or trusted him. “I am supposed to be at a ball for the Spanish ambassador at one of the nearby mansions,” she half-warned, half-admitted.

“A poorer party, surely, without you,” he said. She shot him a look, but despite the humor she thought she had heard in his tone, his smile was wan. It warmed her to him somewhat. He reminded her of her housemates; there was something lost about Guillaume.

“Were you going, as well? Before the rain?” It wouldn’t explain why he had been on le Comte’s property, but had he been a fellow invitee in the general area of the party, that would have provided her some reassurance that he wasn’t a wayward (and therefore dangerous) vampire.

He looked stricken. Slowly, he said “I had no business with partygoers. But, Spanish princess, have no fear of me.”

That had not been the answer she was looking for, but his tone was anguished enough she decided to distrust less. “I’m not a princess,” she said. “Just a guest.” He did not look surprised, but she still didn’t feel that he was making fun of her.

“A fine guest to celebrate properly,” he offered with another earnest smile. She contemplated the sad edge of it as he stepped toward her again and leaned close. The last she saw of his eyes looked more predatory than lonely, but not entirely assured. His breath at her jaw was not innocent, and his words were honeyed– honeyed bait, to her ears. “Finest, moon-radiant señorita.”

She gasped as the sensuality of the word found purchase in the flesh of her throat and spread outward. His jacket slipped against her skirt as it fell from her hands.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to speak. Guillaume laughed quietly and hushed her without moving away. He slid a hand around her body to the same place on her back he had used to usher her away from the rain. His other hand found her neck, and cushioned her as a kiss found her ear and made her sway.

Oh, love, your kiss is deadly, don’t stop–

Yes. This. The promise of what came after a dance, that was what she had dreamed of.

“Favor, señorita, a poor poet/ with a single dance,”–indeed, he had already started their movements, his warm hands still at her neck and her back as she blinked at the underside of the pavilion’s dome– “a sevillana,/ or whichever steps should please you the most.”

“I don’t know that dance,” she whispered. Her mouth felt very dry and she could not keep her tongue off her lips.

“Teach me another, then, of your making,” he murmured. He smelled like wet fabric, somehow unmusty– like scented linens used as a tent. She wanted to spend a night with him under the sky and know the way he tasted. “I beg you this: one dance, together here.”

She wasn’t sure how her brain had so completely relaxed all suspicion, a person like Guillaume meant she should be running. But she was relaxed. She wanted to stay, and to dance with this sad stranger in the dying light and the dying rain. She wanted even more than that. So she nodded, and the happiness in his sigh only made her smile.

“Señorita,” he whispered again, and she closed her eyes to let the way his tongue caressed the r instead of rolling it stroke all her senses.“Guillaume,” she whispered back. They moved together, until one dance became more. It made no sense to half love him already, but his closeness and the distant torture in his smile pulled her in. He sang scraps of sweetness and la la las that the magic of last light and last raindrops made her believe were just for her.

When night was full around them, she murmured “I love it when you call me señorita.”

Shakespeare’s lines are (my) attempt at iambic pentameter because WHY NOT. They’re all definitely decasyllabic verse until his single words at the end. /confetti  Songfics are hard! Lesson learned!

Song is here (US YouTube). Lyrics are in bold italics. Señorita was written by Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello, Watt, Benny Blanco, Ali Tamposi, Charli XCX, Jack Patterson, and Cashmere Cat.