#finally marble statues i can appreciate

[scoonsalicious]

2.2 Major*

Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Explicit sexual content Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (oral (f-receiving), fingering, edging, squirting)

Word Count: 2.9k

Previously On...: You told Lily off, Bucky offered you a ride home on his bike.

A/N: So, my job decided not to renew my contract for the upcoming year, so I've been pissed off, annoyed and frustrated. Please enjoy this extra part today because I could use the extra love <3. Also, it's smut!

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God, you thought as you held on to Bucky a little tighter than was probably appropriate, he felt fucking amazing. Like a marble statue of a Greek god, come to life. You honestly could not believe how well this evening had ended up going, even after your final discussion with Lily. You’d been worried, after you’d said what you said to her, that Bucky would be upset with you for how you talked to his best friend but you quickly realized that, if he was the kind of guy who agreed with her line of thinking, well, then he wasn’t the kind of guy you would be interested in getting to know better, anyway. Thank goodness that didn’t seem to be the case. 

It was colder than you expected for an early September night as you whipped toward the City, and you found yourself pressing into Bucky’s back. You’d been a little disappointed when you saw he’d had a motorcycle instead of a car– it was impossible to actually hold a conversation with him on a bike– but you were more than happy to snuggle up to him like this, instead, and judging by the way his abdominal muscles contracted when you rested your cheek against his upper back, he seemed to be enjoying it, too.

It was about a forty-five minute drive from the bar where you’d met the Avengers to your condo building, and by the time you reached the city limits, it had begun to drizzle. Once Bucky pulled up to your building, it was raining in full force, and the two of you were soaked.

Once you’d both gotten off the bike and secured the helmets, you made a mad dash to the awning of your building. “I’m so sorry,” you said, laughing at how ridiculous you both must look. “If I had known it was going to open up like this, I would have insisted on taking the train.”

Bucky moved a strand of rain-slicked hair away from your face. “I would still have insisted on driving you,” he said with a smile.

You both stared at each other for a moment, and then spoke at the same time: “Can I walk you up?” Bucky asked at the same time you said “Would you like to come up?” You both chuckled.

“I would feel awful, sending you right back out into the rain,” you said as you let the doorman hold your building’s front door open for you both. “Come inside and warm up a little; dry off.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded, following you into the elevator and you noticed him trying, so hard, not to notice the way your erect nipples strained against the wet fabric of your shirt as it clung to your chest.

When you reached your floor, he trailed behind you, gently holding onto the hem of your jacket as he followed you to your door, as if he were afraid of losing you in the hallway. You tried to mentally run through what your condo had looked like before you’d left for the evening. The cleaners had come today while you were at work, and you were fairly sure you hadn’t left anything embarrassing lying around. 

You unlocked the door and slipped inside, Bucky close behind. Locking the door behind you, you turned to face him, watching as he studied the main living room of your home. “This is nice,” he said, taking everything in. 

“Thanks.” You slipped out of your jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door. “Let me get you a towel,” you offered, moving toward your linen closet. 

No sooner had you opened the closet door than the lights in your apartment went out. “Doll?” you heard Bucky call to you from the living room. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you called back, grateful that your emergency candles were also located in the linen closet. “I’ll be right there.”

Bucky looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows of your living room. “Looks like a good chunk of the neighborhood’s out, too,” he said. “Glad we got off that elevator when we did, otherwise, we’d be stuck in there instead of here.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you brought out the towels and a handful of candles. The idea of being trapped in an elevator for an undetermined amount of time with a man this beautiful would not necessarily have been a bad thing. “Here,” you said, handing Bucky some of the candles. “Will you help me light these?”

You and Bucky worked companionably for the next few minutes, lighting the candles and setting them around the living room until you’d created a warm, glowing perimeter. It would almost have been romantic, if it had been done on purpose. You handed Bucky a towel. “Here you go,” you said, then reached for your phone. “Do you mind if I put on some music?”

“Not at all,” he said, rubbing the towel over his hair. “Put on that band you like; the one that plays that song we danced to.”

You smiled. “Yeah, okay.” You navigated to your music player and opened up your Bleachers playlist, putting it on shuffle. You turned the volume down low enough so that you could comfortably talk over it while still listening to the music. “Can I get you something to drink?” you asked, trying to be a good hostess in spite of the current circumstances.

“I’m good,” Bucky said, taking the towel from his head. You had to suppress a snicker– his hair was going in every direction.

“What?” he asked, a small frown playing across his lips.

“Nothing,” you said, trying not to giggle. “You just look like an adorable drowned rat. Come here.” You started walking toward Bucky, and he toward you, until you met each other in the middle of your living room floor. “Let me,” you said, taking the towel from him and running it across his hair again. He bent down to allow you easier access to the top of his head, and when you pulled your hands away, he looked up at you through his lashes, stealing your breath with how beautiful he was in the candlelight. 

“Thank you, again,” you swallowed, “for driving me home.” Before he could reply, you stood up on your tiptoes and planted a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The action seemed to catch you both by surprise, because you each froze. There was a sudden shift in the air, a coiled tension; it was like suddenly, you both knew what was about to happen between you. You knew what was going to happen, and that it was inevitable. 

“I… don’t ever do this,” you whispered, lips so close to his face that they were fluttering against his skin. 

“Me, either,” he told you, his voice gone husky. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to,” you said softly, your voice barely audible. “Really badly.”

“Me, too. So bad.”

You weren’t sure who reached for who first, but in an instant, his hands were on your waist, yours around his neck as your mouths found one another. He tasted like a hint of bourbon as his tongue made its way into your mouth, and you moaned as he pressed his hips against yours. 

“Major,” he groaned, moving his lips from your mouth, down your neck, and to the covered peaks of your breasts. He sucked at a hardened nipple through the fabric of your drenched shirt and you arched your back, pressing your flesh further into his mouth. “Fuck,” he moaned. 

“Please, Bucky,” you heard yourself whine desperately as he continued to suckle on you through your shirt. “Oh fuck, please.”

He pulled his mouth away from your breast. “‘Please,’ what, pretty girl? You gotta tell me what you want with your words.”

His tone was so seductive, so commanding, that you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. “Please… touch me, Sergeant,” you begged, taking his hand and putting it between your legs. “Everywhere.” You found his mouth with yours once again, and could feel him smirk into your lips as he kissed you.

“When you ask so nicely, doll…” he said, and you felt his hands grasp the hem of your shirt, tugging it up over your torso. You raised your arms above your head to assist him in removing it, and you stood before him, top completely bare.

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching out a hand to grab and knead at the soft mound of your breast. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You took a fistful of his shirt in your hand as you kissed him again, gently guiding you both down to the floor until he had himself propped up on one elbow above you. “Off,” you panted, pawing at his shirt, trying to pull it over his head, but Bucky hesitated. 

“What is it?” you asked gently, when it was obvious he was reluctant. 

Bucky avoided looking you in the eye. “I’ve got… scars,” he said, embarrassment written across his face. “They’re… they’re not pretty.”

You leaned up to kiss him. “Do any of them keep your dick from working?” you asked.

Bucky barked a startled laugh. “...No.”

“Then take your clothes off, Sergeant,” you said, smiling at him. “That’s a direct order.” 

“Ma’am, yes Ma’am.” Grinning, Bucky leaned back on his haunches and tugged his shirt over his head. If you’d had a cock, it would have sprung to attention at the sight of his muscles, the six pack that rippled across his stomach, the Adonis belt that pointed to unseen delights still to be revealed. You barely even noticed the ragged lines of scar tissue along his shoulder.

That was, however, until you caught the reflection of the candlelight in the metal of his left arm. That was unexpected, you thought to yourself, but by no means a dealbreaker. You bit your bottom lip as you studied him. Despite the scars and his obvious prosthesis, you couldn’t help but think he was perfect.

You reached down to the buttons of your jeans and began undoing them, desperate to get them off your body and him into it. 

“Let me help you, doll,” Bucky said. With swiftness but exquisite care, he rolled your pants down. You lifted your hips to assist him and he gently shimmied the wet fabric off of you, until he was pulling one leg off, then the next, leaving you in just a pair of pink lace panties. You squirmed slightly under his appraising gaze before he hooked his index fingers into either side of the waistband of your underwear and began to–agonizingly slowly– pull them down your thighs. 

When he’d moved them all the way down your legs, he fisted the material in his metal hand, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling. “God,” he moaned as he palmed himself through the jeans he was still wearing. “You smell divine, doll.”

His words sent another rush of wetness seeping from you, and you were convinced you were going to leave a puddle on the floor if he didn’t do something to you soon. “Bucky,” you moaned.

Tossing your panties aside, Bucky leaned forward and, placing one hand on each of your knees, slowly spread your legs open until you were fully on display before him. Suddenly self-conscious, you tried to close your legs, but Bucky stopped you with a hungry look. “Please don’t, doll,” he whispered as he looked up at you through his lashes. “You’re so fucking beautiful… I just wanna look at you a minute.”

You closed your eyes and let out a shaky exhale as Bucky positioned himself between your legs, lowering himself down so that he was lying on his stomach, his face mere inches from your center. He ran a hand along the inside of each of your legs, from your knees to your thighs, and you gasped at the difference in temperature and sensation– one soft and warm, the other hard and cold. When he reached the apex, he tucked a thumb on either side of your outer folds and ran them up your slit, opening you to him like a fresh, ripe peach.

“So gorgeous,” he murmured, and you could feel the breath of his words hot against your core. “I need to take a taste, doll,” he whispered, and before you could fully prepare yourself, his mouth was on you. Your hips immediately bucked at the hot contact, his large hands continuing to spread you wide as his tongue explored you.

“Fuck,” you gasped, trying not to vibrate out of your skin with the pleasure of it all. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh my god! Don’t stop.”

Bucky pulled his mouth away from you just enough to murmur “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll,” before diving in again. His mouth was magic as he worked you, from nipping and sucking on your clit, to thrusting his tongue in and out of you, to gently nibbling the sensitive skin of your engorged outer lips. Everything he did was heaven, and you felt your orgasm building with rapid speed.

“Oh, shit,” you cried as his tongue lapped at your weeping hole. “Oh shit, Bucky, I’m gonna cum!”

He pulled his mouth away from you, leaving you gasping at the lack of contact. “Not yet, doll,” he said with a filthy grin. “Not yet.”

He proceeded to play you with his mouth, as if you were an instrument and he was a world class musician, but he wouldn’t let you cum. Every time you got close, he would back off, taking you just far enough before pulling you back from the ledge. It was frustrating the shit out of you, but it was magnificent. You had never been edged so well in your entire life.

Finally, finally, after what felt like hours, it was too much. You needed to cum or you felt like you were going to die. “Bucky,” you cried, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets and feeling the space wet with tears. “Bucky, please! Please, let me cum! I need it, Bucky! Need it so fucking bad!” 

His tongue found your clit again, dancing circles over the sensitive nub, and you felt one of his hands let go of you, only to have two of his thick fingers sliding into your entrance with no resistance. He finger fucked you while he sucked on your clit, and the combined sensation, after all the edging, was driving you crazy. “Holy fuck,” you whimpered. “So close.”

Almost as if taking your words as a challenge, Bucky curved his fingers inside of you, dragging them again and again against your g-spot until you were gasping. The pressure was so intense; you’d never felt anything like it before– not once in all your married years had your ex-husband ever brought you anywhere close to where Bucky had brought you in one night.

You were a kettle, about to boil over; a caldera long overdue for its world-ending eruption. You were ecstasy personified, and he hadn’t even brought you to climax yet.

And then, you exploded, screaming his name so loudly you were worried your neighbors would call the police. 

It was a release unlike any you had ever felt before– a double shot of pleasure, and you were positive that, for a moment, you lost consciousness, or at the very least, your soul had temporarily vacated your body. When you came back to yourself, Bucky was leaning over your face, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did you know you were gonna do that, doll?” he asked as he bent down to kiss you. You could taste the tang of your arousal on his tongue, along with something else, undefinable and unique.

“D-do w-what?” you asked, your own voice sounding shaky and far away. Your whole body was trembling, the aftershocks of the orgasm pulsating through you. 

Bucky lied down next to you, pulling your naked, sweat-slicked body into his, and wrapping his arms around you. “You squirted all over my face, doll! It was the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

You laughed through chattering teeth. “I’ve… ne-never d-d-done that be-before,” you said. “F-fuck.”

“I’ll say.” Bucky nuzzled his nose into your hair. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get you something? A glass of water? A blanket?”

You shook your head. “Ju-just ne-ne-need a mi-mi-minute to c-come b-b-back int-t-to my b-b-b-body,” you said. “H-h-hold m-me? P-p-p-please?”

“Yeah, of course, doll,” he said, pulling you closer into him. He reached up and pulled a throw blanket off of the arm of your couch, wrapping it snuggly around you both, and you felt yourself relax into the warmth of him.

“Y-you d-d-didn’t c-c-cum,” you said, feeling the trembling decrease, but not ready to stop all together. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” Bucky said, kissing your head. “Watching you come undone like that? I fucking came in my pants like a goddamn teenager. It was unbelievable.” His tone turned serious. “Did you like it? Was it okay?”

Using all the energy you had left in your body, you turned to face him, noticing the concerned look in his eye in the candlelight. “Th-that w-w-was the s-single b-b-best org-a-asm of m-my entire f-f-fucking life.” You kissed him again, desperately clinging to his forearm to ground you. “Th-th-thank you.”

Bucky smiled. “If you don’t mind, then,” he said, burying his face into your shoulder, “I’d like to give you a couple more before morning, if that’s okay with you?”

“Sh-sh-shit,” you laughed. “Y-y-yes p-please.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Slightly longer chapter today.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is still when you finish the last of your tidying. Unlike weeks before, your day is not over. You creep to the bottom of the stairs and listen for any sign of life before you ascend. You haven't heard any comings or goings but you tend to zero in when you're focused.

You get to the top and pause again. As you pass the study, you hear nothing. You don't know exactly where Mr. Laufeyson retreated but you assume that would be most logical. You gently turn the door handle on the library door and ease the door on its hinges, keeping it from making a noise. 

You're met with the setting evening light as you enter, the drapes still wide open. You shut the door with a subtle click and cross the room, peering out onto the garden below. It's even more beautiful from up here. You lean on the window ledge as you admire how the shadows nestle around the hedges and pool at the feet of the grand marble statue at the very centre. In the dimming hue, the gazebo resembles the crumbling Coliseum. 

A muffled thump shakes you from your reverie. You quickly back up, tugging the curtains closed as you hide yourself away from the beauty. There is just as much to be admired within; from the gilt frames to the straight spines and polished table. Every piece is worthy of coveting.

You go to the door and flip the light switch. The room remains dim and you turn in confusion to the gray room. You hear footsteps from down the hall and low tones, though no words are clear enough to discern. From what you can glean, the conversation is not a friendly one.

You shrug off the conflict without and go to the middle of the room and peer up at the lifeless glass shade around the dangling bulb. You don't understand. You put your hands on your hips and squint. The little hanging chain with the crystal at its tail catches your eye. Aha. But you can't reach that high.

You glance around as the staircase groans. You go to the writing desk and grab the chair from behind it. You carry it over to the light and step onto the seat. Even up high, you're on your toes grabbing for the chain. You finally grasp the gem and tug, the light erupting from within the multicoloured cage. As your vision is tinted by the new rays, the door that adjoins with the study swings inward. You shift on the seat and face Mr. Laufeyson as you drop your arm.

You are not used to looking down on him. He is intimidating even from above. You bat your lashes and bend, gripping the back of the chair as you climb down and dust it off with your hand. You offer an apologetic nod and go to lift it. He is quicker than you as he takes it easily by the back and carries it without effort to the desk. He shoves it under and keeps a grasp on the backrest as he faces you, lifting his chin.

"I hired you to keep this house in order, though it seems you are intent on quite the opposite," he accuses.

Your brows wrinkle just a little. You didn't mean to. You only came to do your job. You want to say as much; his brother was already here and you didn't say a word. You were good.

"I know my brother let himself in," he continues, "he does tend to do as he pleases. He does too much and says much more," Laufeyson's brow arches thoughtfully, "I wonder what he said to you."

You put your hands behind you and clasp them tight to keep from squirming. As he stands behind the desk, you're reminded of an interrogation room, the likes of which you only ever saw on one of your father's crime dramas. You swallow and scrunch your lips.

"I'm asking, so speak," he urges.

"Nothing, Mr. Laufeyson. Well... er, he told me his name then asked for mine, but I didn't tell him. I swear. I didn't know what to say so I..." you falter, embarrassed and stare at the shelf behind him, "so I ran away. I said nothing at all."

He takes a heavy breath and lets it out through his nose, "nothing?"

"Nothing, Mr. Laufeyson," you avow.

"But why not?"

"Pardon?"

"Why not? He is a charming man, at least, many seem to believe so," he sniffs, "so why wouldn't you entertain him?"

You shake your head. You don't know what he wants to hear. You know less what to say.

"I'm not lying--"

"I'm not saying you are. I didn't ask it," he inserts, "why would you not say anything? Are you shy, hm? Perhaps you find him attractive? He is objectively within accepted beauty standards--"

"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you breathe, "I am not."

"So you are dutiful? A loyal servant? And you recalled exactly as I warned you," he says with a keen lilt, "you do listen so well, that it may be I have no right to doubt you."

You keep your lips straight, fighting for an ounce of composure. You can't tell if he does believe you or not.

"And yet," he slithers around the desk, "there are things I've said which you do not seem to have heard," he nears and stops before you, swiping his finger up and down, "your attire is... lacking."

You look down at the baggy shirt and brown slacks. You touch the rough wool and avert your gaze to the floor. 

"Mr. Laufeyson, I haven't had time to get anything new--"

"I didn't ask. I'm telling you. For the last time," he punctuates the last few words.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you appease and look at his collar, focusing on the knot of his tie, just by the lump in his throat.

"If my brother appears again in my absence, you will call me at once. Perhaps, you should review the current security in place as well," he states, "if there is a next time, I wouldn't want him to get further than the gate."

"I will add it to the list, Mr. Laufeyson."

He scoffs and steps around you, his sleeve brushing you, just a little. Enough to inspire a shiver. He continues his snakish path to the door and marks his departure with the snap of the door against the frame. You flinch and bite down on your cheeks. You didn't do anything wrong, though it seems, there is no right when it comes to Mr. Laufeyson.

🧹

On Tuesday, you arrive to an empty house. Mr. Laufeyson does not appear throughout the day. There is no evidence of his presence and your own has little enough effect. You continue down the list, reviewing the landscaping and the security, and a few smaller tasks.

There is one point that worries you. Mr. Laufeyson provided an email on the matter; a collection of upcoming obligations. His work, which was still mysterious to you, as many things about him are, and socials, underlined for emphasis. There was a whole set of to-dos for these.

A chef, Corissa, and staff to serve. Invitations to be sent to a list of contacts. The in-house preparations, a question mark beside a name, Ronnie? It isn’t for another two weeks but you should get things in order sooner than later.

In the desolation, you work easily through the goals you set yourself. The landscapers will remain, Corissa will be there not only for the party but to deliver the meal plan and prepped ingredients. And Ronnie, the decorator, will be there to ready the house for guests. You leave at your typical time feeling accomplished.

A similarly empty abode awaits you elsewhere. Your father is as he ever is. Smoking and grumbling. You bring him the supper you made ahead of the week and he snarls about his appetite and the feeding tube that’s been gone for over a week now. You eat beside him but he doesn’t do more than flip through the channels and complain about what the world is coming to.

Later, you find him dozing in the same spot. You tidy up around him, mindful not to bother him, and draw a blanket over him. He doesn’t stir but the ragged noise of his breathing rises and falls in the low din of the television. You leave that on but put the volume on low. He would not be happy if you tried to get him to bed.

Wednesday. A bad day. Your day off. You wake up and have your tea patiently. You have things to do but are in no hurry. You find your father away from his usual spot. He’s at the front door, watching across the street as a moving truck sits in front of the apartment building. He mutters about grimy people.

You sidle past him, telling him you're off to grab some groceries and a few bits and bobs, asking if he needs anything. It’s the same answer as always; smokes. You frown.

“Dad, you know I don’t like buying those–”

“Get outta here then,” his voice scratches, “I’ll pay that twerp Cody to go get me a carton.”

“It’s only… the doctor–”

“Fucking charlatan,” he growls.

You give up. You give a sheepish smile as your eyes drift to the open flap of the mailbox. You reach inside and retrieve a single envelope. You wave it at your father and promise you’ll be back in a few hours. He’s already walking away. The door slams in farewell.

You head off, past the bus stop and along the path behind the laundromat. There’s a thrift shop not far from the small convenience store where you get your staples. You walk with your head down as you tear open the envelope, the hospital’s stamp in the corner. You unfold it and the paper almost drops along with your heart.

You stagger and stop short. You stare at the bottom line; total. Six figures. That’s a lifetime of debt. How could you ever hope to pay it off? Yet, you wouldn’t trade your father for those red digits.

You shudder and look around. With no witnesses to your dismay, you tuck away the invoice in your back pocket and carry on. First, some work clothes, then a few canned goods and dairy to pad out what’s left in the cupboards.

You can manage the little things, even with that big thing weighing you down.

🧹

Thursday comes with a sort of trance. You spent the night sleepless as the invoice taunted you from the top drawer of your dresser. You still have to call and figure out a payment plan. The blurb at the bottom of the bill gives you hope you might be able to figure this out.

You don’t wake because you don’t sleep. You just get up and get on with the day. You dress in one of the outfits you budgeted out at the thrift store. Even that expense, if necessary, if it could be considered an investment for your job, knots in your stomach.

You tried to keep in mind the images you googled as you shopped and picked out professional pieces. Lamb gray slacks and a white blouse striped with light blue. You tuck the tails in and check yourself in the mirror. You can only see to your shoulders. You should’ve found a belt too. Maybe next time.

You slip your feet into a pair of flats, uncomfortable next to your usual sneakers, and grab the square leather bag you aired out overnight. You left your cleaning kit at Mr. Laufeyson’s since you won’t need it anywhere else. You put your lunch in your work bag, your phones, and your coin purse, along with the ledger. It still feels rather empty.

The bus putters uptown and drops you at your usual stop. You walk up to the iron gate and fish out your work phone to check the new code. As you punch in the six numbers, you hesitate. Another six figures nip at your thoughts. Even six days a week can’t balance the debt.

You break the threshold of Mr. Laufeyson’s paradise, a stark contrast to your own meagre retreat, and you fall into the pattern of your days there. You put the code into the back door and enter. You’re once more met by a vacant interior.

It’s a cleaning day. You wonder if maybe you should’ve brought a change of clothes but you don’t worry too long. You put your leather bag in the closet, you’ll bring it up with you after the clean is done. You take your kit, put on shoe covers and gloves, and head upstairs. The first floor was done on Monday and today will be the second.

You start at one end of the hall. You hum under your breath, not loud enough to be heard by anyone but yourself. You saw a pair of wireless earbuds yesterday but talked yourself out of the purchase. You couldn’t connect them to the flip and it didn’t feel right to use them with your work phone. Besides, you can’t spare the price.

You knock on each door before you enter. You’ve learned better of just barging in since Thor’s unexpected arrival. Your progress is slow and tedious, though it calms your nerves. The manual tasks that keep your hands busy keeps your mind less than.

You tap on the last door, awaiting an answer. You haven’t heard or seen Mr. Laufeyson. You thought there was a buzzing a few moments ago but it faded into the lull. With no answer, you enter. There isn’t much you do in the main bedroom, a quick dust, you make sure the bed is tidy, and clear away the clutter. You’ll return with the vacuum when you get to the floors.

There’s a fresh scent in the air. Jasmine? Something light? You’re not very good at discerning scent. You search for a source of the rich scent. Maybe an open window letting in the luxurious garden aromas. Nope, curtains drawn, windows firmly shut.

As you fold the corner of the sheet neatly at the top and cover it with the pillows, your elbow knocks against the night table. Something falls and you step back in surprise. Your tunnel vision slowly starts to recede. You look around for what you knocked over but can’t see anything out of place.

You finish putting the pillows in their place, the bed made, and get down to your knees. You lean forward on your hands, bringing your cheek almost to the floorboards as you peer first under the nightstand then beneath the bed. You see a small shape just underneath. You reach for it, grasping the watch as its glass face presses coolly to your palm.

As you rescind your arm, a click freezes you in place. The unknown fragrance grows strong and a dampness tinges the air. You blink and stare under the bed, across to the other side as the door against the opposite wall pushes inward. The en suite bathroom. Oh gosh.

You see a bare of bare feet and the pieces connect in your head. The buzzing, the scent, all of it. Mr. Laufeyson must have been in the shower and now he’s…

He sighs and groans, stopping in place as you can only see his feet. He cannot see you either. In that moment, you have a choice. To be honest and make him aware or to hide and pretend it isn’t happening. Your heart beats as you stay paralysed on the floor. 

The tail of a towel drops around his feet before he lifts it again. Oh. He’s… you can’t even think it!

You reach your arm out again, lowering down flat, and lift yourself over the floor as you slide seamlessly under the bed. You hold your breath as you struggle not to make a sound. Loki’s only sniffs and groans override anything that might give you away.

The closet rolls open and he clucks thoughtfully. Your eyes widen then you squeeze them shut as you cover your mouth. You can’t believe this is happening. What would he think if he found you there?

You watch his feet as he steps into a pair of briefs, then his pants. Anymore of him is obscured by the bed frame. You’re thankful for that. Fabric flutters as he buttons on a shirt. He nears the bed and you bite your lip. He sits to put on his socks, the mattress dipping under him.

When he gets up again, he wanders around, and you hear another wisp of fabric. He hums and nears the bed. He stops right beside you and taps the night table. You hear the drawer open and close. You squeeze the watch in your hand. 

Another deep breath as he strides away, “curse… must be…”

The door swings open and his footfalls march decisively down the hallway. You don’t move right away. You’re terrified to come out.

What if he comes back and catches you? Worse, what if he thinks you stole his watch? No, you were only trying to help. That never seems to turn out the way you intend, does it?

[eldritch-spouse]

[Part 8 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: Give yourself to Krulu (70.1%)

TW: Strong cultish themes; Macro/micro; Mindbreak; Squirting.

⋆✩ You've reached the end of the run ✩⋆

It's not much of a choice, is it?

If you wanted the easy way out, you could have taken it at several instances by now. Picked someone who was likely to bludgeon you, get on everyone's nerves... You're sure you could have gotten killed in many situations. And perhaps even in a less traumatic way- At the hands of a sick monster, rather than the deity dwelling in this rotpit.

But you've lived this far, survived the menaces who got their grimy hands on you. Only to choose death now? No. No, that's hardly admissible.

You're going to buck till your last dying breath here. Or at least try to.

Summoning strength you don't have, unable to meet the god-entity's eyes, it takes far too long before you can croak out a response.

" I... Offer myself to you. "

The finality of your own words hits you like a train. This is definitely not the type of being that'll let you walk back on your decision, so you've laid down the foundations for your brand new future with that statement alone.

Whatever giving yourself to Krulu implies, you have just signed up for it, and now you'll deal with whatever comes forth. It was your choice. It was the fate you wrote, at least some solace will come from that reminder.

The charred giant squints at you, long and hard. You're not sure what he hopes to gleam behind your eyes. They say eyes are the window to the soul, maybe there's some actual merit to that, aside from mere romanticism and poetic frivolity. Does he hope to find a lie? Deceit? You're sure there's nothing to show but fear, resignation, confusion. Defeat.

" A wise answer. "

Is it really? You'd argue dying would be saner. But you've abandoned hopes of staying sane, you are now remaining alive out of spite. A stubborn bull's desire to have its way even as a torero stabs it time and time again. And the crowd cheers, hoping you'll fall.

When all points of contact are severed between you two and an oppressive silence settles easily, there's no clue as to what your next move should be, so you stand like a statue, risking only chaste glances at their figure.

That's... That's it? It can't be.

" It seems I will have to teach you everything. " The entity spits. " Just as I did with my vessel. I expect you to come out of this apt for service. So listen well, for every time I am made to repeat myself, you will suffer. "

Something behind you knocks harshly onto your back, sending you tumbling forward on the altar, hands and knees on enchanted marble. Your entire upper body throbs with pain and you attempt to wheeze some air in and out of your lungs.

The moment an attempt to sit up is made, a rough foot keeps you down. You're well aware he's not putting half of his weight on it.

" Your first lesson is humility. " Krulu begins. " You shall know your place here, profess yourself to me properly. If you fail to do such, I see no reason to spare your ego. "

You're sure he's not talking about your dignity and pride when he says "ego".

How does one "profess themselves" to a god? What does he want you to say? You take a moment to think about Admin's mannerisms. He clearly likes the woman, and she's visibly -Perhaps manically- devoted to him, so whatever she's doing must be adequate. You suppose you ought to copy the purple-clad woman.

A rising rumble from above lets you know time is of the essence. The weight of a clawed foot increases on you, staggeringly powerful as it forces you to curve further the longer you disappoint this entity. Words force themselves out before you can think too hard and risk being compressed into a sheet of paper.

" M- My lord...? I... I belong to you. " That does not sound natural at all. In fact, it's painfully uncomfortable.

A disinterested chuff reaches your ears after a measured pause. " You sound far from appreciative. I am not convinced of your candor. "

A confused, terrified mind runs a mile a second, trying to think of anything more adequate, more appeasing.

" Allow me to help motivate you. "

Within seconds, the strength on your back is so great that it becomes oppressive, hindering your capacity to breathe further. Something creaks within you, awakening a brand new level of desperation as you fight to get the right answer out before he can smash the means to do such with.

" Please! Please my lord- I'll do anything you ask of me, I'm humbled by your mercy- " You choke, trying to get air into your lungs. " I live to serve you! It's my role. I'm yours. Please spare me! "

And, almost mercifully, the weight recedes a good deal. " Better. Albeit sub-par. "

You aim to survive.

Words cannot begin to express the relief you feel at the loss of his strength on your figure, taking a pained, desperate inhale. As if they could decide to steal your breath away at any moment now. Krulu takes several steps back on the altar, and once more, you're not too sure what to do. Is this what it's like for her? Constantly having to guess what to do in order to please this entity? Having no guides or clues, just the whispers of flames and the ticking of an impatient clock counting the seconds to failure... You can't take that. You couldn't take that for an hour, much less a lifetime.

" But that is forgivable. "

He begins, after a long moment leaving you to your thoughts, it seems.

" The most important task your mouth must perform is pleasuring, after all. "

Something bitter curls in your stomach at that declaration. You chose this. It's this or dancing six feet below the ground.

The massive entity squats upon the marbled surface, easily keeping their balance, arms shifting this way and that as they think, eyes poised on you. Although Krulu is an admittedly gnarled creature far from easy on anyone's eyes, you can't help but think that, sometimes, the light bathes his figure in a manner that's almost soothing. An elegance he has no right to hold. His home is in the shadows, you can tell, but somehow, light gravitates towards him too.

What is a being like this doing here? On Earth. Who is he? What is he? How long has he been pacing in this cage of a building, like a hidden mole? Something in you insists he shouldn't be here, and it's not just animal instinct, it's a... Warning, an idea that crawls to the forefront of your mind, as if you've always known it. He wouldn't be here if he didn't have to.

It's not pity that you feel for this immeasurably powerful being, but something like confusion. For a moment, you see a wounded animal limping on the side of the road after trying to hunt something much greater than itself. It's nature, in a way.

He must have caught that image in the reflection of your eyes, because the way his frown deepens into a scalding snarl has you instantly cowering like a leaf in the wind.

" Come. " They begin, causing your heart to leap into your throat. " Your first trial greets you. "

First trial...? Him? Before you have the chance to utter a single thing, Krulu raises a finger.

" Remember this. All you do is only ever permitted. "

Brows furrowing in an attempt to make sense of his riddle-like wording, you ultimately opt not to spend too much time standing around like an idiot and begin awkwardly closing the distance.

On the second step, something unseen and long bats itself onto the floor hard enough to make the ground shake violently. You fall onto your ass with a pained grunt, horrified and further confused.

" Must I open those ears? " He sneers, a pair of long arms crossed over his chest.

" N- No! I'm sorry- " Palms show in what you hope might placate the being. He's not stomping after you at least. That slitted stare is expectant however.

What does he want now? He said for you to approach, so what was so wrong there...?

All you do is only ever permitted.

Ah. Permission.

Doe eyes glance up. " May I walk towards you? " This sounds like a waste of time, frankly. But you have no idea how gods operate. Maybe this is standard etiquette for them.

His glare softens when you guess what to do correctly. " No. "

Uh. Okay.

" You may not. Crawl, like the worm you are. "

Sighing, you swallow the thoughts that second-guess your prior decision and lower to your hands and knees. The trek towards Krulu isn't long, but it manages to feel depressingly unflattering all the same.

You don't feel sexy or confident, just demeaned. This is not a place for confidence. It's hard to tell what his endgame here is.

" Enough. "

Cautious, your hands settle on your knees and you straighten up, awfully close to the large being's groin. Afraid even looking that way can incite their wrath, scared hues cast themselves to the candles again, trying to siphon that warmth.

The scream you let out once something grabs your whole head cuts off into a startled gasp as it's swiveled back to his likeness.

" On this altar, your eyes are to be fixed on me. "

" Y- Yes, lord. "

It seems the sooner you act accordingly, the faster he stops inducing fear on you, grip relenting.

Another standstill unfurls.

The persistent inability to know what to do next causes slight irritation to bud within you, but all he does is wave one hand dismissively, as if to tell you he's getting bored. To get on with it. You really hope that you didn't misinterpret it when he said "trial." You hope and pray you're not going to get ripped in two with these next words.

" May- " The hairs on your back stand and your voice escapes, defying your will, making you sincerely consider running from this creature. Even if it means certain death. " May I service you? " It comes out your mouth murmured, the death rattle of all dignity.

" Yess. "

With a gulp, you chance a glance at what you're working with, thanking the slight amount of illumination currently available. Like many other monsters you know of, at first glance, Krulu's pelvis appears barren of genital attributes. Though, given his size, it would be a bit hard to miss a thin seam of yellow where his slit parts slightly in this squatted position. Or is it just that he's already bothered? By you? No. No, there's no way...

So, a phallus at least. You're hoping. Who knows what the fuck could be in that pouch at this rate. But that's not the only thing you can see from this position. There's... Something moving below. With a confused squint, you tilt your head and note what appears to be two appendages parting ways like petals unfurling. More yellow reveals itself to you, two small and pointed growths curve forward. It takes you a moment to realize that you're looking at his strange, alien vulva.

Two sets. They really weren't kidding when they called this a "trial". Even when you scoot closer, the nervousness must be crawling all over your face, because he makes a comment.

" Explore. I will correct you. "

Far from reassuring. But then again, he must be incapable of such. Or just uncaring, that's more likely. What are you to him, if not the toy you agreed to be?

Well, time to be smart about things.

Time to set aside the mania in your brain telling you that you, a mere human, are going to engage sexually with a being whose oppressive totality you can't even comprehend, and focus on making things easier for you. Chances are that, taking this entity's magnificent size into account, avoiding his slit is a more intelligent choice. You don't need to be a scientist to know whatever's coming out of that will be scarily massive. Unmanageable perhaps. You're not looking forward to being literally impaled in an effort to appease a charred god.

Heading for his lower set is, by far, the safest bet.

Spreading your legs, your stature sinks further, and you can angle yourself to be mostly beneath his foreign pussy. The deity hums at your choice, adjusting their stance slightly, hips canting and arms moving to support his frame as it is ever so slightly presented to you. Behind him, a rough tail sways slowly, like the pendulum of a clock.

Given a much better look now, you realize that his labia are actually prehensile, moving every now and then. His vaginal opening doesn't seem to differ all that much from a human's in structure, at least outwardly, but what catches your attention is what must be his clitori. Two of them! That must make orgasms fun... They're large too, seeming to poke out their hood without difficulty, like thorns on a rose. For a pause, you're just observing him.

" Do you think it wise to test my patience at this moment? " He says in response to your mute awe.

" N-No! Forgive me, lord. " The fear response has kicked in more effectively, though it's not enough to drown your fascination. " ... You're beautiful. "

Krulu genuinely blinks in surprise. Subtle shock is replaced by a frown. A long finger dances under your chin, claw dragging on the fickle flesh, forcing you forward when it hooks upwards. " Pleasure, pet. Not flattery. "

Fair enough. You didn't mean to let that slip so easily.

Unsure how to go about this in a way that will please this being, whose sexual customs are vastly unknown, you figure starting timidly is smarter. Your hands lift, though the sharp glare you're given instantly make them dart to the marbled altar again.

" May-... May I use my hands? " Silence. " Please? "

" You may. "

At least that.

Tracing a slow path on the inside of this thighs, you edge upwards, marveling at the patterns engraved on the left one, scar tissue turned to infinite swirls. By the time you get to the inevitable, you begin by planting a kiss to the bottom of his entrance, trailing sloppy pecks upwards until your nose nudges against those two growths.

He looks down at you with an equally intense glare. Although where once it was filled with genuine irritation, now it's heated in a different way. No less intimidating however. A chuff is heard from above, those clits flex against the air in a motion that you find oddly erotic in spite of never having had contact with his species before.

A timid lap across the length of his opening is all you can manage to delay before focusing on those two. They look sensitive, they must be naturally, you fear too much direct stimulation can overwhelm him like it does some people. But it only takes a few experimental laps and kisses for him to "correct you". A palm drives your head harder against those buds, and he grinds on your face with a flex of long legs.

" I am not made of porcelain, lesser. "

" F- Forgive me- " Pressed against his cunt hard, all you can do is mumble the words onto it, face aflame. He seems to like the vibrations anyway.

" Take them into your mouth. "

Oh. Right, you can probably do that.

Circling one of their clits with a stubby tongue, you slip it into your warmth and, for lack of any guidance, suck on it cautiously. Krulu grunts something you can't interpret out, sighing when you pop it off your mouth to take care of the twin. With enough care, you manage to slip both in, sucking around the appendages, feeling them twitch on your tongue. It doesn't take long before he lets out a moan, this sound that seems to gently grace the walls, both high-pitched and low, as if two had reacted in unison.

It's a little hotter than it should be when he begins rolling against your mouth, almost causing you to bob. They taste of something intense, spreading an odd, nearly numbing tingle on your mouth. Something's popping in your tastebuds, bitter and sweet at different instances. It causes you to salivate excessively, drool trying its best to break down the complex substance you're coming in contact with. It's not an unpleasant flavor, so you find yourself easily suckling at him without a second thought.

The sound of faint dripping eventually breaks your focus.

You might be shamefully getting wet, but that's certainly not you. It takes a slight pause in your motions to incredulously peek down and spot his cunt clenching, empty, dripping slick in generous amounts. You hit the part of you that's drooling with a rolled up newspaper for being so impulsive. Still, when you quickly get back to servicing his clits, a stray hand coats itself in that viscous lubrication and you slip three fingers in without a hint of resistance. Then four. Honestly, you can slide your whole hand in there.

... Maybe you should?

Fuck it.

Your whole hand gets swallowed into Krulu's pussy, and while your eyes are wide in amusement, wondering if you could put your entire forearm in there, you're more focused in trying to find a spot to rub. It can't be that different from your anatomy, can it? You start palping and stroking with a purpose while slurping on him, determined to find that slightly ruggier tissue- Ah! There we are.

The higher arches, grunting, slipping more of your limb into himself with the jarring movement of his hips. It feels obscene, like you're fisting him. " Hhharder-! Harder, you hear me? "

He snarls, and like Hell you're going to risk unintentionally teasing him more. Your whole fucking palm rubs at what you think is his g-spot, feeling warm insides cling to your fingers, pulling you in with the force behind those reflexive pulses. Mesmerizing... This rolling rumble of a noise nearly shakes the walls, so you'll take it as a sign you're doing well. It's not too long before your arm is soaked by sloppy amounts of lubrication and your lips are puffed from sucking fattened clits. Krulu's sour disposition seems to be melting into a more tolerable demeanor, perhaps high on his enjoyment.

Better horny than angry, you guess.

More noises, this time from above, jolt your attention. Sensing movement, your eyes roam up to spot a sight that nearly makes you choke around the god's nubs. One hand coils over a glowing yellowed cock, shaped oddly just like the rest of him, some sections almost looking like rings. It strokes that length avidly, another hand from a different set of arms comes to rub circles around the head. He looks down at you lecherously, appearing to enjoy the show for a couple of heated moments where your gaze is locked on his and the massive being licks at their cruel grin.

When his head starts to tip upwards in the universal language of an approaching peak, Krulu drags you away from him by the neck, holding your pussy drool soaked face while the two of you catch your breath. The tingles on your tongue start to recede. The giant adjusts his position again, and this time, his massive cock faces you with a bob. Without extremities obscuring it, you can truly bask in its design, familiar, but so much better.

Your earlier point still stands however. There's absolutely no way in Heaven or Hell that cock is fitting anywhere inside you. Ever.

" Not as atrocious as I was expecting. But you are far from done, pet. "

Now curved forward, his great stature looms creepily. You don't see the nudge forward coming, nearly falling forth. Krulu makes an amused sort of titter.

" Resume. "

You almost don't want to crawl back towards him, but you know you need to tough through your own choice. He doesn't move a muscle, merely evaluating as you decide to start the same way you did with his cunt, kissing. One peck at the tip of his shaft, slicked by precum, then down the length you'll never take anywhere hopefully. It's admittedly impressive, the weight of it is such so that you require two hands to hold. And even then, you can't encompass his total girth. It's a beast of a cock, excusing the French.

Despite all odds, you try your best to do something that you think might pleasure him, struggling to jerk Krulu off. In fact, the motions are so clumsy that you believe he's purely just getting off on your pathetic attempts. Kitten licks are offered to a sensitive glans you can only suck at partially. The way those burning eyes shut just a bit further tells you he's at least taking enjoyment out of the whole thing.

It's still startling to feel something rough park at your bare pussy however. The rugged texture makes you believe it might be his tail for a second, but with the tapping of what can only be fingertips, you realize he's lowered a hand for you to sate yourself with. It rubs at your folds, spreading your own wetness and pressing knowingly over a bundle of nerves while you sigh around his girth.

" Are you daft? "

His voice isn't soothing at all. It's like... Wood bark in your ears, like branches snapping and scraping asphalt. You can only blink and gulp, befuddled.

" Fuck yourself on my fingers, you witless creature. "

That shouldn't have made your cunt clench the way it did. Though, at this point, you've stopped questioning why you're being aroused by gradually more obscene situations. In fact, enjoying this will make it a lot more bearable.

It's not too easy to multi-task, and given his impressive motor control of so many limbs, he must think your struggles are pitiful. Tentatively, you grind over his fingers, trying to slot them inside your warmth and getting struck by powerful shivers when he curls them helpfully. Thin and long, they slide into your walls with ease and reach places you've never been touched in before. Or maybe it's the way that he touches them. You have no doubt he could lift you by the cunt if he wanted to, and the bizarre thought has a quick moan making it past your lips, starting to roll into the friction with a little more gusto.

Krulu encourages you by hooking his phalange-like fingers, claws kept expertly folded. You feel your legs quaking and flexing in the wake of a god's touch, pleasure dawning upon you at a surprising rate. Although he's far from kind, far from safe, some itch in the back of your mind tells you to give in, to offer this entity your body and mind and all else they may crave of you. Because, somehow, someway, you understand that is your purpose. You understand you're looking at someone you should never defy and always, always seek to please.

He is your real God. And this is your new faith.

This sudden line of thought causes some genuine concern within you, as it's something completely out of left field. Never once have you felt so intensely about something. It must be his doing, it has to be. Ad yet, it feels right. Appropriate. Warming. You're not even aware your mouth is parted in silent bliss until Krulu appears to chuckle at your state.

" You will coat my hand in your effort to please me. And with your release, your role here is forever sealed. "

The hypnotizing finality of his statement is as striking as it is wonderfully arousing to you. Enough so that your heart cartwheels in your ribcage and your pace on his generous hand hastens. Maybe it won't even be so bad, you ponder while slicking his cock like a treat, you'd be protected, you wouldn't have to care about anything anymore. And you could get railed day and night by the monsters who lusted after you tonight, by the rest of them, the ones you can't help but fantasize about.

What would fucking the mimic be like? He deserves it for bringing you inside, for introducing you to your fate properly. And that slime, his kind has always exhibited such strange mating customs, how wild would things get? Oh, wasn't there a robot too? Your poor pussy drools as hard as your mouth does, each throbbing pulse of your walls hypnotically ebbing away your common sense. You're well aware pieces of your sanity have been chipping off like old pottery since the start of your contact with this god, but it doesn't feel as horrific as it should, it doesn't raise alarm or concern in you anymore.

Spiritualism isn't something you're very inclined to, but your mind tells you this is where you should be right now. And with that affirmation, everything seems to calmly slot into place again. Everything is as it should be.

" Y- Yes, my lord. "

Lashes flutter to a close briefly while you do your damndest to try to offer the deity more pleasure, unable to welcome him into your comparatively minuscule mouth. He grows fevered, legs shifting to feed more of himself into your grasp, likely frustrated by his mounting need, or perhaps being rough just for the sake of it. A jut of dark hips has that bright yellow length gliding on the side of your face in a debauched gesture that has you wondering if he could climax by simply grinding on your complexion. Eventually, slick, swift noises reach you, and judging by his moaning pants, you can only guess he's fingering himself to the scene.

Morbid curiosity has you peeking, the rhythmic plunging of equally dark digits into his sopping cunt confirming it. When you look back up, Krulu offers you a salacious rictus before thrusting hard, mean, just to jostle you.

" Lord- Lord Krulu- I'm doing my best, but I... I just can't fit you anywhere. I'm sorry- "

" Is it so? " The giant muses knowingly. " Well lesser, you will have to find a way to make me come somehow. Surprise me. "

Mind racing, you halt your motions on the now static hand between your legs, trying to figure something worth his time. A rotten little image finally surfaces, and you hope your filthy mind won't fail you now, of all times.

" Can... Can you please lower a bit more, Lordship? "

Krulu tilts their head subtly, elegant horns following, though your wish is granted. And so, you quickly scoot to be further beneath him, enough so that his heavy member rests on your front, from abdomen to chest and neck. The weight and warmth of it against your bare skin is a previously unknown sensation that you think you can get accustomed to, hands lifting to try to stimulate him in some manner, even pressing your breasts against him to whatever extent you can.

If he didn't think you were pitiful, he does now- Face flushed and dripping down his fingers, presenting yourself like some inanimate object to rut onto.

" Interesting... " He muses, and you can't be too sure if that's approval or an insult.

For some reason or another, the charred giant plays along, leaning forward to let himself grind against your body, each rock unavoidably powerful and gradually wetting you in his precum, a primitive marking ritual if there ever was one. Each back and forth has your face hotter than a furnace as you try, almost pointlessly, to lick at the end of him whenever it's close enough, oftentimes graced with a sloppy nudge against your cheek and mean-sounding chuckling from above.

Distantly, you wonder if this is what Admin goes through regularly. She's clearly his favorite, maybe this is a daily thing for them. It's easy to understand why her reverence of this being is so genuine and unbreakable. You can't help think that you'd be drawn here anyway, sooner or later.

Nothing matters anymore except doing as you're told, shuddering out moans and trying your best, apparently doing enough to warrant a reward as Krulu begins plunging his digits into you faster and harder than you've ever been fingered before, having tears prick at the corners of your eyes as it feels like he's fucking you himself in spite of being currently held between your breasts and arms. There's no mistaking the growls that dip into snarls low enough to rattle you, felt between every point of contact you have, rippling on your form, only speeding up your own approaching end.

Unable to squirm away from the relentless finger-fucking, it's all too soon before you're taken to the edge and near effortlessly tipped into a raging orgasm. Although it surprises you enough to let out a scream-like cry of ecstasy, you soon realize you're dealing with a god. He could probably kill you from orgasmic bliss alone if he wanted to. And you definitely feel something in your mind short-circuit, vision blurring with each pulse of a throbbing cunt around speedy, thin extremities. You're faintly aware of the fact that you just gushed onto Krulu's hand. Though neither of you are very concerned with that, you only struggle to breathe in the wake of growing overstimulation, arms now limp and body nearly falling back from how tensely it arches.

This feels like more than just an orgasm, if that's even possible.

Your lord detaches himself from your figure entirely, leaving a sweaty, goosebump-covered body to heave and sway, nipples as pert as the still twitching clit between your jelly-like legs. It's increasingly hard to focus on anything but the soft murmuring of the candles and the way light flickers off tapestry, but you register the motion of your head being yanked upwards to face Krulu while he rises to pump himself over you feverishly.

The erotic bucking of his hips into several pairs of lewdly moving hands over his own cock is hypnotizing. You can't help but watch his face keep contorting into different expressions of equally intense pleasure, until, all of a sudden, he makes a sound you can only call a roar. Loud and throaty and self-indulgent, reverberating in the very depths of your soul and rattling your skull with its volume.

The first splatter of cum on your body is jarring, eliciting a startled yelp followed by a heated groan when it's followed by more and more shots, all thick coats of Krulu's enjoyment of you. His approval of a brand new servant. Their seed all but leaves no part of you untouched, wide eyes having to shut themselves so as to not get pelted in the process. You can't help gasping and moaning like an animal at the sensation. Globs cascade down your belly and slide across your entrance. There's little else your boiled mind can do aside from merely pant and remain still like a depraved figurine covered in pearly white wax.

" Welcome to The Clergy's Eye, my present. "

Is the last thing you're able to coherently interpret before your mind starts distorting things again.

In between the following moments, could have been seconds or hours for all you'll ever know, you recall the image of a somewhat concerned and agitated green man with a pumpkin for a head looking you over. He murmured something fogged and unintelligible to your drunken self and seemed to carry you elsewhere in a hurry, much too fast for your muddled thought process and reflexes.

The glow of the elevator hurts your eyes.

The ballerina spins slowly on top of her stage, a soft, cheerful tune ringing across paint-splattered orange walls, the sound of rain softly cascading outside adding a homely element to things.

You sigh, comforted, leaning into Vinnel's gloved motions as he ties pink lace around your neck and forms a ribbon on the back. His gurgled hums fall in tune with the melody and he appears to be genuinely content. He always is when he gets to dress you up, it's become a beloved part of his routine.

" There we are, my pretty poppet! Do a spin for me! " The jester suddenly peels back, twirling in the air.

You stand in the frilled pink and white dress outfit he spent the better part of an hour perfecting, feeling gorgeous, softly painted cheeks rising and creasing the corners of your eyes when you smile for him. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you spin twice and feel warm at his exaggerated reaction.

" Uhuhuhuhu! Showstopping! Brilliant! " Vinnel titters, clapping enthusiastically before landing on the ground of his room to lightly boop you on the nose. " You're ready to head out then, missus. "

" Thank you, Vinnel. " And even though you sound perfectly innocent, when you hug him, one of your hands drifts down to palm at the heart shape on his groin, rewarded with a husky growl.

" Go on now, poppet. It's too early for games, you little slut. " He muses, stepping away to open the main door in his room so the two of you can head out.

Today, Admin requested to have breakfast with you, so you dutifully get on the elevator and head to the restaurant floor, finding the woman already seated in a pristine table, waving you over. Your feet quickly trot you over to her, sitting obediently and greeting your superior.

" Well well, look at our little model today. " She teases.

" Ah, thank you! Vinnel outdid himself. "

" Certainly. This is much more palatable than the bruises he likes to put on you usually. " You have to agree with her here, some spots of your body are still sore where he clawed at days ago.

Grimbly eventually zooms his way to the two of you with a tray containing your breakfast. A variety of pastries deposited on your side while Admin seemed to only want her coffee, always a shade of black so intense that it made it look as if she was drinking a void. The waiter wags his tail and beams at you, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek and cooing at your look before being waved away by the brunette.

" How do you feel about your stay here so far? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't appear to regret your decision. " She sips from the steaming cup.

The answer is almost automatic.

" O-Oh, it's been really nice! Everyone wants me here so much, I... I like all my coworkers, it really feels like home. " You confess, feeling a tad sheepish but standing by your words. " I can't describe how fulfilled I am nowadays. I'm happy when... Everyone's happy. It's hard to explain but I really feel like I've gained- "

" Purpose? "

You pause. Yeah. That's precisely the word. How come she's always so right? " Exactly. "

Admin nods, a tiny smile on small lips. She got whatever response she wanted out of you, it appears.

" I'm glad we see things similarly. " Her eyes unfocus, following the swirl of her bottomless coffee cup as if it calls to her sweetly. " It's... Nice, having a human acquaintance here. " It's said with a hint of shock, as if the revelation surprised even her.

You can't help but preen under the praise, offering the woman one of your palmiers. She declines politely, and it's when you return to staring at your plates that you finally see the little note attached to one of them.

Good morning, love. I'll see you soon, hopefully.

A small series of scribbled hearts circle the message, you know exactly who it's from.

" Santi. "

There's a hum from the brunette in front of you. " Mhm, he paid for those. "

" Aw... That's really sweet of him. " Truly, he's always been a sweetheart, since the very start of all this, however long ago that was. Time is barely a concern for you anymore.

" Sometimes he still gloats about being the first you chose, you know? " She grins for a short second. " I think you inflated his ego forever. "

The knowledge makes you actually burst out laughing for a few hearty second where the sound echoes off the vastly empty restaurant. That's adorable, honestly.

" Oh , he might just become my favorite if he keeps buying me treats like this. " A joke you know, had you said it to the rest of them, an argument would instantly break out.

" Why shouldn't he treat you a little today? " Admin's brow rises, head tilted in that way that almost reminds you of Krulu, when he's more comfortable. Still, she knows something you don't, causing you to blink and sit there like a dumbfounded donkey.

" ... You haven't put it together yet, have you? "

No. No, you haven't.

The chestnut-eyed woman crosses her legs and snickers quietly. A couple of seconds pass where she expects you to make a sudden discovery, but the eureka moment isn't coming any time soon.

Finally, she takes mercy on you with a shake of the head. " It's been a year since you were gifted to us. "

...

A year. Has it been that long already? It felt like a miserable few months, if that much. Everything is just so fast here, it really does feel like yesterday when you were screaming at Hellion and Pebble in the garden.

Has it really been that long since you left everything behind?

Strangely enough, bits and pieces of your life before becoming a part of The Clergy are becoming harder to recall in clear detail, faces blur and places become nameless. You don't know what you used to do for a living, or what your routine is. Where did you even live? It doesn't sound important anymore. It isn't.

You're exactly where you should be.

Suddenly, the seat you're currently on ripples and shifts bizarrely, a vibrating purr-like noise spreading across your legs as the chair appears to grow a discolored grayish set of shackled arms and grasps your stocking-clad thighs with them, something wet and slimy brushes against your ankles. The mimic relishes your startled yelp and only holds onto you harder, tittering at having fooled you efficiently. That goofy bastard.

" Hm, they're going to be all over you today... " She sighs like a disappointed babysitter.

" Get ready. "

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #21 fire

White Pony Tattoo - Part Two (Fire)

“What? You, how…” John struggled for words. “This is impossible!” He is impossible!

“To a lesser mind maybe. To me, it’s obvious.” Sherlock shrugged, a bored expression on his face.

Now this is unbelievable. How can he be so dismissive and haughty?

John remembered that a lot of people who had rated this shop on the internet had called Sherlock a brilliant tattoo artist but personality-wise a total arsehole.

Guess they have been spot-on, John thought.

“This is terribly rude, you know?” John’s temper rose quickly. Since he had nothing left to lose, having been rejected already, John added for good measure, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an utter dick?”

John faced Sherlock’s piercing stare with blazing eyes. His mouth was set into a fierce line as if John was about to jump head-first into battle, hands clenched.

John had expected that Sherlock would get insulted and just throw him out, but no, something completely different and unexpected happened.

Sherlock laughed.

Genuinely and heartily and actually enjoying the verbal attack.

“Now and then, yes.”

Sherlock’s bored face transformed into one shining with mirth, laugh lines had formed and his stunning eyes had changed their colour into a sunny blue green hue.

“Ah, yes. Here appears the soldier, finally.” Sherlock nodded appreciatively.

John was dumbfounded by Sherlock’s uncanny knowledge about him. How does he do this?

Sherlock stepped around the wooden counter and circled once around John, evaluating every inch of his body like a predator might scrutinize its prey for suitabilty to be devoured.

Unconsciously, John assumed a military stance and that earned him a raised eye brow by Sherlock.

“You’re not cowed.” Sherlock stated. “Good. I love the feisty clients.”

John’s skin shivered from alternating waves of cold and heat, being under Sherlock’s renewed hyper-attention. Something grew inside of him and reached out like a flower stretching towards the sun.

Yet, John refused to feel intimidated, so he raised his chin and fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s, locking them in a visual chokehold.

“Am I now?” John inquired, voice steady just as his hand. “A client? Not boring anymore?”

“Wrong. Twice.” Sherlock clicked his tongue. “Still not a client and I’m still not covering up your awful Virgin Mary tattoo with a boring soldier in full combat gear.”

John was speechless. Again. And hated it. He cannot know this!

John stared at Sherlock, watching him move with the lithe fluidity and enviable grace of a ballet dancer towards a light switch at the wall. Or was it the hidden strength of a prowling jaguar?

John had the distinctive suspicion that Sherlock did this on purpose. He was putting up a show for him. Anyway, the sight was something to behold.

The cozy dimness disappeared when the shop was bathed in harsh white light from a large panel on the ceiling. It shortly hurt John’s eyes and made him blink. The light left no room for vagueness and painted everything in stark contrast and highlighted every angle.

The planes of Sherlock’s angular face now looked like being carved out of Carrara marble and reminded John of Michelangelo’s famous “David” statue.

For the first time since he met the artist, John realized that Sherlock wore a purple dress shirt in the exact same colour as the curtain behind him. The shirt was very tight and hugged Sherlock’s slim but muscular chest like a second skin. It had to be bespoke since there were no wrinkles marring the expensive silk fabric.

Sherlock had left the upper two buttons undone and John caught a glimpse of white smooth skin and the beginning lines of an intricate black tattoo, beguiling and seductive like a promise to explore more. What image might be hidden under there?

Apart from these lines, John saw no other tattoos but Sherlock wore long sleeves that were held together by silver cufflinks in the form a tattoo gun.

Sherlock’s rumbling voice tore John out of these most pleasant musings.

“I offer you a phoenix, rising from the fire. The mystical bird that dies in the flames only to rise again, renewed and stronger than before. This really befits you and your personal resurrection story, don’t you think?”

John swallowed. Is he a mind reader?

“If you accept my offer come back in two days, 2 PM sharp. Now go, my next client arrives in five minutes.” Sherlock made a shooing motion with slender beringed fingers on his dextrous artist’s hand. “You may leave now.”

Shaken and not quite sure was it was that had just happened to him, John found himself back in the pavement in front of the tattoo shop.

Of course, John would come back. He did not have to think about returning to White Pony Tattoo for one single second.

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

[inaconstantstateofchange]

don't come crying - a young!Raphael fic

An incredible rendition of young!Raphael by @shahs1221, here: please go check her out and give her some well-deserved adoration for it!

A/N: I'm gonna be so honest, I have no idea how to tag this in a comprehensible way, relationship-wise. Suffice to say, the Mephisto-lovers are... probably going to appreciate this more than I wish you would, and if you too are fifty leagues down the Niche Forgotten Realms Characters™ rabbit hole, you may also be enticed by the Baalphegor inclusion. 18+, please and thank you.

Summary:

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here. Or: Centuries prior to the events of the game, Raphael's return from a routine fetch quest on Mephistopheles's orders is interrupted by a summons to the throne room. His father has a lesson to impart to him, and he's going to ensure it sticks.

This is part of an ongoing story I've had in the back of my mind for several weeks now. Rather than another WIP longfic, I'll be posting additional segments from this 'verse in a series if/when I add more. If @sky-kiss has any say in it, I'm sure I will.

The only background info you really need is:

All characters are drawn from actual Forgotten Realms lore.

Raphael has recently been plucked from the Material Plane to join his father's court on Cania, in the Nine Hells.

Due to Raphael's stunted development, and an unwillingness to be shamed by his spawn's weakness, Mephistopheles has placed Raphael under the purview of his consort, Baalphegor.

Baalphegor's body is able to produce an empowering draught, too weak to hold much significance to true fiends, but sufficient to bolster Raphael's growth.

Finally, it is a pet headcanon I've incorporated into this 'verse that Baalphegor is the same individual later know as Haarlep, but you are welcome to use your own interpretation.

Raphael stumbles through the extravagant entrance doors to Mephistar, the flesh-shearing winds of Cania grabbing after him as he ducks behind the solid, enchanted stone. He’s done his best to cover all exposed skin, but there is always some that escapes his notice, leaving him bleeding out strength he can ill afford to lose. He loathes these “errands” his father sends him on, tasks purported to test his skill, devotion, and cunning. In reality, it feels more like busywork designed to keep him weak and subservient, reminding him of his contentious existence in the hierarchy and reinforcing his dependence on his father’s dubious goodwill.

The desiccated parchment that proved the focus of this most recent quest crinkles slightly, as he shifts his gaze up, the slight sound echoing across the cavernous hall as he looks with certainty for the being he knows to be waiting for his return, just as always. But — they’re not there.

He furrows his brow, an agitated and disquieting anger growing within his gut. He strides across the marble floor on frostbitten feet he can barely feel, shoving the parchment at the lone figure of Mephistopheles’s chamberlain Barbas, standing at attention at his post, and wearing his habitual sneer as he looks down at Raphael. Raphael ignores it for now, as ever, but files the snub away with all the other insults he will one day be strong enough to return tenfold.

“Where is m—the Lady Baalphegor?” He demands imperiously. They are almost always waiting for him upon his return to bestow his reward. That is the deal, the entire reason he engages in these banal fetch quests even though they are entirely beneath his rank and status. He pushes sharply at the errant thought of the pretty fiction it makes, knowing all the while that his true choice is to bow to his father’s whims or perish. True or not, it does no good to dwell on such matters, not when he will be changing them just as soon as he can manage.

Barbas’s sneer gouges even deeper into his face, growing a biting and nearly gleeful edge as he answers Raphael, “Well, young lord, as your august presence must surely have ascertained, the Lady is certainly not here.”

Raphael can feel his face going blotchy and red, and curses his mortal heritage once again for its constant betrayals. The ice-blue crystals in the eye sockets of the chamberlain harden and glint with glee at the sight. Raphael spins on his heel, marching furiously away, the parchment crumpling further within his fist. Barbas’s mocking voice rings out behind him, “Don’t forget to report to His Grace, little lord! He insisted it be done immediately upon your return.”

Raphael almost turns again to berate him, but manages to stop himself at the last moment, lest he lose even more face from the encounter. He’ll make his report as quickly as possible, then hunt down his wayward… Baalphegor, and claim his rightful recompense. The brilliant halls of Mephistar blur around him as he storms through them, focusing only on making his way to his father’s great hall with haste.

He doesn’t wait to be announced, merely pushes firmly on the doors, both with his physical form and, in a manner only recently attained, with the lashings of his own metaphysical aspect. They creak open, the sound like distant screams even on the well-kept mechanisms, and he steps through without hesitation, words of complaint already springing to his lips, when he stops dead in his tracks.

He’s found Baalphegor.

The succubus – and they are in full succubus form in this moment – is perched indolently on his father’s lap, where he sits on his ostentatious throne. But not just perched, no — impaled, as he finds when, with stricken eyes, he watches them move their body in a smooth, undulating motion up, degree by degree, before dropping back down, brilliant hair falling around them and catching the flickering hellfire-light as it glints off their red-brown skin. Soft, melodious moans are driven from their throat with each movement, as if pushed out by the — by the member within them. Their round breasts shift with the motion, the revitalizing milk within them welling up and dripping down their chest, squandered and disregarded.

He swallows, throat dry, his eyes and chest burning in stark opposition with one another.

His father casts an apathetic glance across the hall, and his eyes alight on Raphael, a cruel smirk curling at his lips. “Ah, the returning triumphant! What have you brought me this time?” His voice is nothing but mocking, no attempt made to couch his disregard for his unwanted and unloved spawn.

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. Everything within him is raging at the broken contract, even as it boils with jealousy at the manhandling of something that is his, and it is only the barest dregs of his staunch self-preservation that manage to keep him from attempting something truly foolish. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here.

He holds the parchment, now looking rather worse for wear, out before him on a finely trembling hand. He searches for the words he needs in a mind nearly whited out by rage.

“I… your cult in Waterdeep sends their obeisance, y–your Grace.” He curses his tongue for its fumbling, driving home further how well his father’s ploy is working to discomfit him.

“Oh,” Mephistopheles waves a careless hand. “That collection of rabble. You will leave it with my steward.”

Raphael ducks his head a bare inch, keeping his eyes away from Baalphegor as much as he can, and turns to leave.

His father’s voice rings out after him before he has completed even half his turn, sharpening with the first warning edges of his infamous temper. “Where do you think you are going, whelp? You have not yet been dismissed.”

Raphael turns back to face him, slow and careful, as the true danger of the situation sets in. He has rarely found himself in the presence of his father when these moods strike, and never without at least the tenuous support of Baalphegor behind him. And yet… he meets their gaze now, searching, and the barest fraction desperate, but there is nothing. Their red eyes meet his without flinching, cold as Cania’s glaciers. Trickles of the subtly shimmering draught spilling from their breasts have reached down to their hips now, soaking into the thatch of hair between their legs.

He tears his eyes away and forces his attention back to the far greater threat, scrambling for an answer that will satisfy his father.

“My apologies, your Grace.” The epithet comes easier this time, its passage eased by his awareness of his own precarious position. “I misunderstood your direction, and wished only to carry out your will with utmost alacrity.”

Mephistopheles rests his chin insouciantly on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is sardonic and shows no signs of the ongoing actions of the succubus on his lap. “Oh very nicely salvaged, whelp. My wishes, however, are for you to remain just where you are, and appreciate the lesson I’ve prepared for you.”

Raphael swallows, the boiling heat within him growing fiercer, rage intertwined with other, less-savory feelings.

With little warning, Mephistopheles moves his hand to entangle within Baalphegor’s tresses, pulling the succubus fiercely down onto him as he wrenches their head back against his shoulder. A tremulous cry breaks from their throat, and Raphael only barely keeps himself from starting forward at the sound.

Mephistopheles brings his free hand forward and toys with Baalphegor’s breasts, pushed forward into the air from their current position. He twists pitilessly at them, prompting yet more cries as the liquid inside spills out in greater quantities, splashing, wasted, against the smooth skin of Baalphegor’s stomach. It runs in rivulets onto the throne, and down, to collect into puddles on the floor of the grand hall.

Raphael feels his stomach turn even as his mouth, well-trained by association, waters, unhindered by every other horrible aspect of this waking nightmare.

Mephistopheles wipes his hand dismissively on Baalphegor’s hair, leaving behind silvery streaks, then draws them up by their hair and hip, beginning to move within them in earnest as he continues his reproach. Raphael wants to close his eyes, his ears, every one of his senses, but knows such an admission of weakness would be worse than his undoing.

“You’ve prevailed enough upon my largess, and I am no longer willing to indulge your weakness.” Mephistopheles sneers. “You’ve proven more fortunate than any other cambion within the Hells, but from now on you will make your own way, or fail. Such is the way of Baator.”

The fires around the hall burn fiercer in alignment with their lord as he looks down at his unloved progeny. “Should you find yourself desperate for one last taste to stay your appetites, however, you may lap it from the floor like the whelp you are, and thank me for the concession.”

Raphael feels like he is become hellfire himself, the hatred he knew within him for his progenitor stoked to dizzyingly fierce new heights. Jaw aching with the effort of withholding the flood of vitriol within him, he grits out, “My thanks for your… beneficence. I would not dream of prevailing upon it further.”

Mephistopheles snorts, dismissive, then turns his attentions back to Baalphegor, by all accounts having forgotten Raphael’s entire existence.

Raphael stands, Baalphegor’s unfeeling eyes burning into his, until he is finally – finally – dismissed. All the while, the ambitions within him, already cast in carbon, are pressurized further and further, until they are as fearsome diamond, reflecting the blood and fire around him.

He will not remain his father’s lesser for long. He will see him deposed, and make him suffer for these indignities heaped upon his person.

By Asmodeus, he swears it.

[a-cure-for-hysteria]

Crowley has been thinking about gay angels fucking for a long time.

So, I see a lot about how angels are asexual until they make an effort, or whatever. Sure. Well, Crowley has made that effort. In his apartment, he has - as we know - the gay angel sex statue.

Here's the original, the statue it was based on:

From what I understand, statues of naked men wrestling was a pretty common thing in ancient Rome and Greece - arguably very gay cultures that definitely appreciated the 'wrestling' for the aesthetics, not just the sport. Now, angels - as far as we know - do not wrestle. The statue didn't have angel wings, either. If we're gonna spin some lore around Crowley's statue, we must assume it's a commission piece. At some point between ancient Rome and season 1, he saw the wrestler statue and told some sculptor he wanted that, but with angel wings on the 'wrestlers'. He then put it in his hallway, shamelessly. He only knows one angel (we assume), and he would never willingly have any other visitors. He saw the wrestlers, thought "that's gay - I like it, I'm gonna have someone make a statue like that portraying me and Aziraphale". So, Crowley not only thinks about fucking Aziraphale, his desire to do so was such that he needed artwork made about it. Can you imagine being dripping with demonic lust for 6000 years for someone who hints at you all the time that they might be into it, but you abstain to keep the both of you safe and... Yikes. When these two dumbasses finally get around to it, it's gonna be nasty. And we won't even see it, it will only be implied, because Good Omens (the show) isn't like that. Unfortunately.

[corvidcircus]

Imagine

if you will...

massaging your Sparda boy of choice

Dante

Swedish/deep tissue/reflexology

has to trust you quite a bit to allow one

suuuuper cocky, making stupid puns and jokes

it's mainly to cover his nervousness, this man has had very little comforting touch for... a while

probably likes faintly scented or unscented oils/lotions

fruity or floral scents screw masculinity i wanna smell pretty -dante at some point probably

use more pressure. more. double it. more than that. a little bit more.

this is like trying to unwind knots from gilgamesh over here

mans is tense

will fight falling asleep to enjoy the feeling

once he gets into it, expect lots of noise

moans, grunts, sighs, ect.

purring? purring.

if you laugh he'll probably play them up a lot

might ask for suggest another one after a hard job

Vergil

deep tissue/sports/shiatsu

will only accept one from someone he wholly trusts

ok kids, can you say touch starved?

skittish, jumpy, you'd absolutely have to ease him into it

NO ACUPUNCTURE

plz take your time with Mr. Grumpy

his knots have knots

pov: you're massaging a marble statue

would probably like earthy or minty fragrances,

very? confused??? as to why this feels? so good??

eventually starts making quiet little sighs and groans

purring you feel but can't hear

makes a thin keening whine when you finally relax the gordian knot between his shoulders, will vehemently deny doing so until long after he is six feet under

you will have to look for the signs to see if he needs wants another

Nero

Thai/sports massage

more open to this, but will definitely not let a stranger do so

not overly touch starved, will appreciate the gentle touch immensely, though

boi is very energetic, wants to pull his weight do something

thai is a very active massage, using (assisted) yoga, stretching and pressing

with less demonic blood, some injuries are left sore or tense after healing (especially joint injuries)

will not mind incense or oils, as long as they aren't very strong

prefers calming mellow floral scents, or slightly spicy, earthy ones depending entirely on his mood lol

when relaxed, lets out little trills somewhere between a sigh and a purr (nobody tell him he hasn't noticed yet)

most likely of the three to zone out during this kind of thing

if it helped, will point-blank ask you if you are willing to do it again before instantly turning bright red at nico's heckling

Bonus: V

hot rock

not very comfortable with touch as is, will only agree to one from a partner or close friend

please be gentle with our goth boi, he is but two days old

likes warm, natural scents

unlike the rest of this list, is physically and emotionally human, meaning heat helps

keep skinny goth kid warm, relax muscles, and soothe pain?

hi, this is my first imagine/headcanon thing, plz lemme know if you like it/want another

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: "Twilight of the Apprentice"

The shadow of Malachor looms in the very highly-anticipated Season 2 finale.

Right, so, technically I've already liveblogged this before and you can go here for some of my more, ah, realtime reactions.

(Spoiler alert: There was a LOT of screaming.)

So for this and other episodes that I've already reacted to before I'm mostly going to be focusing more on commentary and meta observations and also my favorite bits and moments, music and animation, that kind of stuff.

Let's dive in!

Ooh right off the bat we have the more serious version of the "Shenanigans" cue.

I know this exchange here between Ahsoka and Rex is a callback to when they first met. So a heart stab for TCW fans.

One thing I notice about Malachor right away is how dead it looks, even from space. Just a featureless plain gray marble.

We get down to the surface and it's even eerier. In the middle of a giant crater there's this wide, unnaturally glasslike smooth plain, only broken up by weird towering stone monoliths.

Malachor's whole aesthetic leans very heavily into the idea and theme of descending into the Underworld, into a place of darkness and shadows where the light can't reach. Somewhere underground, somewhere full of devils and demons lurking in wait, with many hidden traps and temptations to stumble over.

Like the one Ezra triggers by touching the monolith lol.

This really isn't a survivable fall but whatever.

The Sith Temple is actually kind of beautiful in a stark, harsh, Gothic kind of way.

This whole environment is really excellently creepy and ethereal. The ceiling above recalls a night sky, the holes like pinprick stars casting beams of light down. The palate is almost colorless, mostly grays and blacks with some splashes of red and white. The lighting is muted and dim, heavy contrast with the shadows. The music relies on dissonant chords. The sound effects are full of watery rumbles, voices whisper quietly that apparently only Ezra can hear.

Oh and there's the scorched ground and statues of people frozen in distress, like the casts at Pompeii.

"To defeat your enemy, you have to understand them." A sentiment echoed and repeated later by both Maul and Thrawn, and inspired by the writings of Sun Tzu in his Art of War. You have to figure your enemy out, learn how they operate and what motivates them, in order to beat them. "Knowledge" is another word they keep using this episode, our heroes need to seek knowledge about the Sith in order to figure out how to defeat them.

I'm still not quite sure what knowledge they were actually able to gain during this trip. Certainly the Force did basically slap the truth of Vader's identity in Ahsoka's face, to get her to confront it and break through her denial. There's maybe a lesson to be learned about not seeking quick, easy solutions to one's problems, which wouldn't fully sink in until "Twin Suns". (Ezra's obsession with finding "the key to destroy the Sith" can be traced straight back to the Malachor plot thread.) There's definitely a cautionary tale and warning about the nature of the Dark Side, that Ezra completely ignores due to his guilt and shame and self-blame.

On the surface level, technically, the mission does accomplish what it set out to do. All the Inquisitors we know about wind up dead, Vader no longer has any interest in harassing them, they keep the base safe. But boy the cost of it all.

It's probably really fitting that the finale takes place here on Malachor, a dead world with nothing left but stone remains and a creepy Eldritch Sith Temple housing a superweapon that must have killed everyone and everything on the surface, in the vein of The Deplorable Word or a nuclear bomb metaphor. The victory is hollow and meaningless, because there is no one left alive to appreciate it. Likewise our heroes' "victory" is pyrrhic and empty, they kill the Inquisitors but take more and heavier losses in return.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. We haven't even met Eighth yet.

Hi Eighth!

He's not really developed or explored at all and is really just a generic episode-specific antagonist and ancillary to Seventh and Fifth, but he serves his narrative purpose in splitting the party.

Kanan's worried shout for Ezra after he falls. <3

Ezra looking very nervous here, don't blame him.

HI MAUL!

Oh man, the pre-finale trailers spoiled Maul's appearance and fandom was bonkers about it. (The pre-finale anticipation and hype was crazy man, so much over-analyzing and hypothesizing. There was a Bingo Card we could fill out with our theories. This one was mine.) Not a small amount of people were speculating about the possibility of Maul corrupting and/or abducting Ezra at Malachor.

I was one of them. Obviously. Still a smidge bummed it didn't come to pass, just imagine how devastating that would have been on top of everything else.

Anyway, Maul pretends to be frail and weak and old and harmless like some kind of sick parody of the scene in ESB when Yoda's introduced to Luke.

The appropriate reaction to creepy old men lurking in the shadows lol.

Maul plays on Ezra's compassion at first, and then tempts him with what they came for, "knowledge". Ezra keeps a guard up, but cautiously allows Maul to lead him. I think he's figuring he's going to play this by ear like he did back in "Brothers of the Broken Horn", so he's not giving out his name or really trusting Maul yet. That would come later.

Lol, Maul has met Jabba, he knows full well Ezra's playing him.

There's some excellent tense music for the chase with Eighth Brother but I'm not going to really talk about those segments much since, frankly, all the interesting stuff is happening in the Maul and Ezra scenes.

They're in the roots of the Temple now, very Mines of Moria-esque vibe down here with the columns.

Maul still trying to break Ezra's guard down, playing himself up as an enemy of the Inquisitors and the Sith (even though for all intents and purposes Maul still is a Sith) and I love how awkward things get when Ezra asks him if he was a Jedi, he's all like, "ERRRRRRMMMM."

Talking about his Tragic Backstory though unlocks Ezra's empathy and Ezra lets slip his own grievances with the Empire that Maul immediately tries to manipulate to his advantage, sensing Ezra's anger about it.

Boy if I had a nickel for every time my favorite shows explored the "creepy older villain forcibly trying to make a younger hero their apprentice" plotline...

(I would actually have three nickels now because the Big Hero 6 cartoon also decided to do that plot YOU GUYS GOTTA FIGURE OUT SOMETIME THAT THIS PREMISE IS BASICALLY CATNIP FOR ME.)

Anyway, at this point I think Maul's mostly just using Ezra as a means to an end, he's not planning to kidnap him yet, just needs him for the doors. It's really interesting that whereas the Jedi Temple on Lothal emphasized the individual journey and separated the master and padawan, the Sith Temple forces them into kind of a codependent symbiosis--if one betrays the other like Sith are wont to do, the prize is lost and both of them die--making them have to use teamwork and a certain level of trust.

Chopper stealing Eighth's TIE to use against him is pretty awesome, admittedly.

Maul gives Ezra an abridged lesson in Sith/Dark Side philosophy: Channel your passions--your fear, anger, hate, any strong emotions etc.--through the Force for a lot of quick easy power. Ezra expresses misgivings but attempts it and this time does not immediately pass out, though he's clearly tired by the end of it.

Oh man the sound design here.

Also love that annoyed look Maul gives when Ezra complains about their progress. XD

"Yeah I'm killing you after this, I don't have to deal with this shit."

Watching the expressions on Maul's face is a trip, you can see the subtle little flashes of conniving and triumph.

Aaaaaand every time Maul puts his hands on Ezra I still feel an immediate uncomfortable protective rage. You leave him alone you cockroach. >:(

Enjoy the last vestiges of Ezra's innocence folks, this episode is what shatters that to pieces.

Always loved this sequence, it feels very evocative of the Cave of Wonders segment of Aladdin and also several scenes in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

SO much symbolism with the precipices and pits here.

Love this music cue too.

I already noted in a different post way back when that something subtle I love is how Maul's Force Grip catch around Ezra is clearly much rougher than how Kanan has caught him. Ezra's tiny panicked glances down are great too.

So riiiiiiiiiight about here is when I think Maul decided he was going to keep Ezra, you can see in his expression the mean satisfaction when he grabs the holocron, like he's gotten what he wanted. Ezra gets a prolonged moment of regretting all of his life's decisions before Maul finally decides to haul him up.

Look I know fandom makes fun of the helicopter sabers but I never minded them so this is my only comment about them.

Gah, Ezra's innocent little uncertain expressions here always hurt me.

You know, given the added context of TCW Seaason 7, along with the fact that they had already clearly integrated the unfinished arcs into the background continuity while writing Rebels, AHSOKA YOU SHOULD HAVE REALLY WARNED THEM ABOUT MAUL.

Cool shot is cool.

I haven't talked about the music much because it doesn't really stand out until the climax but it's appropriately menacing and dramatic and ominous, as it should be.

Sam Whitwer's vocal progression through the episode is also amazing, along with the slow shedding of his hood it's like Maul is revitalizing himself, reinvigorated, reclaiming his strength and purpose.

He found something (Ezra) to hang his legacy on and seized it. Or tried to.

Ezra sounds just a bit desperate to convince Kanan, this is likely a product of the straining tensions between them. Maul, meanwhile, takes full advantage of Ahsoka and Kanan's uncertainty to suggest using the holocron to activate the obelisk, not telling them of course that it will turn on the Sith superweapon. Which he's counting on to kill Vader and the Inquisitors.

Ezra's theme in cello bass here, as Kanan decides to trust Ezra.

Almost forgot about Seventh's ID-9 Seekers, didn't we?

Love Kanan's protective bitchiness towards Maul this whole episode. The conflict between him and Ezra is just a little bit contrived, Kanan's been harder on Ezra recently yes, but it also feels a smidge rushed. Then again Ezra's been fixating on trying to solve the fundamental problem of the Inquisitors possibly as a way to assuage his grief over losing his parents, like Anakin he thinks if he can maybe just get enough power he can prevent it from happening again, so he's letting his impulsiveness reign in the quest to find "the key to destroying the Sith" and it's making him have a repeat of "Vision of Hope" where he trusts the wrong person.

Ezra's bright little, "Trust me." here hurts so much because Kanan does trust Ezra, that's the only reason why he decided they would stay and then it all goes HORRIBLY WRONG *SOBS*.

This is a nice sentiment and all Ahsoka, and it shows how much faith you have in Ezra's goodness and Kanan's ability as a teacher BUT ALSO YOU SHOULD HAVE WARNED THEM.

Ezra's out of sight for like a minute and Maul's already picking at his insecurities and need for validation and trying to get him to murderize Seventh.

The momentary pride we feel that Ezra can't bring himself to strike in anger and hate vanishes when Maul tests the veeeeeery limits of the Y7 rating.

Ooof.

I hate this man I hate this man I hate this man I hate him so much. He snarls at Ezra for hesitating, berates his merciful Jedi instincts, and then picks up with that soft manipulative fake concerned tone again. He always uses this tone when he's trying to manipulate Ezra, we'll be watching for it next season, trust me.

Hhggnnl Maul glancing up and seeing the shadow passing over the gaps in the ceiling, he knows Vader's on his way. And he's definitely already made the decision that he's taking Ezra.

Love this brief triumphant cue here, for a moment it looks like they've won.

The matching "Oh crap" expressions on Kanan and Ahsoka's faces when Maul says, "You mean... my apprentice?" they are just a hair too late to prevent disaster.

Yeah so this moment pretty much traumatized fandom. For months.

DUEL OF THE FATES BABY!

And a very unhinged Maul getting a little too excited about using the Sith superweapon to kill everyone.

The presence in the holocron is likely a trace of the Sith Lord who created the superweapon, Darth Tanis.

Sound design appreciation moment, just LISTEN to it.

"The power will be mine! Ezra will be mine!" Very hinged. Much sane. If you had waited maybe five minutes, Maul, and resisted the urge to murder everyone you could have actually had what you wanted! But such is the nature of the Dark Side, the quick and easy way offers fast solutions but hollow ones, in the grasping for what you want it slips through your fingers.

ALL MAUL HAD TO DO WAS NOT TRY TO MURDER KANAN AND AHSOKA AND EZRA PROBABLY WOULD HAVE GONE WITH HIM. At the very least Kanan might have tentatively let Maul hang around. This is the tragedy of Maul's life, he is the king of self-sabotage.

[Insert ramble about the symbolism of Kanan taking up a Temple Guardian mask and how that relates to his role as Ezra's protector.]

I don't remember I think there was maybe one or two people who complained that Kanan shouldn't be able to beat Maul here, but for the most part fandom was agreed that this was awesome.

:(((

Please do note: Maul just kind of... assumed Ezra would use the Sith superweapon when he learned what it was. Ezra's too pure for that, alas.

WELL THAT'S NOT ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING.

Ezra sassing Vader like Kanan sassed the Grand Inquisitor back in "Call To Action" lol.

And there goes Ezra's blaster-saber. :(

I've been a very good girl conserving my limited photos so now you get a lot of Ezra's terrified face.

The Ahsoka-Vader confrontation is pretty much perfect, even for someone who never really watched TCW and doesn't really have the same level of investment as a long time fan would have. Even without the context the emotions and drama come across well.

Ezra veeeeeeerrrrrrrry slowly and carefully trying to scoot away from Vader always makes me giggle.

Vader threatening to torture the information out of Ezra if Ahsoka won't give up any remaining Jedi she knows about. :(((

:((((((((

Still love how TCW recontextualized Ahsoka's angry, "I am no Jedi!" by reframing it as, "I can't be a Jedi anymore, you took that away from me, you killed the Order I loved and wanted to return to!"

I think I heard someone trying to describe Vader here as, "Picture an upright locomotive with a lightsaber." and that's apt, Vader is so heavy and powerful with every movement and swing. This is Vader in his prime, unleashed, against an opponent he won't hold back on and it is glorious.

Chopper guiding Kanan by the hand. :(((

Ezra's horrified realization. :(((((

Small note: Ezra's been nursing his right wrist this whole time, possibly sprained or burned a bit when Vader destroyed his saber. Also a nice parallel to ESB and Luke.

Ahsoka does her best but you can tell she's tiring here.

Some gorgeous animation as the Temple begins to seal back up.

How annoyed do you think Vader must have been to have a blind half-trained ex-Padawan and a scrawny 16-year-old kid managing to fight his Force Pull on the holocron?

Ahsoka swoops in for a Big Damn Heroes moment and breaks open his mask. You're welcome for the nightmares, kids.

Hello so many parallels to Luke and Return of the Jedi.

:(((((

Very effective bringing the orchestra full to the fore with almost no other sound or dialogue here. This whole sequence is brutally powerful.

Kanan and Hera's heartbreaking reunion. The sorrow on Rex's face, feeding into Ezra's clear guilt. Maul surviving to menace us another day. Vader limping off, out of the wreckage of the Temple. Tracking the convor as it flies towards the vague form of Ahsoka descending further into the Temple. The cut to the Ghost with everyone's silent worry and sorry. And closing on Ezra's murderous Kubrick Stare as he gets the holocron to open.

This finale is on people's favorite episode lists for a reason, lol. It's so dramatic and game-changing and tightly-written, leaves us perfectly fuming in anticipation for more.

You know how shows promise that, "Nothing will be the same anymore." in taglines to trick you into watching for the Next Big Twist? Rebels actually delivers on that promise.

It's an amazing ride.

Overall Season Thoughts:

Season Two is stronger than Season One in a lot of aspects. The animation is even prettier with the added budget, the stories remain well-balanced and woven together even with the added breathing room of twenty-two episodes to Season One's fifteen. The show takes advantage of that extra room to build up the finale, especially in the last few episodes, to very good effect. The expanded scope means we're facing bigger and greater threats, and also widening our cast, and yet none of the guest stars overshadow or overpower our mains, who are given plenty of chances to develop and shine.

Aside from one minor misstep in "Blood Sisters", this season is solid through and through.

Onwards to Season Three!

[theinsanitycarnival]

Note: Hello, so yes I'm planning for at most three more chapters because I am on a deadline and I have sewing projects to work on but nonetheless I had way too much fun writing this. Again all constructive criticism is welcomed.

A Trip to Alagadda | The Anguished court

I found myself asleep once more, for what seemed to be in the prison of my own mind. 

There was nothing far as the eye could see, eternal darkness wrapping the forever stretching length of what the mortal mind could muster. In the distance as if through a thin veil, I heard whispers in long dead tongues all merging together in a moment’s thought. Gentle child’s voices singing from far away, too near yet too far away to reach. 

Perchance it all was a dream, that sea, that beach, that city. Perchance it was all a fragment of my exhausted mind, perhaps I would awake once more in that dark, cold cellar, face ink-stained, hair tangled in the incohesive ramblings of the ripped-out pages of my book. 

But it all was eerily familiar, too familiar to brush off as a dream. 

There was nothing to go to

Nothing to come from

There simply was nothing

So he was here. 

I awoke once more but not in the damp, cold cellar. I instead found myself wrapped in silken sheets, so dark I thought I was swallowed up by that forsaken ocean. There was hardly any colour in the chamber, glimpses of moonlight too brief and too far between to make sufficient light. 

From quick glimpses, the chamber itself looked like a dilapidated Cathedral, the marble cracked the painted ceilings derelict, the statues long forsaken. There was something almost ethereal about it, little bits of ash floating in the air. 

It was cold. 

So bitter cold. 

The bitter air smelt of burned books, on its waves lingered the ancient smell of neglected olive pastures, of wine preserved with terebinth resin, of salty shores brushing on Greek sands…

…

He sat by the side of the bed. 

The white porcelain locked in the face of permanent anguish, pain radiating in a could of misery surrounding him. 

His raven robes flowed in the wind from a window left ajar.

The black holes of his eyes peered with utmost diligent patience. 

“So you’re the Anguished Lord then,” I finally spoke, voice horse and tired. 

He said nothing for a while determined to look at me. 

“Good morning to you too mon cher,” He spoke, his voice echoing and cold. 

“Cut the niceties how and why am I here?” 

“No appreciation as always, I see,” 

“No Dýo, you see I did not think we were on speaking terms after our last encounter, so imagine my utmost pleasant surprise when I find myself here for whatever reason, with no recollection of what happened, how I got here, where I am, who are these people. Yet, oh, how lovely one and only thing that is familiar here is you,”

There was silence. 

“What do you need me here for Dýo?,” I asked bluntly. 

“I was missing you–” 

“Up!” I put a finger to his porcelain lips. “No,” 

“Fine, I need you here,” 

“Why?”

“I–...” He struggled. “I…” It was clear the words he couldn’t muster. His pride-too big and hard to swallow. 

“Go on,” I couldn’t hide a cocky smile. 

“I may need you to perform a series of actions that in the likely event of their successful outcome will benefit me,” 

“No,”

The frustration on his unchanging face was palpable. 

“Let me help you… You–”

“I,”

“Need,”

“Need,” 

“My,”

“Your,” 

“Help,”

“H…” 

“Go on say it,” 

“... Zeus almighty… I need you. I need your help,” He put his hand on my leg, leaning in. 

“What for?”

“You see… we’re all finding ourselves in a predicament here. There is a king– an idiot who can barely string a sentence together, but a king non the less, is gravely sick, and I and the other Lords have been tasked with finding someone who can cure him,”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“About… what a good year in human time… Here time passes differently,” 

“As is everything…”

“What?” 

“Nothing, go on,” 

“Well… Many physicians tried many physicians failed. The other Lords have been shovelling them in like manure in the hope one can cure the king… well none can… doctors from everywhere– so far none can,” 

“And… I’m rather afraid the answer as to what happens to those who can’t?” 

“...Ugh… It’s hard to put into words eloquently enough for your human brain to comprehend,”

“Hmm, thank you for the sprinkle of condescension– but I digress. What makes you think I can help your… king? I am as you like to say but a mere mortal physician, you know colds, broken bones, fevers, plagues. I do find it unlikely that if physicians from countless worlds have been brought to aid and have subsequently failed I could succeed,”

He leaned in closer. 

“My darling,” He put his porcelain cold hand on mine. “Do you not think that if I thought you incompetent I wouldn’t have brought you here?” 

“Well if that isn’t the greatest compliment you’ve ever given me,”

“You’re welcome,” He smiled. 

There again was silence. 

“Well… is this where you’re actually from?” I broke the silence looking around. 

“Pht! No of course not I told you–” Dyo put a hand on his chest flabbergasted. 

“Well, it does seem more plausible than you being a gift from ancient Greek gods doesn’t it?” 

“Why do you have to take the magic out of everything?” 

“I’m a doctor I have to, you remember the plague and how far believing in magic got all the other doctors,” 

“Such a bold statement coming from a you,”

“My faith has nothing to do with this discussion,”

“Ah, yes, pardon me Mr Jerusalem, how is your crusader armour fairing?”

“Enough…,”

“So, if not from here how did you end up here?” 

“Ah, that’s a long one,” 

“I’m sure your brilliant mind can condense it,”

“Well, when you pissed off back to France to rot away in whatever basement it is you live in, I decided to go back to England to write some plays with Billy. Did I tell you about how he completely stole my script for Othello, that bastard–”

“Dyo, don’t get sidetracked,” 

Deep breath “Aaaanyway, I arrived only to find the theatre under partial restoration and completely empty! There were some beggars in the construction rubble and I was like ‘Where’s Billy’ And guess what the bugger has been dead for three years now! Did you know that? I didn’t. Right and so I go backstage to see if before his death he managed to steal more of my scripts, and maybe fiddle with some costumes– when like a speck of fire this thing catches my eye. In the corner, on the wall, there hangs a Japanese tapestry, and I’m like I hadn’t seen that before. And so I go up to it and I’m like that’s really strange, and so I peel it back, and guess what in the wall there is a passage downward, long spiralled stairs,”

Like an ocean wave, the image of spiralled stairs going downward into the dark oblivion hit my mind. Too vivid to be a dream.  

“Right? And so I keep going, and going thinking damn what else has that bastard been hiding from me. And I get to the bottom, and there is this giant locked door, with some alchemy equation. And so I solved it because I am the single smartest –”

“Dyo,”

“Shhhhhhh,” He placed his finger to my lips. “And so I solve it and it lights up, sparkling ‘pshhhhhhhh… boom!’ and it swings open and as I step inside I find myself in this garb and in my mask, and the rest is history,” 

“So this is where you’ve been the last five years?”

“It’s been five years? Good Lord the time here really does move quickly,” 

“I’ve been searching for you,”

“Not like you’ve been missing me though?” I did not answer. “I didn’t think so,” 

“... So I assume you did not bring me here to keep me in bed,” I sat up. 

“Right, so are you willing to help me?” 

“Supposing I am not annihilated, yes, however, I must ask what will I be getting out of this?” 

“Well, assuming you’re not… and I know you wouldn’t be… I promise not to harass you for a full century,”

“Century and a half,”

“One-fifth,”

“One-half,”

“One-forth,”

“Dyo I gave you my price take it or leave it’s up to you,” 

“Fine, one hundred and fifty years I promise I will not defame you, try and kill you or in any way harm your personal possessions,” 

“Deal,” I stretched my hand to him, he shook it and nodded. 

“Now let me show you what you’ll be wearing,” He revealed a garment so pathetically laughable, it was hard to restrain. 

“No,”

“Yes,”

“Listen I built my suit specially to prevent the spread and contamination, your clownish theatre garbs may work for theatre but they do not for actual working,” 

“I’ll take that criticism to heart… But as a physician that I’m presenting to the king you must look the part,”

“Trust me next to you I’ll blend right in,” His face slacked. “Where are my sack and staff?”

“At least keep the shiny boots,”

[sleepingdeath-light]

marble danish cookie + segmented smut alphabet ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (part of an event)

letters used ; c / f / i

masterlist(s) ; here / here

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

C — Cum

anything about cum.

Perhaps due to his family’s noble history and his upbringing as their heir apparent, Marble Danish Cookie doesn’t like the idea of his cum going to waste and much prefers to finish inside you where possible — be that in your mouth, your pussy (if afab), or your ass, he’s not particularly picky. That being said he can also appreciate the sight of his seed coating your face so he may break his own rule every now and then.

F — Favourite Position

self explanatory

Most of the time it’s a toss up between missionary and the mating press, with him being on the top either way, because he loves being able to see your face as he absolutely wrecks you over and over again until you’re both too spent to continue. That being said, you want to put on a show for him and treat him to some reverse cowgirl once in a while then he’s certainly not going to turn you away — he quite enjoys the view, after all.

I — Intimacy

how romantic are they?

This depends on where he is in life. In his younger years, before the fall of his noble house and when he was still the beloved heir apparent, his approach to sex involved a lot more wooing and traditional displays of romance than what he’s capable of performing nowadays. It was playful, fun, and his unshakeable confidence in his abilities as a lover was always proven to be well-placed no matter the kink, position, or scene you two were partaking in because he had the means and the time to learn for you — after all, his family’s status meant that he had little else to focus on beside his preparations for inheriting the family name, and you.

After the fall of his house, however, his approach to sex is more focused on the carnal pleasures of the act itself rather than the intimacy it can provide for you both as lovers. He’s rough, he’s effective, he knows what he wants from you and he knows your body so well that he’s always able to get it once you allow him into your bed, and he never fails to leave you wanting more (more of him, more of his voice, more of his body, and more of what he can bring). But he’s very rarely romantic, at least in the traditional sense — he cares for you, obviously, and does what he can to ensure you’re taken care of and recovering after he’s had his fill of you, and he can be remarkably gentle when performing aftercare, but it’s clear that his mind is elsewhere. He’ll make it up to you once he’s reclaimed what’s rightfully his and he’s finally able to rest and focus on you once more… just give him some time.

[thebawdybaldurian]

These drabbles just kept coming (heh) as I finished today’s SFW prompt. I really want to explore Tav’s backstory (a sexual awakening at a bard’s college) but I might just convert it into an original story in its own fantasy universe, so I can actually start producing stuff that is publishable. The first drabble directly follows where the SFW prompt ends and the second one is more post-Netherbrain as Tav and Astarion fuck and suck their way up the Sword Coast looking for a cure for Astarion.

Content Warning: youthful sexual exploration and fantasizing, masturbation, inappropriate use of spells/magic.

Addy closed her eyes, picturing the type of person she’d like to meet, trying to ignore the longing between her thighs. She appreciated the feminine form as well as the male, so if she fell for a man, he would have to be beautiful and gentle and vice versa. She remembered the statue she’d seen during a recent museum trip, sketching with her drawing class. It was of an ancient Elven god, carved expertly into white marble. She’d lingered and done several sketches of him, blushing as she drew the naked parts of him she’d never yet experienced in person. His facial features were soft and elegant, swirling curls atop his head. His body was lithe and muscular, the perfect marriage of the feminine and masculine.

She shifted her thighs again, her wanton desires tingling inside her. She was too shy to talk to anyone at her school and her parents didn’t allow her extra-curricular time. She sought solace from her unfulfilled desires, stealing erotic books from the library. They’d helped her escape her sheltered life and had made her desires bloom even more. She rolled onto her side, letting out a long sigh, and allowed her hand to drift under her pants. She pictured the statue coming alive and touching her, exactly how she touched herself. He would understand her body so intricately, bringing her to ecstasy in moments.

She moaned quietly into the floor, letting her hand explore herself. She wondered how much better someone else’s hand would feel. She stopped her probing for a moment, her mind suddenly focusing on an idea. That idiot Jorgan had been good for something other than a terrible meal today. If her parents wanted her to practice magic all night, she would, though in an entirely different way. She got up, locking her door and pulling off all her clothes. She brushed her fingers against her womanly body, curves finally forming on her a few years ago. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers completely over her.

She focused on her conjuration, smiling when the faintest of glows penetrated the darkness of her covers. She flexed the mage hand’s fingers with a thought, moving them closer to her body so she could trace down her curves again. “Oh…” she gasped, as the fingers brushed against her clit. Something about the arcane energy of the hand felt so much different than her own. She teased the fingers around her, her muscles flexing with pleasure, letting out a soft whimper as her concentration lapsed or the spell duration had ended.

She quickly conjured it again, focusing her attentions more urgently. She writhed against the hand, rolling on her side again so she could quiet her moans in her pillow. She felt an ecstatic climax, her entire body trembling with pleasure. She caught her breath, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as her orgasm ebbed. Someone knocked loudly on her door, trying the handle. “I hope you are working on your spells in there!” Her mother called from the other side of the door.

“I am,” Addy yelled back with a smile.

She spent the rest of the evening doing her own type of magical experimentation, combining Grease and Enlarge spells, Haste and Silence, and her favorite and final of the night, a Mage Hand with the lightest of Thunderwaves. The vibrations left her breathless and screaming into her pillow. She lay panting under the covers, deciding to stop by the bard’s college after classes tomorrow to see about their application and scholarship requirements. If she was going to make use of her magical abilities, she wanted to do it on her own terms.

During Tav and Astarion’s post Netherbrain adventures to Luskan, they spend some time at a museum in Neverwinter.

Content and Warnings: Sensual touching, PIV sex, oral sex.

“Does my hair look anything like that?” Astarion brushed his fingers through his curls, looking at the statue of the ancient Elven god. This particular wing of the Museum of Neverwinter was filled with ancient statuary. Tav blushed a little, well acquainted with the statue. There was the slightest resemblance between the two of them, aside from the curls carved so expertly atop their heads. They both had the same strong, but beautiful facial features and lithe frames. Perhaps she saw all her old fantasies manifested in her future husband, the first time they’d met on the beach. She was as utterly besotted with him now as she had been then.

“A little,” she smiled, nudging closer to him. “Yours are much softer and not just because they aren’t made of stone.”

They usually walked everywhere arm in arm, but with all the fragility of the artifacts in the museum, they were forced to navigate through the exhibits slightly apart. She heard the elderly docent behind them tut quietly as Tav leaned in to kiss him. “Actually, I used to fantasize about this statue when I was younger,” she gave his ass a playful squeeze, the docent tutting louder.

“Really?” He grinned widely, bending forward slightly to read the plaque. “H’saar, one of the earliest iterations of the Elven fertility god. Doesn’t look very fertile to me,” he eyed the statue’s subdued member.

“They don’t ever sculpt huge cocks on them,” Tav giggled, pulling Astarion away before the docent sounded any more complaints of their behavior in her throat.

“I suppose you are right,” he mused as they moved on to the next display, another nude figure with a subdued penis. “Probably to keep little minxes Iike you from fondling the statues,” he teased.

“Oh, we still would,” she teased back, sticking her tongue out at him. “Why do you think they put them behind a rope?”

He glanced back at the Elven god for a moment, then pulled her into a small alcove. “So what did you think about…with the statue?” He purred, pressing her up the against the wall. He kissed her, nipping her tongue gently.

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she blushed. She walked them back out of the alcove, whispering in his ear. “I thought about him coming to life…and fingering me, just like you do…”

“Mmmm,” he grinned devilishly, his eyes already looking for the exit. “Go on.”

“I’d be sketching here alone, at night. They let us come here quite often and after hours to practice our figure drawing if we were short on models. Sometimes I’d start touching myself and he’d come to life before my eyes. Or I’d be so engrossed in my sketching and would suddenly feel his hands on me. They were just the silly fantasies of someone who had never had sex before.”

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he blushed. “I actually kind of like it. Being so horny you bring a statue to life.”

“You are my statue brought to life,” she pulled him close again. “You are perfect. You are everything I ever dreamed of.”

“Would you let me be your god tonight?” He kissed her again, stopping them in the middle of the floor.

“We are closing in ten minutes,” the docent loudly cleared her throat.

“I can hold very still,” he whispered and gave the woman a dirty look, pulling Tav along with him.

“More role playing?” Tav grinned widely.

“And more sketches of myself to look at,” he added.

“I didn’t bring any of my supplies though.”

“I bet they having something in the gift shoppe,” he motioned with his head as they neared the exit.

They could barely take their hands and eyes off one another as they browsed the small shop full of tchotchkes, replicas, and faux relics. They grabbed a large sheet of vellum and a charcoal set, in addition to a faux gold crown that would make a perfect substitute for the statue’s. They hurried back to the inn, Tav grabbing a quick bite to eat as they walked. They began quickly getting undressed, Astarion completely and Tav remaining in her dress. She tore the vellum into smaller sheets as Astarion perfected his godly pose, the faux crown perched perfectly atop his curls.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, as she did when she usually sketched, taking some deep breaths to steady her excited hands. He struck his pose, mimicking the statue, still able to see her in his periphery. “Try not to get too distracted by my larger cock,” he joked as she set her charcoal to the paper with a soft scratch.

“Statues aren’t supposed to talk,” she teased back.

Her eyes tracked over his perfect form as her hand flowed across the page, almost able to sketch him from memory. She smudged the charcoal with her finger to create a dark background, transferring it to her skin as she stroked herself idly. He stood as still as possible, the soft scratching of the charcoal and her quiet breaths quite soothing. A buzzing fly soon invaded their fantasy, Astarion trying to shoo it away with only his weak breath. “There’s a fly,” he finally swatted at it with his hand. She chuckled slightly, climbing out of bed as the fly continued to buzz around him, landing on his hair.

“I think it’s attracted to your pomade,” she blew gently into his ear, making the fly leave and causing his skin to prickle.

She walked around him several times as he continued to stand completely still, looking for a good angle for her next sketch. She settled onto the desk across from the bed, sitting atop it and letting her feet rest on the chair. She’d hiked her dress up to her thighs and sat with them spread slightly, her finger teasing along them as she began a new sketch. Eventually her sketching slowed, her fingers finding their way across her body as she saw the pink blush of his cock getting darker, knowing he would soon be fully aroused.

She let the sketch slip from her hands, floating down towards his feet as she took both her hands to herself. One reached up her skirt, probing inside her underpants to reach her slick warmth, the other unfastening the neck of her dress, pulling it down to her waist so she could fondle her breasts. He kept his eyes forward, still only able to see her subtle movements in his periphery. He already knew where her hands were going, her quiet moans and sighs making his cock drip pre-cum. When it began to wobble desperately for her touch, he finally broke his pose, slowly approaching her as she pleasured herself with her eyes closed.

He opened them with a kiss, uttering not a word, statues couldn’t talk after all. He parted her lips with his thumb, her eyes looking at him like she really hadn’t been touched before. He didn’t have a statue to lust after, but she was everything he’d ever dreamed of too. The Gods finally answered his prayers by sending him his own Goddess. He slipped her dress over her head and took the faux crown off his, placing it atop hers. He smoothed her hair slightly and kissed her again. He pulled at her underpants, sliding them down and letting his hand slid along her slit, exactly as she liked it. She moaned a little louder, lifting her knee onto the desk so he could reach her g-spot. He played with her until she was on the edge, nuzzling his nose against hers when she whimpered.

He slowly eased his cock inside her, her knee trembling as he did. She grasped the back of his neck gently, leaning back a little so he could penetrate her even deeper. The desk wobbled slightly as he fucked her, one of the legs a little uneven. She eventually wrapped her legs around him, balancing on one arm as he pulled away from the desk slightly. They’d already paid for two broken beds this trip, they didn’t need to add a desk to their tab. She reached her other arm around the back of his neck, letting him carry her and have complete control of her cunt.

He fucked her harder, bouncing her along his cock, ready to make her scream to the Gods for him, which she soon obligated, calling his named loud enough to reach Elysium. He erupted inside her, his divine seed filling her womb as she quivered around him. He managed to carry her to the bed before collapsing on top of her. “My Gods…” she sighed happily, returning his crown to him and grabbing his curls.

He sat up with a grin, his cock still buried inside her, and circled his palm around her clit. “Astarion,” she protested, but slowly began to move her hips with him.

“The God of Fertility always makes you come twice,” he purred, watching her body undulating as he brought her to orgasm again.

He finally released her hips, kissing up her stomach, and nestling beside her as she slowed her breath. “I love you, my Goddess,” he nuzzled her ear, gently blowing in it as she had done, watching her skin prickle.

“What would my domain be, my love?” She asked, tracing her fingers up his back, sliding them along the scars she knew so well.

“Hmmm,” he mused, nibbling on her ear. “Blowjobs?”

“Blowjobs!?” She cried, playfully pushing him back onto the mattress and climbing on top of him.

“Yours are divine, after all,” he grinned.

“Well…” she eyed him, resting her chin on her arms, laid across his shoulders. “Maybe my mouth will accept an offering once you can get hard again.”

They chatted for a bit, their bodies still pressed against one another. They planned the final leg of their journey to Luskan, where they would be meeting with the arcanist who possibly had a cure for vampirism. They made out until her mouth eventually wandered down him again, the excited blush to his cock returning. “Here, you need this,” he put the crown back on her head as her tongue teased him hard again. He held it in place, along with her hair, as she sucked him to the Heavens and back, milking every last drop of cum from his balls. “Quite the offering,” she swallowed the last mouthful of him with a radiant smile. “Perhaps being the Goddess of Blowjobs isn’t all bad.”

[ye-olde-sodor]

Crack Ship appreciation post (The Gorb x Danger Loaf #10) because I need more stuff on this blog and I want to talk about them

You know that moment when you start shipping two characters as a joke and it either dies down or snowballs out of control? A month or two ago, I was looking more into 10's class (the BR class 42 aka the Warship class) and I noticed a few similarities between him and Gordon.

-Both engines started out as goods engines before they were transferred to express services due to exceeding the expectations of their makers and BR. On top of this, both are considered to be very fast engines. (Gordon with around 100 mph (160 km/h) and 10 with 90 mph (145 km/h) in a surprising twist).

-Both suffered a massive loss of their siblings. (10 has two preserved siblings while Gordon has Scott and his cousins). I head cannoned that the preservation of steam is why 10 was so aggressive to steam engines in the first place, and when you look at the numbers you can see why.

-Finally, as a funny side note, both have Moon Moons in the family. Zebra for 10 and countless others for Gordon. (Gay Crusader, Dick Turpin, Papyrus, Sandwich, and many more). I personally find it funny that 10's siblings have all the majestic and powerful names while poor Gordon has a sibling named Salmon Trout of all things.

So what do all of these comparisons mean? It means we have a potential for these two to have a lot to talk about and eventually bond over. But how exactly does the regal and formal Gordon fall for this idiot anyway? Simple...it's his carefree attitude.

Gordon is incredibly fond of his image, even with his various blunders he still sees himself as an important and regal engine. We know he's secretly a goof, but he almost never lets it show. Many people head canon that he needs to keep up this charade because he was quite literally built into the image of being this high and mighty being. If he can't keep that pristine image up, then he's worthless in the eyes of the Gresley's and to BR.

Now let's compare 10. He's the crazy Florda guy who's doing all sorts of things just because he can. He doesn't care about his image, nor what people think of him. He's always been the outcast, even more so after his class was withdrawn, so he adapted to work on his own and to do his own thing. He doesn't have the same problems as Gordon. He doesn't have a name or a legacy to keep because there's nothing left to keep.

Put the two of them together, give it some time, and you got yourself quite the duo. They'd make for an interesting friendship, but how would they fair as a couple?

-As I mentioned in my SS Gordon post, I'd imagine 10 being more open to relationships then Gordon. It's safe to say that the Mainland doesn't take too kindly to engine romance, but it's even more likely that it would still exist. 10 would absolutely believe in love to some degree, and would later convince Gordon that it exists too.

-Going back to that post, I mention that Gordon was drawn to 10's free and goofy personality, and eventually allowed for him to express his own funny, laid-back personality. The two of them would act both as foils and as complements for their characters. Gordon is the more controlled of the two and keeps 10 in check while 10 helps Gordon ease up and to have some fun.

Head canon wise, I could go on about these two for hours lmao

-It was absolutely 10 that fell for Gordon first. Gresley's always had a reputation for looking like marble statues, but he never believed that it was true until Gordon showed him the ins and outs of pulling the express. He was even more interested in him when he learned that the old kettle was actually able to keep up with him!

-The both of them are secret literature nerds, with 10 specializing in poetry and Gordon specializing in gothic/Victorian literature.

-If they were human, 10 would be much larger than Gordon, and Gordon would absolutely take advantage of that with constant cuddles and lap sitting. The only downside is that he needs to stand on something or be held up by 10 just to kiss him.

-Staying on theme with human head canons, 10's many hobbies would involve engineering and inventing. This, in turn leads him to making all sorts of wacky stuff, such as a car that has two steering wheels and a button that presses itself. Gordon is usually the one who has to bail him out whenever these inventions blows up in his face (figuratively and literally).

-They're dorks. Big, silly, loveable dorks who would gladly beat the other in a friendly competition or race and listen to the other brag about it for hours.

-Gordon is one of the few engines who knows 10's real name, and he's never told anyone what it is, much to the dismay of any nosy engines or humans.

-While 10 is open about his previous life as a bounty hunter, he's ashamed of it and wants nothing more than to make amends for it. Gordon insists that he already has, but even Gordon's words aren't enough to help him. It'll take years of support (and maybe some ghostly visitors) for him to finally let go and move on.

-The two of them would often switch jobs on occasion. If 10 was too tired to take the Midnight express then Gordon would take it, and vice versa. You can imagine Topham's shock when Gordon offered to take one of 10's goods trains for him after his engine failed. It was at that moment that he knew something was up between those two, but it would take years for it to click.

-While 10 is the more affectionate of the two, they usually keep it behind closed doors (again, to keep nosy engines or humans away). Having said that, he'd be the more likely of the two to display some PDA when no one was looking.

-The Mainland was known for separating and even scraping engines who showed some sort of romantic interest in each other. This, in turn, made all engine couples fiercely protective of each other, to the point of being aggressive towards those who suggest separation. While the two are protected under Sodor's various Antitheft and Antiscrap laws, Gordon and 10 are still weary about Mainlanders. The pair are considered to be some of the most aggressive engines on the island. Gordon more so than 10 in a surprising twist.

-Nicknames for Gordon include: Big Blue, Babe, Baby Blue, Speedy, Blue Streak, Shooting Star, Jekyll

-Nicknames for 10 include: Claw for brains, 10, Bread loaf, Hazard Stripes, Love, My Love, Dear, Hyde

-There was a case where Gordon referred to 10 as Jekyll in front of Percy on accident, and now everyone is convinced that it was 10's name. He felt horrible about it until 10 thought it was so funny that he just rolled with the mix-up. Besides, he preferred the name Jekyll over Cockade.

TL; DR These two are the textbook definition of Opposites Attract and I am absolutely making fanfics of them in the future (both on here and on my AO3 account).

[deathfavor]

Anonymous said: Hello Can you write this? [ WIPE ] machi ➡️ Chrollo I love your blog so much

so you had a bad day starters [ WIPE ]: after the receiver has stopped crying, sender tenderly leans forward, cups their face in their hands, and wipes their tears away.

It isn't that Chrollo doesn't feel emotions, but they're kept like holy relics within the church of his chest and only those deemed holy enough may handle and witness them in their full beauty. God and heralds, Lucifer and the kings of hell. But today there are tears that slide down his cheeks like rain over marble statues that overlook a cemetery. It is not far from the truth. The leader of the troupe carries with him all of those who have died, ensuring they are not forgotten when the world will never know their existence or graves. ( After all, to the world, those of Meteor City do not exist. )

The loss of Shalnark and Kortopi rips a particularly brutal wound, so close in the wake of Uvogin an Pakunoda. Chrollo does not mind if Hisoka targets him - he has already proven to be capable to rip the magician apart. If the dead sought revenge, he would put him down again. But targeting the others breaks a part of Chrollo that he doesn't frequently acknowledge - and guilt hangs on his shoulders to know Shalnark was left unarmed. ( Deep down, Chrollo knows that it would make no difference. No matter how loathed, there is no delusion in Hisoka's skills - he is talented and skilled and neither Shalnark nor Kortopi had a skill easily able to counter Hisoka. )

Warmth is shocking against the cool skin of his cheeks, his breath pianissimo and staccato in the wake of shed tears. He feels thumbs gliding over his cheeks, whisking away tears from porcelain skin as he raises dark eyes to see it is Machi who brushes away his tears.

A thought swims in his head - how much guilt must she carry? She had only done her job - if she expects anger from Chrollo then she will find none. She'd been paid and did what she was ordered. There was no way she could have known what Hisoka would do - that he would be so vile as to defy the sanctity of death and target the rest of the troupe rather than just Chrollo. He knows others would yell, but not him. Yet it is not so easy to try to soothe away guilt when his own infests his mind, despite the fact he too knows that deep down, there is nothing more that he could do.

His hand lifts finally, pressing over the back of her hand. He says nothing, holy words kept quiet in the solemn wake of grief. But there is plenty said in gesture alone. I appreciate it. He offers a gentle squeeze, forces lips to paint a thin smile of reassurance. They can grieve, but the spider must go on.

[autistic-sidestep]

Soooooo 20, 15, 3, and 34 for Sura? 👀

under a cut again

3 - what is their villain name? why did they choose it? argos panoptes (all-seeing argos), after the Greek mythological figure. sura was taught about classical literature as part of their cuckoo training, including ovid's metamorphoses, and i think that would stick. it's also why sura named their puppet juno! i've co-opted this bit in the lupin route cos it fits so well.

        …You weren't made for the arts, sure, you were taught names and dates, but that was just to fit into the high-class surroundings you sometimes found yourself in. They never intended for you to appreciate it.         And yet, you remember standing in front of a sculpture back in…was it Boston? That feeling in your chest, the tightening, the shortness of breath…was that your first intense emotion? Something they had not programmed, but you felt like you had never felt anything before. Kinship perhaps, to that cold, white, marble face, yet containing more emotion than the people that surrounded you, sculpted skin as plastic as their hearts.         That statue felt more real and genuine than them. And that meant you could be as well. There was more to being human than being born from a womb; there was a direct line of communication between the long-dead sculptor and you. An understanding. A shared experience.

i hc that the statue was depicting juno, which, fun fact, there is a juno statue in brookline irl that's been there from at least the 1800s, the largest classical marble statue in north america.

1) peacocks are associated with juno/hera. looking at the statue was the first time they felt a connection to humanity. if sura has to be a bird, why not a peacock instead of a cuckoo? and the tail of a peacock having eyes to intimidate predators + their association with evil eyes/nazars, like an apotropaion (Something that wards off evil; an amulet or magic charm) - cos it works as a warning sign when it's cracked (and yknow how sidestep is associated with broken mirrors/glass/shards). there's a double edged superstition of whether they're good luck, or a bad omen, which i think is fitting. AND the additional pun cos… -paion is almost like paon, french for peacock. IT'S ABOUT THE EYES. 🤌

2) something about paranoia of being seen/stared at and the epithet Panoptes (all-seeing) inverting that; in the suit, it’s her looking back at the people who hurt them (there's a little bit of a justice motive slant to this that carried over from original/2019!sura), and this persona is meant to be seen.

3) peacocks are sometimes associated w/ phoenixes --> rebirth, etc. there's a good few lines in the fate motivation flavour text that echo this that i think fit well, esp the theatrical motifs that it tends to play into: 

      It's so liberating to realize that you have no choice. You are falling now, and you have no idea when you will hit the bottom. Or what will happen when you do. Will you rise again like a phoenix? Will you lie there, a broken remnant of yourself? You don't know, but you will arm yourself to the best of your capacity.

  Maybe it's wrong, but you have stopped caring about that. All you need right now is for this purgatory to end, and for your real self to finally emerge like a butterfly from its cocoon. No…not a butterfly.     A phoenix.  Your hands will end up bloody, but at this point that will almost feel like a relief.

The more time passes, the more you realize that you never had any choice in the matter. Every action leads to a reaction, and you are only acting out the script you have been handed. How else can you explain how everything falls in place around you? It's like walking in a dream where you know what will happen but are helpless to prevent it. You've opened that door a hundred times, the result is always the same. Death. Rebirth. Revenge. Anger. Love.

4) peacocks are showy! sura wanted to have the spotlight like ortega does, but it was never something he could do as Sidestep. Argos can! this manifests as VERY high infamy and arrogance. i think if sura ever openly realized they were subconsciously emulating/borrowing ortega's charisma it'd be furious with itself lol. the whole point was to prove they're not in ortega's shadow anymore. sura's very good at chameleoning in the sense he steals/picks up traits and cues and how to behave from other people; that's what cuckoos are trained to do anyway.

15 - what is their greatest flaw? cynicism and pushing people away. also being prone to fatalism lol. i think the mob team helps slowly dethaw them tho

20 - how do they feel about death? complicated! they had the suicidal tag from heartbreak (which morphed into outsider - which. if you've already read my writeups abt the outsider scar being Very reminiscent of autistic trauma), so it fluctuates between they should be dead, or actually she might actually be dead and just an echo of whatever sura that wore sidestep suit was.

who am i? am i real? are questions sura asks themselves pretty often. argos is their way of trying to feel real. maybe by destroying enough sidestep used to stand for, he'll finally replace him, and everything will finally feel real again. including itself. or if that doesn't work, at least the self-destruction is by their own hands. sura did choose to destroy the exhibit but the explosions were also aimed for max damage lol (see the 'phoenix' line).

i'm making the blaze window exit and subsequent RK save canon for them, even though that's specific to the prepare_them/anarchist track, cos yeah, even with plans, there's a certain relief to having things out of his hands and just surrendering to fate. at least it means the farm can't get them.

killing other people…. surprisingly hasn't done that (yet?). even during the gala debut where they were being pretty reckless, there weren't any fatalities, but that was probably dumb luck. sura's a bit more careful about civilians now (saving the occasional bystander as long as it isn't too inconveniencing) that consequences are starting to feel more tangible what with reconnecting with the rangers (*cough* chen. i'm also just. too much of a weenie to do an earnest high villainy kill route lol). so far there hasn't been any plans where killing has been advantageous over just landing people in the hospital so. we'll see. if anything, it'll be agentkill only.

34 - are they nostalgic for their sidestep days or eager to move on?

answered here!

[bulletproofscales]

kinktober day 4 - tangled (jinmin)

tw: dubious consent

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42934197/chapters/107866734#workskin

Seokjin isn’t qualified for this. He specifically avoids field work, his boss knows this. He understands tonight was special, big enough to have all the other field agents occupied with some big task. And since there's essentially nothing this mission would require him to stay back behind a computer, Seokjin is here.

Of course, they were merciful enough to not task Seokjin with anything too dangerous or… physically inclined. All he has to go, is sneak through the back to the energy panel of the manor and turn the electricity off. Letting his team raid the party their prime suspect has going on.

He has everyone talking in his ear, everything is going according to plan. He is dressed like the rest of the catering team. Seokjin's got this. 

…It would be a lot less nerve wracking if he and the criminal didn't have history. 

"We got in. Over." He can hear through the muffled background noise of the party. It's barely audible where he is at. Which is good, it means the chances of seeing Jimin, even if from afar, are slim. Comforting to say the least.

"Copy that, blend in until you spot him. Seokjin, what's your status?" He knows Heejin is just checking in because she knows he is nervous. He appreciates it, even if it's embarrassing in contrast to his independence when he's doing computer work. 

"Got in with the catering through the back, and I'm going to the energy panel now. No one seems to be here. Over." It should be comforting but the long luxurious hallways only make him feel eerie, observed. 

"Copy that. As soon as we have him located we'll give you the signal. Over." Seokjin nods, more to himself than to what is being said. They went over the plan countless times, he has the blueprint of this mansion memorized. The room he has to go to feels only more and more secluded than the rest of the house, and he only feels more and more weary as he walks in.

Even if he doesnt spot Jimin he knows the criminal probably has his men scattered around the place. He's never held a gun in his life, so the one he has under his blazer only feels uncomfortable more than protective against any threat.

Like he said, he is so unqualified for this job.

"Any sign of him? Over." 

"He doesn't seem to be anywhere in my line of sight. Anyone else? Over." 

"Nothing here. Over."

“No sign of him in the gardens. Over.” 

“Maybe he just hasn't come out yet?”  Seokjin interjects. Turning and finally spotting the energy panel at the end of the corridor.

“We’ll ask around. Over.” 

His earpiece goes quiet from then on. Only his steps on the marble tiles echoing. Seokjin is only a few meters away from the electricity panel when he hears the steps behind him. He doesn’t turn, he hurries his steps trying to be as casual as he can. Nothing to see here. 

Seokjin feels it before he sees it; rope thrown and angled at his torso, long enough it wraps around his arms, pressing them at Seokjin’s sides, and causes him to stumble nearly face first against the floor. Body tangled uncomfortably, cheek pressed against the cold floor. He tries to squirm enough to stand but a square heel and a pointed toe of a boot presses against his back to shove Seokjin back flat against the floor. 

“I knew I’d find you here…” That voice, Seokjin’s eyes closed helplessly. 

“S-sir I don’t know what you-” 

“Don’t play dumb with me Seokjin. Just because you got fat doesn’t mean I can recognize you.” Jimin’s heel sinks painfully into the chub stretching his blazer. “You have quite the nerve coming into my house thinking I wouldn’t notice…” 

“How–How did you know I was here?” His voice comes out strangled and breathless. 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” Seokjin’s eyes darted to the side only to see Jimin’s beautiful smile, towering over him like he was his new catch of the day. “It's not like it changes your situation much, Jinnie.” 

“Don’t call me that.” He bites back, trying to ignore the restraints of the ropes restraining lightly at his breathing, and the heat provoked by that old nickname. He feels Jimin's small but strong hand wrap around some of the rope at his back, grunting to tug him. Though he rarely gives Soekjin’s legs time to properly stand before he is shoving the older against the wall; coaxing a yelp out of him.

“You’re just as feisty as I remember.” Jimin’s lips graze the shell of his ear as he smiles. The younger’s firm muscular thigh slotting between Seokjin’s plump ones. Knee right against his crotch in a way that makes it hard for the older to hold himself up with the buckling of his knees. 

“But you only get more beautiful.” He purrs into his ear, the hand that isn’t securing him by the ropes reacting to caress his side. Admiring the way fat pokes out form in between the tangled mess of rope. “You’ve really let yourself go in these years…” 

His hand begins to slide slowly forward towards his belly. Seokjin’s bottom roll hanging from not only the waistband of his pants but the thick rope that follows it; making it look even more prominent. Jimin gropes the fat shamelessly. “Did you do it for me, love?” 

“Like I ever wanted to see you a-again,” Seokjin deadpans. 

“You were sneaking around my house.”

“Against my will, believe me.” 

“A pleasant coincidence then?” Only to coax a moan out of him, Jimin’s thigh presses further against his crotch. What's worse is it works, making the older shiver, his back pathetically arching back into Jimin’s knee, rubbing his dick into hardness. 

“You miss me too, come on…” He whispers sweetly, the hand at his bottom roll sliding to unbutton his slacks. “We had something great, Jinnie.” His words begin to come out in between sloppy kisses along Seokjin’s neck; the older throwing his head back to rest on Jimin’s shoulder, giving him complete control.

Jimin had it already. 

He pulls out Seokjin’s dick, cockhead nearly grazing the wall. Stroking it lazily as his kisses become harsher, dragging his teeth and marking up Seokjin’s padded jaw. “I hate my new hacker.” The violence in his voice though, that's what makes the older shiver. 

“Y-yeah? You miss me that much?” The rope is really starting to become restrictive as his breathing becomes more labored, but that doesn't stop Seokjin from humping into Jimin’s fist. 

“I do.” No one's voice should be allowed to sound both so seductive but pleading at the same time. “You’re always welcome back, Jinnie. We were unstopabl-” 

“They’ve seen him at the beginning of the party, but no ones seen him in the last 40 mintues or so. Over.” Seokjin’s earpiece, hidden from his longer hair, resonates in the empty hallway. Making both men still in their movements. Seokjin’s heart stops entirely, eyes widened against the wall. Not daring to look Jimin's way. 

Small fingers press to the sides of the ear piece, tugging it out, before dropping to the floor. The Sound of Jimin’s heel smashing the gadget into pieces. “Oh…Oh I see.” The calmness in his voice manages to be even more terrifying. Fingers twitching behind his back. 

“You think you can come in here” The hand on his dick starts tugging at the back of his pants, revealing his ass. “And turn on me just like that.” While the hand holding at the rope right by Seokjin’s wrists, moves to grip where the rope grazes his neck; tugging it back to restrain his breathing. 

“I–I’m sorr-” He chokes out, widening at “Don’t want to hear it, Jinnie. You had your chance.” Jimin’s words come out through gritted teeth. Seokjin can hear the shuffling of Jimin behind him. Only realizing when he feels the bulge of the younger’s dick through the cotton of his briefs; pressing against Seokjin’s wide ass. 

“I–I swear M–minnie, I didn’t-” The nickname slips out in the midst of his desperation. 

“I’m done listening to your excuses.” Three of Jimin’s short but calloused fingers push past Seokjin’s plump lips, pressing down on his tongue, pushing back enough for the older to gag. “Come on, Jinnie. You know how this goes.” The cocky smile is audible in his voice. 

He does. 

Seokjin wraps his lips tighter around Jimin’s digits and begins to suck. Dragging his tongue in between his fingers, soaking them wet with spit. The younger’s slow grinds, bulge enlarging with each stroke, pushing Seokjin to bob his head up and down Jimin’s fingers. Spit beginning to run down his chin. 

His mouth feels uncomfortably empty when Jimin tugs them out, but the fullness is replaced elsewhere when the pad of his wet finger starts sinking into him. Making Seokjin gasp, as much as he can with the restraints of the rope. Neglected dick, close to brushing against the cold marble; not at all enough friction. Jimin barely works his fingers in, quickly making his way till the three fingers are scissoring him open, cold spit running down his trembling thighs. 

It's not nearly long enough before Jimin is pulling them out. Not giving Seokjin time to  mourn the loss before he is tugging his briefs down and slamming in. Making the older’s cries echo in the empty hallway, probably all the way up to the party. Belly flattening against the cold wall, rope digging painfully into his fattened chest and stomach. Only enhanced by Jimin’s brutal pace, sending ripples of waves all across Seokjin’s body, helplessly trying to cling onto something, anything as his legs trembled overstimulated. 

So long, it's been so long. 

No one can give him what Jimin does. 

Everything about this situation should make him physically uncomfortable, yet Seokjin can feel the heat coiling at his stomach closer and closer to ruining the walls of Jimin’s manor. 

“Ah- Jimin–Jiminie please, please! I need you to-” His speech is cut off by the sudden pull out of the younger's dick out of his body. The support of Jimin’s hands leaving his roped self to send Seokjin’s knees to wobble before sitting down clumsily. Breathing heavily as his belly sits on top of his dick. 

Too stunned to turn to look, Seokjin stares at the wall, hearing the sound of Jimin pushing himself back into his pants. And a simple tug at his back loosens all of the rope tangled through his body. 

“Tell your friends to get out while they can…

And call me.” 

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

The Joy of Creation

this takes place in the set in stone au

warnings: panic, swearing

I wipe the sweat from my brow as I add the finishing touches to the sculpture in front of me, sanding out the remaining imperfections as the sun tries to roast me alive from above. Once I’m sure they’re gone, I take a step back and look over the statue again. As tired as I am, the moment this sculpture is done, the moment I can go take some time off till my next commission.

My name is Emelia Markov, Mia for short, and I’m a sculptor working for Rea, the goddess of creativity. Well, it’s less that I’m working for her than I am the people at the temple. Worshippers come to me to make them statues to add to the temple grounds and I’m more than happy to oblige. I like the work.

Once I’m sure the statue is done, I brush the dust off my shoulders and head back to my shack to ward off the sun for a while, thinking about what I can do with the free time as I go. Tending to my tools and helping out with temple maintenance I guess. Not exciting work by any means but it’s constant and I appreciate that.

I’m thinking of maybe a quick nap before I head to the temple but as I step into my humble little abode, I can immediately sense that something is…different and a simple glance to the right is all that it takes to see the problem: there’s a woman standing in here now, examining some of my sculpting tools.

Now, while my house is technically on temple property along with all the marble statues that remain here to honour the minor goddess, people aren’t really supposed to be in this part of the temple, as in, inside my house.

“Excuse me but this place is off limits,” I inform her.

The woman doesn’t even start, slowly putting down the small rasp she’s holding before turning to face me, a small smile on her face. “Actually, I came here because I wanted to see you.”

“Me?”

The woman nods. “You are the sculptor here, are you not?”

I nod.

“Then I wanted to give you a little something to show you my appreciation. You’ve been doing exceptionally well with your sculpting lately and you’ve been helping a lot of Rea’s followers as well. I can sense this…passion from your sculptures that’s almost a rare find these days. So after some thought, I finally found a gift that would be more than suitable to spark that passion of yours. To nurture it into something greater.”

I’m sweating. Covered in dust. And I think I need to drink something before I pass out but still, this intrigues me. People at the temple usually just pay me for my time, a quick thank you if they’re feeling generous, but that’s usually the end of it.

I nod at her and taking that as a queue, the woman silently beacons me before stepping out of the hut with me following along after a few steps.

She leads me past the garden of statues accumulated over the centuries this temple had been in use, made by me and the many other sculptors that had been here before. Their cold, colourless eyes watch us as we walk.

Rea has always had a small but loyal following. The statues we pass as we move further and further into the garden are already covered in thin layers of moss and vines from years of standing and being subjected to the elements. The greenery grows thick and eventually trees start to tower over us, filtering the sunlight as the unkempt grass brushes against my legs. We’ve been walking for some time now and when the woman finally stops and turns to me, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be looking at.

She smiles as I examine the statues surrounding us, taking in the winged horses expertly crafted in midflight, the heroes with raised swords and even a deer grazing peacefully. It’s all beautiful and as I try to absorb every single detail of the works surrounding us, trying to guess what techniques were used to carve things so lifelike, I’m also confused.

Why did this woman take me here? Was the gift she was talking about the view of these, admittedly amazing, statues? Was she giving them to me? Was she even allowed to? These were all technically property of the temple. I turn to look at the woman, surprised to see she had been staring at me the whole time. Her expression almost looks…giddy.

“You appreciate the craft, I take it?” she asks and I look away, embarrassed. “Good! Then this gift will do nicely. For Emelia, I’m granting you,” she raises her hands with a flourish at the wall of moss in front of us, “the gift of creativity!”

I stare at the greenery for a while before turning back to the woman, whose arms are still raised. “…you’re giving me moss?”

The woman blanks for just a moment before she shakes her head. “Look closer, sculptor.”

I just shoot her a look before walking towards the green wall. The sooner this is done, the sooner I can change into something that isn’t drenched in sweat. I reach forward and touch the moss, surprised when my hand makes contact with something hard just beneath it. I turn to the woman, unsure, and once she gives me an eager nod, turn and rip out some of the moss.

And underneath the patch I just excavated is marble.

I look up and the wall goes on and on and on. And all of it, presumably, marble.

Not in bad condition either.

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to find something to say before just turning to the woman and pointing at the green stained patch of rock.

She smiles. “Creativity,” she repeats. “You’ve done well serving the temple and so I grant to you this block of marble to make a sculpture of your own. You may do whatever you wish with it.”

Whatever I wish with it. A weird noise escapes my mouth before the words do. “I…you…is this legal?”

“Have no fear. The mountain belongs to me. And now it belongs to you.”

This bitch is giving me a mountain.

“What…but I…would the temple approve of this?”

The woman just shrugs, her smile sly as she watches me. “I know Rea would.”

-

Practicality.

That’s obviously what should be done with an extravagant gift like this, right?

I mean, I’m allowed to do whatever I want with all this material and it was given to me because of my service to the temple. So, logically, using the marble for the sake of the temple is the most practical decision.

I spent the day scaling up the side of the massive thing and the whole time my mind was thinking about the practicality of it all, of how useful it would be for my job. But now,

…now as I stare down at the world below from the very peak of the mountain I now own I…

Start to reconsider.

An idea starts to form in my head. Something stupid. Something crazy. Insane. Exciting.

An idea worthy of Rea’s sculptor.

Now, do I believe Rea is, in fact, a real entity? …debatable.

Do I believe in the legitimacy of the woman giving me a whole ass mountain to sculpt with? …also debatable.

But…feeling the wind blowing through my hair and looking down down down at the tiny shack I call a home, the temple in the distance and the myriad of statues stretching out below me, so impossibly miniscule from this new vantage point I just…

inspiration hits.

And it hits hard.

My heart starts to flutter once I finally let myself think it over. There’s a spark now, excitement. I almost feel restless despite how drained I still am from the trip up, my hands already itching for the tools I’d neglected to take with me for the trip and it’s just…

Sure, I could save a few bucks cutting chunks out of the mountain to carve into the shapes people pay me to make

Or I could make something.

I could make something big.

-

The first thing I do is clean the moss off the areas I’m sculpting for the day. It’s tedious and hours of work hardly seem to make a dent in the greenery but as hours turn to days turn to months, the true face of the mountain starts to reveal itself to me.

And once enough of the green has disappeared, I think about all the things I can possibly make. And then, without any clear plan, I just…go.

Sometimes hours pass without me even noticing and sometimes I struggle to make even a single scrap in the cold stone. All the same, over time something starts to appear in the colossal rock. A mountain turns vaguely humanoid and then human. A crouched form, curled in on itself.

I hone my skills as time passes, the work I receive from the temple helping me to carve out more and more lifelike features as months turn to years.

It’s tough work but it’s exhilarating all the same. Whenever I’m not working, I’m chipping away at the massive mountain and slowly, slowly, the human becomes a man that becomes more and more detailed by the day.

I carve towering legs pulled up to a gigantic stone chest. A thick braid of hair that falls down his back like a waterfall. Shoulders and a neck. Ears and a slight gap between his lips. Eyes as close to lifelike as I can make them. A head that’s bowed slightly, an expression soft, something of wonder and closeness, looking into cupped hands large enough to hold a lake. And in those cupped hands…

…in those cupped hands is…

it’s…a heart? No no. Maybe…maybe a bird or a…a flower or maybe…maybe…

I try again and again and again to carve something into those hands but…nothing seems right. And as the marble resting in the man's palms gradually decreases with my repeated attempts to form anything with it, I eventually give up and spend the week chipping away at the remaining chunk before working to smoothen out what’s left, carving lines into his palms, creases into the bends of his fingers and the grooves of his fingerprints.

Sometimes, when the sun is too hot and the ground is too far away, I rest under whatever shade the massive man can provide. Under his chin or between the unmoving folds of the cloth he’s draped in or, most frequently, beneath his curled fingers. And over the years I…may have taken to talking to him too.

I even gave him a name.

Jax.

But it’s getting late and as I brush some of the stone powder out of the new lines in his hands, I think it may be best to call it a night for now. Though, I’ve exhausted myself yet again. I sigh and take a seat on the cool marble floor that makes up the man’s palm, looking up at his huge face as I rest. And staring back at me are those massive eyes I shaped and carved with my own hands.

It’s strange seeing him like this. I didn’t sculpt this man after anyone I knew. I wanted him to almost have his own identity in a way, as ridiculous as that is. His expression is warm as he stares down, those lifeless eyes trained on me as I stare back.

I lean back a bit and let out a breath, taking some time to warm up my voice before I speak. “Sorry about the empty hands, big guy. I just couldn’t find anything that fit you.”

The statue remains unmoving and the only response I get is the quiet rustling of the trees probably hundreds of feet below us.

The cold of the marble sinks into my legs.

…I mean, me. The trees are below me. There is no us here.

I sigh again. It’s hard to meet people and even if I did, I don’t think it would be easy for…someone like me to find someone willing to stay with me through it all. Sad as it is, this marble statue has been the only thing I’d really call a companion in all the years I’ve worked on him.

I’d leave the grounds for supplies and the only thing really waiting for me back at the temple besides a new customer was Jax, the lifeless piece of rock I’d made to look like a person.

I look up into the motionless stone face hovering over me then, taking in the dip of his nose that I almost broke by hacking away at the stone with too much force, the tear ducts that I remember not knowing how to shape when I first started, the soft lines in his lips that I debated even putting in and in that moment I…

That face, a human face so massive it’s almost off-putting to look at but…

I shake my head with a laugh, even the thought of my next words ridiculous. Still, there’s no one around to judge me. I pat the hand below me, feeling the result of days of sanding, “You’re going to hate me for this one, Jax, but I…”

The stone man waits.

“I…wish you were real.”

Lifeless eyes watch me in silence.

I try to laugh. “And I know that’s ridiculous but…well, it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

It’s chilly tonight.

“…how about you, big guy? The trees enough to keep you company when I’m gone?”

The wind blows past us quietly.

“Oh, wait, I guess the other statues are more than enough for you, right? You must have hundreds of friends by now.”

Passed me quietly.

“…unless they’re all scared of you. I’m…sorry I made you so big. I just didn’t want to waste the material. You get it, right?”

Silence.

“…Don’t worry about them, big guy. You’ll have me at least.”

Nothing.

I can feel my throat start to constrict with tears and decide to stop trying to converse with the inanimate object for now. I cough to clear my throat, vision starting to grow blurry. “I’ll fix your eye tomorrow, alright? Just…just…hold on for now. Please just…”

I trail off, staring up at the lifeless figure for a moment longer before lying down on the hard stone, wiping a few tears away with the heel of my palm to avoid getting dust into my eyes.

“…goodnight, Jax.”

-

Carving goes on and on and on and on. Years pass by. Temple staff come and go. More than a decade flies by and all the while, I learn and learn, my craft becoming more respected by the few who bother turning up at the temple of a minor goddess.

Days pass in a blur. Work, Jax, sleep, work, Jax, work, sleep. On and on and on. Hammer and dust and sand and chisel and cut. Sweat and grit and aching muscles. I’m determined to see this through. Especially when Jax looks so close to being finished. His appearance has changed slightly over the years, becoming more impressive to look at as my skills improve, though his expression always remains the same, warm eyes staring down at empty palms. The sight is almost sad in a way but I try not to dwell on it.

I work on him whenever I can, smoothing sharp edges and refining existing features and fixing imperfections until one day I’m in his palms again, having finally wrestled a building sized index finger into something that I’m actually proud of and staring up at his face for anything else to fix today but…

It’s…fine.

There’s…nothing left to work on there.

I walk over the edge of his palms and look down. Knees are good. Fabric is done. Legs are finished. Arms good. Torso, stomach, neck, all of it…

There’s nothing left for me to do today.

I look around carefully several more times, trying from any vantage point I can think of but…

He’s done.

He’s done.

12 years.

I started working on him in my early twenties, just a few years into a scary new career path and now it’s finally over.

For a moment I just take a seat in Jax’s hands, speechless with disbelief.

I…I did it.

The largest statue ever carved and I did it.

There’s a deep sense of triumph as I lie down to stare up at Jax’s face. His dead eyes watch me as always and I throw him an almost giddy smile. There’s satisfaction, relief and…something else now that I think about it.

Jax is done and now…

…now what?

There’s relief but now there’s emptiness too.

I frown up at the big man, realizing how free the schedule for pretty much the rest of my life just became.

“Don’t worry, Jax. I’ll try to visit from time to time. Maybe a picnic would be nice up here.”

As usual, Jax doesn’t respond to any of this and I close my eyes with a small sigh.

Still, once I’m convinced that there’s actually nothing left to do and finally make my way down the statue, I go back home for the night. And once I reach my hut and turn to see the absolutely massive, incredibly lifelike face rising high above the treeline, towering over everything, I can’t help but just…stare.

He looks real.

He looks real.

And I did that.

I smile up at him, a small wave of sadness washing over me as I realize this moment might be something of a goodbye before turning around to go rest for the night.

I open the door, mind still wandering when

“You did well.”

I flinch, eyes darting to scan the room before they land on the faintly familiar looking silhouette standing in the corner, watching me quietly.

I jump back when I see her, biting back a yelp at the sudden intrusion.

It takes me a second to recognize her but it’s the woman from all those years ago. The one who gave me the mountain and…she looks just as I remember her, which I find odd. The last I saw her was over a decade ago and yet looks like she hasn’t aged a day.

The woman takes a step forward and I resist the urge to take a step back. “The sculpture you made. It’s absolutely magnificent! Nearly brings a tear to my eye. You took your time with it and look at what you’ve made! I’m proud of what you’ve done. And so excited because now I can finally give you your reward.”

I just stare at her, confused. Even disregarding how she somehow broke into my house after the temple had long since closed for the night, it’s still weird seeing her again. “How did…but…you…I…thank you? But…wasn’t the mountain the gift?”

The woman just smiles back. “Ah. I never did explain myself, did I? Silly me. The marble was only half the gift dear. What you did with it determined whether or not you’d get the second half of the gift.”

“…so this was a test?”

The woman nods. “And you passed it beautifully. A massive sculpture like this, why I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Okay? Thanks I guess? I just-”

“-let your inspiration lead you?” The woman laughs when she sees the shock on my face. “I know, I know! I was watching you the whole time!”

She was…watching me…the whole time?

“WHAT?”

The woman looks taken aback by my response before something seems to dawn on her. “Oh wait, I never introduced myself to you, did I?” She bows in a theatrical manner before grinning wildly. “You can call me Rea, goddess of creativity.”

…

…

…there’s a lunatic in my house.

“Can you prove that?”

The woman shrugs. “Your name is Emelia. You have a knack for working with your hands. You took to clay sculpting when you were young and then decided to switch to marble after you saw what the medium was capable of. You wanted to make something awe inspiring. You got a job at my temple to get out of a marriage your parents arranged. You were surprised when the work wasn’t even half as bad as you anticipated it would be. Your creative spark lived on. For breakfast, you had…oh wait, no you didn’t eat anything. You want me to stop talking and you called me a lunatic just a second ago.”

Oh.

She smiles. “You’ve done exceptionally well as a disciple and-”

“Wait, disciple? I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU WERE ACTUALLY REAL UNTIL LIKE 2 MINUTES AGO.”

The woman shrugs. “You’ve devoted your life to creating, whether you’ve realized it or not. That’s more than enough for me.”

I open my mouth to say something else but then decide to close it before the goddess fries me.

The woman smirks. “Smart choice. So, since you passed my test with flying colours, made something from the heart and didn’t use my gift for material gain…,” she pauses for dramatics, “…we can now move on to the fun part.”

I just want to go to bed, man.

“Soon. I’ve watched you, Emelia. Examined your heart and desires. You’re in a lot of pain. You’ve been wanting something deeply for a long time now. Someone. Someone you could call your own without all the romantic attachments you don’t feel. You want a lifelong friend. And so you carved one yourself. Someone waiting just like you. His hands remain empty because of this.”

…his hands remain…did I do that on purpose? The lonely mountain of a man, seen by all but still waiting forever and ever for someone, anyone to fill that void. …did I…?

The woman smiles again. “You’re lonely. You made a friend, literally. And now…well he’s waiting for someone isn’t he? Why not you?”

…why not…

“ARE YOU GOING TO TURN ME INTO A STATUE?”

The goddess blanks for a moment before she laughs. “Ah, not quite. Close though. That man’s been waiting for over a decade now. But what if instead of sitting through an eternity of loneliness, he simply got up and started searching for the missing piece himself?”

Even as the implication of that statement still hangs in the air, the goddess slowly raises a hand.

“Good luck,” she chirps.

And then she snaps her fingers.

And all at once, everything starts to shake.

“Oh that’s my queue!” The goddess says. And a blink later, she’s gone.

…help.

-

The ground is already starting to shake something awful, the rhythmical quakes already starting to launch me as I stand frozen in my little hut.

My tiny hut.

My miniscule hut.

Footsteps.

The things launching my bed a few inches off the ground effortlessly are footsteps.

There’s tears in my eyes as I stand there, motionless.

I did this.

I did this.

And now I’m about to pay the price.

I don’t know what Jax is looking for. Something to fill his hands?

Or is he looking for me?

Does he remember who I am? What I’ve done to him?

What will he do? I can’t just stay in this hut forever can I? Will he find me? Will he…

…am I going to die tonight?

I’m shaking bad now and the steps don’t waver in the slightest.

My mind races in time with my heart. Would he recognize me? Can he feel the void I left? Will he find me? Does he know where I live? Will he hate me for what I did to him? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. I just wanted to make something! I didn’t know this would happen! That he would be brought to life to feel this way! He’s going to kill me he’s going to kill me he’s going to-

A step heavy enough to launch the entire hut for just a second lands and in that moment I can’t take it anymore.

I’m shaking badly and then just like that I’m wrenching open the door and I’m running. I’m running as fast as my legs can carry me and my tears are streaming down my face and obscuring my vision and there’s this horrible horrible horrible sound behind and above me and my heart hammers and I realize why it’s so dark tonight even though the moon is shining brightly and I don’t turn around and I can’t turn around and my legs are pounding against the grass and my heart is pounding in my chest and this is my fault this is my fault this is my fault this-

I dive behind a statue just as the ground shakes once more, just barely managing to remain under its cover as the steps come to a stop. I’m pressing myself hard against the cool material as I try to remember how to breathe. My vision’s blurry and head is starting to pound horribly in time with my heart and-

“…hello?”

A voice, a man’s, one I don’t recognize but all the same, it’s hard for it to even register as a voice at all at first.

Because it’s loud. Louder than anything I’ve ever heard in my life and I’m terrified. I try to hold my breath to erase my presence but quickly find it to be a losing battle as my racing heart demands more air and I just barely manage to hold back the gasp my body forces me to take.

The silence is horrible and as the seconds crawl by, I press myself harder into the statue I’m leaning on.

“Is someone out there? I think I’m…looking for someone. I-” there’s a pause and another few steps that thankfully seem to be decreasing in magnitude. I grit my teeth and wait out a few more tremors before making a decision. My only chance of surviving this is by getting out of the temple grounds without him noticing. I can worry about what comes after when the sun rises. I wait for one more step before ducking forward and crouch walking as fast as I can. I take the time to throw a look over my shoulder just in case and almost immediately regret it.

Because the sight alone is almost enough to make me stop moving entirely.

Jax. My statue, he’s walking around, looking around, his braid shifting with the movement, everything shifting with the movement.

And he’s fucking huge.

I guess I already knew that from all those years I spent making him but seeing him like this? In this context? He’s terrifying.

He was as tall as a fucking mountain when I’d carved him, when he was couched down, but now, standing, he’s damn near inconceivable. He stretches into the sky, towering over absolutely everything in sight and the many statues that decorate the garden, human sized statues for the most part, look like fucking bugs next to his massive stone sandals and the subtle shift of his feet as he tries to look around sends tremors through the ground and

and he’s looking for me.

I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE BEFO-

Still gawking at the man as I move, the panicked thought gets cut off when my luck finally runs out and I crash into a statue with enough force to knock it over.

And it’s quiet out.

Which is why, when the statue collides with the earth below and a sharp crack rings through the once silent night, the man’s head jerks towards the noise instantly.

And then his eyes land on me.

And I can’t fucking breathe.

And then the moment passes as the giant starts walking towards me and I just stare helplessly as a single step closes so so so much distance between us and he’s already here and I turn at the last second and start to sprint like my life depends on it and-

Something slams down in front of me with enough force to knock me off my feet and

And it’s marble.

It’s a massive wall of marble, etched with intricate swirls that I remember trying to carve accurately for weeks.

The massive fingerprint that now blocks my only way forward.

I’m trapped. I can’t move. Can’t even back away from the thing, watching as it shifts slightly in the dirt.

Because now it lives.

Jax is alive.

And I doubt I will be for much longer.

It’s almost funny in a way. Emelia Markov, sculptor of Rea, cursed by the goddess for being too much of a fucking downer.

I can hardly breath, waiting for something, something to happen, my heart hammering and my vision blurring from the stress and then

“Sorry but…could you help me? I think I’m…looking for something? Or…maybe someone? I think her name is…”

Don’t say it.

“Emelia?”

I flinch at that but say nothing. Hearing the statue I dedicated over a decade to sculpting saying my name is…not something I thought I’d ever experience before and yet here we are.

The sound of it leaving his lips makes my blood freeze but the man keeps going. “I just…do you…know anyone by that name?”

My vision blurs with panic and I have to blink back tears as the voice rumbles through me but still, I grasp onto what I quickly realize could possibly be my only chance of not dying tonight.

The giant waits and I take a moment to clear my throat before speaking.

“…I don’t.”

A pause.

I wait, the tension starting to hurt my shoulders.

And then

“…oh.”

There’s a few seconds of silence and for just the slightest moment I think maybe there’s a chance of survival when

“Then why do you sound like her?”

And there it is. Cold dread washes over me as his words do. A question that just about makes my heart stop beating. But what else can I do? There’s no escape. And even if there was, I doubt I’d get that far before he blocked me off again.

Still, when nothing immediately happens, I slowly build up the will to turn and look at what I’ve done.

And I regret it instantly.

It’s Jax.

It’s him.

My friend, the only thing I had to keep me company all these years. I shouldn’t have given him a burden like my own. Why couldn’t I have just let him be happy? Why couldn’t I just let him be? Anything would have worked for him. Anything. But I couldn’t do it. Because it wasn’t true and it didn’t fit.

All that time I spent resting in his palms and staring at his face, talking to him.

Now I can’t even look him in the eyes.

Still, it’s strange seeing what I can of him. His clothes and legs still appear to be made of solid stone but the cloth now blows just slightly in the breeze, creases I’ve spent years trying to perfect being undone and redone by the wind. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch.

But then he reaches forward and the spell shatters instantly. I know what’s coming and I want so badly to close my eyes but I can’t. Instead, I watch as the stone fingers unfurl and reach for me

Before the tip of a single claw lands just underneath my chin.

I expect the man to just impale me through the skull and be done with it but instead he does something much worse.

He tilts my head up.

And now Jax stares down at me, his massive face almost incomprehensible like this, brows furrowed as he takes me in. It’s strange seeing him without his default expression but then, I don’t think such a look could ever be aimed at me.

There’s a moment where the two of us just stare at each other in silence. The giant man cocks his head slightly, blinking with eyelids that were never supposed to move. Taking me in the same way I did him for all these years. And it’s strange. There’s this sense of…calm in the air, an almost finality to this moment. The lonely artist getting killed by her embodiment of emptiness. It’s almost poetic in a way and I take a deep breath while I still can.

And once the moment passes, Jax raises the hand that was blocking me, bringing it up and setting it down in front of me before another claw approaches my face.

Approaches my eyes.

Of course he’s going for the eyes first.

I try to breathe as a few more tears spill out but otherwise don’t try to move. There’s no point fighting anymore anyway.

The claw reaches out almost painfully slowly, like he’s purposely drawing out the moment for everything I put him through, prolonging my suffering as long as he possibly can before landing the killing blow.

And once the sharp tip just starts to graze my skin and I brace myself for the pain to come

He runs the claw along my face with a gentleness I didn’t expect, using it to carefully wipe my tears away. He does this continuously, over and over and over until finally the tears slow to a stop.

And once that’s done, he pulls back both of his hands and takes a seat in front of me.

And he smiles when my eyes meet his again.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Emelia,” the giant says quietly.

And then…nothing.

And now I’m confused.

I had been fully prepared to die tonight and now I don’t know what to do.

And so as my adrenaline starts to wind down and with no other plans for the night, I sit down as well.

We continue staring at each other in the quiet and, with the imminent threat of death gone, I can take the time to examine him properly. His head of stone hair moves when he shifts his head just slightly and it’s just…incredible seeing him in motion.

Terrifying though.

“…I always wanted to do that,” the giant mutters and snaps me out of my daze.

It takes a moment for me to find my voice. “…do what?”

“Wipe away your tears. You always seemed so…sad.”

“…oh.” The way he says this is so genuine that I can’t help but look away for a moment. “…thank you then.”

There’s a moment of silence before I try to fill it again.

“…I thought you were going to kill me.”

Jax pulls back slightly, his stone eyes growing wide in alarm. “Why?”

“…your hands.”

Jax looks his hands over, confused before turning back to me. “What about them? I think they look pretty great! You are an incredible sculptor.”

“Nono…thank you…but, I mean like I’m sorry I left them empty, you know? You were supposed to be holding something and…and I didn’t let you. I left a void and…I’m so so sorry about that.”

“Void...” Jax looks like he’s thinking for a second before slowly bringing his hands up to his chest and holding them in the position I carved them in. It’s almost uncanny seeing it now. “…you mean this?”

I nod and Jax’s expression softens slightly.

“Emelia…,” he trails off for a second before bringing a hand forward again and setting it down in front of me, laying it flat on the grass. “I want to show you something,” he says when I just stare at him.

With a shrug, I push myself off the ground and make my way over to the hand. I walk around it until I find something I can actually climb onto, having to settle with the end of his nail. Once I sit down, Jax slowly brings the hand up and over to his chest once more.

He cups his hands again and watches me quietly for a moment. And then smiles when I just stare back confused.

“What do you see right now? In my hands?”

I cock my head at him and look around for a bit before giving up. “I…don’t know, nothing?”

Jax just leans in a bit as his smile grows warmer, his once lifeless eyes shining as he hums in thought. “I could hear you, you know. I think I could see you too. I remember when you grew tired and rested under the shade of my fingers and when you slept sprawled in my palms and when you…cried yourself to sleep. When you were gone I remember feeling lonely but when you were in here-” he tilts the finger I’m on until I have no choice but to let gravity send me sliding down into his palms, “well, I didn’t really feel that way at all.”

Silence.

As the man moves his hands up slightly, ducking lower to see me better. His expression starts to change as he waits for me to get it, as the implication hangs over us, one that I refuse to grasp. His eyes grow soft when I frown and now I realize the face he’s making is familiar.

Far too familiar to deny. Everything about this is…and yet…in his hands is…

“…it’s you by the way,” the giant mutters after a few more seconds.

“…no, yeah, I get that but-”

“You filled my hands and-”

“I AM AWARE OF THAT.”

The giant chuckles at that, the sound filling the air and the resulting tremors nearly bowling me over. “Sorry, just checking. Point is you’ve kept me company all these years and well-” He pauses, slowly moving one of his hands and curling his fingers before bringing his index finger towards me and resting the tip of his claw just under my hand, shifting it slightly so that he’s raising it up. “I think it’s about time I return the favour.”

-

It’s relatively peaceful when I wake up in the morning, the mattress sinking slightly as I move to get more comfortable under the covers.

The sun is already up but there’s no work to do right now and honestly, I’m just kind of…lazy.

I take in the ambient noise of the late morning as my head moves to borrow deeper in the pillow. The bird song and distant conversation filtering in from the temple.

A good day as any to stay in bed.

But then a tremor shakes the ground and I realize that I won’t be staying in bed much longer.

The tremors increase in magnitude and I hope to whichever god is listening that it isn’t anything important but of course

“Mia!” a voice that’s far too loud echoes from outside. “Some guy back at the temple wants to talk to you for a minute. It’s about uh…it’s about me.”

“Mmm?”

“He…well he wants to know more about Rea and how you managed to get her attention and…all that stuff.”

Ah.

I just sigh. Not one of these guys again. Ever since word got out that a statue was brought to life, Rea’s temple has been getting a lot more visitors, all of them full of questions. Some well meaning but others…not so much.

“…why can’t he just talk to you then?”

“Uh…well, you know why.”

I frown at that.

I think about going out there but then…just roll over instead. It’s cozy here and if that guy really wants something, then he can come to me himself. Jax has been here for months now and it’s not like he’d ever hurt anyone, as intimidating as he looks. He even helps out at the temple from time to time.

“No, I really don’t. Like yeah, you’re big but you’re also the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“…oh? …thank you?”

“Either he talks to you or…he can come get me,” I mutter into my pillow.

“Mia.” There’s more movement from outside but otherwise nothing else happens.

“If he’s that scared of Rea’s blessing then maybe he doesn’t care as much as he thought.”

A sigh rolls over the house like a hurricane. “Rea’s not the one who made a giant, M. That was on you.”

I pull my covers closer. “You act like you don’t like being this size,” I mutter.

Silence.

Then

“…I do like being this size.”

There’s realization in that statement. And I can fucking hear the grin forming on his face as he says this. This gives me about half a second to brace myself before, with a sound the nearly deafens me, the entire hut starts to shake, knocking supplies over and causing the furniture to start sliding across the room and then, after one final jolt

Something blocks out the light filtering into the room.

Something it takes only a moment to register as one of the pupils I remember spending days trying to carve into a perfect circle. Jax is so damn big that I can only see the familiar curve of it through the window.

“Jax?”

“Mia?”

“Is my house still connected to the ground?”

“Nope.” He pops the p as he says this.

“Damn you.”

This causes Jax to laugh, which shakes the entire house for a moment until he stops.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

I just wave him off. “…so, what now?”

“…what do you mean?”

“You have the house. You can take me to that guy but I’m still not getting out of bed and it’s not like you can get in here so…,” I feel a smug smile of my own starting to form. “…what now, big guy?”

This seems to catch him off guard for a moment. He stops to think about it. “…well, you could always just admit defeat and walk out right now?”

“Nah.”

“I could…convince you?”

“How?”

“Uh….”

“Yeah?”

“…I could get you something you want?”

I almost laugh at that. “Rea, could you please remind me what Jax is supposed to be again?”

Rea pops into existence. “He’s the thing you’ve been wanting for some time now. From the very depths of your soul.”

“Thank you.” I pause for a moment. “…wait why don’t you have to deal with any of this bullshit?”

Rea’s grin falters for just a moment. “I…can’t interfere directly with the lives of mortals.”

“Jax looks pretty direct to me.”

The minor goddess looks away for a moment before her eyes widen almost comically. “Wait…can you feel that? Someone is in dire need of my guidance. Busy, busy, you know.”

She’s gone before I can so much as sneer at her half assed excuse and I shake my head at the empty space she once occupied before turning back to the window with a sigh. “Anyway, can you top that?”

Jax is quiet for a moment. “…I…guess…not?” And then in a softer voice. “…do I really mean that much to you?”

I nod at him through the window and there’s a pause before the whole house jolts just slightly.

“Jax, what are you doing?”

Jax coughs awkwardly. “…trying to hug you.”

I frown for a moment before sitting up and reaching out the window, making contact with the massive stone iris hanging outside. Jax blinks in confusion for a moment, temporarily trapping my fingers between his eyelids before he slowly moves his head until the tip of his nose is barely pushing through the opening. I wrap my arms around it, leaning into him and he tries to do the same, the hut creaking as he leans into the touch with a small sigh.

“…I’m still not coming out, you know,” I mutter into him.

“I know,” Jax mutters back. “…and yet-”

He cuts his words off as he suddenly leans away from the house and I, with the thing I was leaning my full body weight against suddenly gone, go sprawling out the window.

Once I finally get my bearings again, I can see Jax’s face staring down at me from above. His expression is apologetic but the tremors of silent laughter currently traveling through him tell me otherwise.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“Mmm.”

Once the man finally calms down enough, he leans in close once more, pressing the tip of his nose into me and pushing me into his palm as he nuzzles me.

“I’ll drop you off though,” he says after a moment, the proximity making the words vibrate through my bones. “And if the guy just so happens to leave at the sight then well…what can you do?”

I almost smile at that. “Fine.”