#in a land of myth tag

[i-swear-to-merlin]

old and new bbc merlin drawing to kick off my first ever Tumblr blog!

I first listened to BBC Merlin around the years it aired but I was young and I "forgot" about it. Then I discovered the series was trending again and I thought, OMG here's the time to draw all of the fanart you never made!!!!!

Feel free to send any ask and I'll see if I feel like drawing them, basically any Merlin characters it can be portraits or comic strip, I'm always open to try anything!

Im here because this is the Once and Future Fandom, we're not going anywhere!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Thunderous

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Bang Chan

Word Count: 11K

Genre: Werewolf AU! Royalty AU!

Warnings: There are some elements of non-con in this fanfic. Please don’t read if you don’t like those elements. Mentions of knotting and rough sex. There’s also a lot of explicit smut and language throughout.

Summary: The Wolf King’s name seared your heart. You had been chosen as the youngest and most expendable daughter to be his mate. But you were terrified of the legends surrounding his bloody campaigns. How were you going to survive?

Tag List: @armystay89 @captainchrisstan @starseekersworld @melsunshine @kibs-and-bits

The Wolf King’s name whispered through the trees and hummed between the villages like the ancient stories of the gods.

Some of the villagers claimed that he could transform—bones cracking and teeth elongating until there was no man left. They said his claws could cut through trees and that his howl silenced the instincts of the mountain lions who cowered in their dens. In place of human skin, fur sprouted thick and rough, darkening until it matched the color of the shadows.

The myth and lore had been passed down for years, and you found yourself on the receiving end of all those stories. As the Wolf King’s future mate, you had also become something of an enigma around the kingdom. People looked at you with a glint of respect, bowing their heads and moving out of your way whenever you made your rounds. 

The attention that you hated. Especially when the marriage had been arranged without your willing compliance. Young girl fantasies of handsome princes and distant lands vanquished in an instant. But even if you couldn’t indulge in happiness anymore, there had been a time when you allowed yourself to dream about your wedding. 

Bubbling colors of red and green—like your kingdom’s annual yuletide celebrations—and a long, flowing white gown extending across the floor like an elegant brush of paint. Pure as you had always been. There was beautiful music in your dream, and a gorgeous prince to take you into his arms and glide you across the floor like the clouds moving in the sky.

Fantasies, indeed.

Instead, of merriment and goodwill, you found yourself trembling from head to toe, holding tight to the sleeve of your handmaiden’s gown as she escorted you through the recital hall, down the aisle to where you recognized the Wolf King waiting.

You had only met him twice before. Once, when you had just turned twelve, on the day your families agreed to meet over the prospect of securing peace between your rival kingdoms.

When you were both little children, the Wolf King had no reputation. He was just a boy, and you greeted him with a smile—ignorant of the true purpose of your first meeting. While your parents talked about the future, you showed the Wolf King your favorite flowers, handing him individual stems while your mother bargained your life away:

“A union is our commitment to peace,” your mother had once proclaimed, reaching out to softly pat your curls. “We think they’ll do well together.”

“Yes.” But Chan’s mother didn’t seem convinced. She was an elegant and beautiful woman with long black hair and bright red eyes to match his defining features. “Chan will decide who he wants to marry,” his mother said.

“Y/N will make a good wife when she comes of age,” your mother insisted. “We’ll hire the best teachers to ensure that she is prepared for her duties.”

“That matters little to us,” Chan’s father spoke, and he regarded you like one might grimace at an annoying ant to step on.

You shied away from his intimidating stare, looking instead at Chan as he designed a flower crown for you, placing it on top of your head with a proud smile.

It was the last time he would ever show such kindness.

Over the years proceding your first meeting, Chan became a man, and his reputation for ruthlessness and fury ignited a storm of gossip. 

“The Wolf King stands taller than the gods!”

“The Wolf King slaughtered a village because they refused to bow down to him!”

“He’s a monster! Have mercy on us all!”

You became terrified at any mention of the Wolf King, wondering if your parents were still serious about a union. You found out the hard way when your mother invited the Wolf King and his generals to your kingdom. But you didn’t stick around for very long.

The next time you met, you were sixteen, and you ran away to the gardens in a rare show of rebellion against your parents who had expected you to dress pretty and show off for Chan.

But that wasn’t in your nature, and your instincts screamed at you to avoid the Wolf King. And you thought that you were alone in the forest. Surrounded by the quiet of the thick foliage. But then you heard the bushes move, and you noticed a large black head peering at you with piercing red eyes.

You relaxed when you realized that it was just a common wolf—probably one from the mountain packs, and you weren’t frightened. Animals had always held a special place in your heart, and you approached the wolf with palms upturned to show your peaceful intentions. The wolf never moved, and you stroked your fingers through the coarse fur on his head. 

You returned home that evening thinking your father would scold you for running off like that. But you were instead warmly greeted by your parents who were both ecstatic. “He agreed to marry you, Y/N!” your mother exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

It wasn’t.

Not at all.

And you had never experienced real fear in your entire life. But walking down the aisle in the chapel to where the fearless Wolf King waited for you, there was a bone-chilling tremble aching down your spine.

“So beautiful,” you heard faint whispers join together, urging you closer and closer to the Wolf King who gazed at you with the most intense stare you had ever received.

When you were within earshot, the Wolf King snatched your hand from the poor handmaiden who had been helping you walk down the aisle.

The girl quickly jumped to the side, bowing her head as the Wolf King forced you to stand in front of him, reaching down for your other hand. You reluctantly gave it to him, still looking at everything except for the Wolf King’s eyes, even if the little growl he gave showed that he disapproved.

You could hear your mother’s chastising voice in your head, scolding you for not pleasing the King. But you didn’t care anymore. Wasn’t it enough that you were standing there, giving your life away to a monster?

In the distant background, you could hear the priest delivering his lines, and when it was your turn, you gave your vow of allegiance, even if the words fell hot like acid from your unwilling tongue.

Thankfully, the ceremony did not require you to kiss him, dodging his wayward lips when they fell too close to yours. 

There was a rush when the proceedings concluded, the firm ushering of hands leading you out of the chapel. You stumbled in your heels, bringing yourself inadvertently closer to the Wolf King who held tighter to your waist. You did not enjoy the closeness, swallowing down your nerves as you tried not to think about what came next.

The crowd eventually parted, giving you enough space to walk down the steps in the open air, briefly acknowledging the cheering crowd spread through the streets. There was a distinct awe in the noise from the people around you, clambering over one another to get a good like at yourself and the predator who would soon claim you for his own. Wanting to acquaint themselves with your kingdom’s bargaining chip—a small sacrifice to ensure an alliance between your people and the ones who fought under Chan’s domain.

On paper, it seemed like a worthy solution to helping your kingdom protect its borders and fight off invaders. The problem was that you felt the weight of pleasing a man you had no interest in—someone who frightened you to your core. A sick knot tightened in your guts and your stomach clenched tighter as Chan led you to Castle Miroh—the notorious landmark of his territory symbolizing the power of the ruling family.

As the main doors parted, you winced at the sensation of the cold and harsh air inside, and a shiver passed down your spine as you forced yourself to keep up with Chan’s incessant pace, footsteps clacking against marble. It was dark in the corridors, and the only lighting came from the flames ensconced along the walls, casting everything in shadows. Ahead in the distance, you could see the outline of a grand staircase, and your eyes worked tirelessly to mark each step on your darkened path.

It turned out that Chan kept his quarters on the highest floor, latching your fingers together the entire time, even as you forced down the bile permanently hitched at the back of your throat at the thought of all the blood that had stained those hands. 

At the top of the staircase, you were pulled to the left, marching down an impressive corridor with a soft, velvet carpet beneath your soles. Eventually, you found yourself in front of a large, wooden door, and Chan ushered you through the frame, a hand to your lower back as your eyes paused on the King-sized bed waiting beneath an unholy painting of a bloody battle scene.

You will present yourself to the Wolf King, you recalled the words of your tutor. He will expect obedience from his mate.

You blinked away tears, knowing what you were expected to do next, and deciding to push through your nerves before you lost the contents of your stomach on the floor. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, but you ignored your instincts, loosening the straps of your dress to allow it to pool into a mess on the floor at your feet, and kicking it aside as you eliminated the remaining distance to the bed. 

You didn’t want to show him that you were weak. That he had any sort of influence that might condemn you a coward. You could not be seen as pathetic in the eyes of a monster, crawling on hands and knees to the center of the bed, head ducked down between your trembling arms and waiting.

Your breath caught when the bed dipped beneath his weight, and you gritted your teeth, feeling his hands take your hips with a powerful grip, nails digging into the soft skin.

The Wolf King will fuck you, your tutor had said, Then he will bite you to complete the mating ritual.

You had seen the Wolf King’s teeth. Sharp like razors and pointed at the ends. You would be a bloody mess at the end of this, but no one could ever accuse you of shirking your responsibilities. You had done everything expected of you, holding on to this thought of solace as you waited for him to take his fill.

“Don’t,” he abruptly whispered, startling you as he laid down on the mattress at your side, closing his eyes and letting out a grumble, completely unbothered with his own nakedness. 

It must’ve happened while you were turned away, but it was still jarring to see so much pale skin on display, marred with jagged scars and scarlet bruises. Eyes trailing over the swell of his chest, over the ridges of his abs, and down to this impressive cock. 

You swallowed hard. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

“No,” Chan said, chest deflating. “You do not want that.”

His response surprised you, and you wanted nothing more than to hurriedly tuck the sheet around your body to hide you from him. “I thought you were meant to-”

“We are equals,” Chan interrupted with a much firmer tone. “And you are afraid.”

Equals? The word didn’t seem right coming from him, but you weren’t about to question what was seemingly amounting to an act of mercy. Quick as a flash, you had the sheet bundled against your chest, eyes wide as you looked him over. “The mating-”

“We can do the bite,” Chan continued as if he didn’t care that he wasn’t fulfilling the only purpose you had been given. “But in the morning. The celebrations earlier exhausted me. Such frivolous trivialities.”

“Won’t they notice-”

“Who are they?” Chan barked with a hint of a growl that had you flinching. “There is no one who orders the King around.”

His dark pupils met yours in the dark, searching for something. You swallowed hard, unsure what he was looking for, but focusing on the calming sensation of relief flooding your system at his unexpected mercy. “Thank you.”

He gave a curt nod, dipping his head to the space next to him. “Sleep.”

You obeyed, wondering if you could sleep next to him, even if he had shown you some degree of kindness. It still didn’t erase his bloody reputation, and it worried you to no end that you would be sleeping next to a killer. Born to fight his way to power and rule over his kind. 

You took a deep breath, holding tight to the sheet, and closing your eyes. Perhaps it was the roller coaster of emotions weighing down on you from the day’s events, but you did manage to find sleep, even if it was troubled. Nightmares of wolves following you through the woods, red irises piercing you from the shelter of the trees, and claws slicing through flesh. 

You gasped when your eyes sprung open against an onslaught of bright, morning light, heart palpitating in your chest when you met those same eyes looking down at you from above. Chan was a step ahead of you as if he could predict your movements, grabbing your hands in one of his own to hold them above your head. One of his powerful thighs slung across your lower body, holding you in place with a strength that ignited a fire of burning adrenaline. 

“Hold still,” he said, giving you no other warning before teeth sank into the side of your neck, and your body panicked, fighting against him. Like he might take a chunk out of your neck and leave you on the bed to bleed out. Crimson against the cream-colored sheets. 

Immediately, a pulsating shock erupted from the site of the wound, forcing a scream from between your lips at the overwhelming pain. “I know,” he said, and it was barely discernible over the sounds of your cries, unashamed to lose all inhibitions at the sensation of a pain you had never experienced before.

The Wolf King moved over top of you, and you flinched when you felt his tongue start to lap at the painful bite mark on your shoulder. “The pain will stop soon,” he said. “I’m sorry you have to suffer.”

You held back a whine, digging your nails into the soft flesh of your palms. You supposed he had helped the sting, but it still felt like a piece of glass was being sliced across your skin. Even if the guilt and remorse in his gaze were almost enough to distract you.

“Relax,” he soothed, releasing your hands which instinctively went to wipe at your eyes, drying the salty wetness that had accumulated. 

“I- I can’t...”

“You can because you are mine now,” he declared in a tone that had a different flame sparking in your chest. 

You nodded against the pain, focusing on taking deep breaths, and letting darkness take you under once more.

When you woke again, the King was ready for you. He explained that you were needed in the Throne Room to meet some important people. It turned out that the King had three brothers. They were all younger than him. Or so you had been told.

Their names were Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin. Feared and revered for their triumphs in battle.

Your Wolf King seemed proud to show them off, standing before you in an organized line: from oldest to youngest.

Felix reminded you of your own cousins, with his lithe figure, so much different from the King’s own bulk, and a head of flaming orange-red hair. 

Next to him, in the middle, stood Seungmin. Dressed in dark clothes that only made his already dark hair even more onyx-black. Bright green eyes appraising you slowly.

Finally, there was Jeongin. The tallest of the three. And sporting the same dark-colored hair as his middle brother. He seemed to be the most innocent, eyes wide with wonder.

“They are here to support you,” Chan went on after introductions had passed. “Call on them if you need any help.”

Unlikely, but you forced a nod nonetheless.

“You are dismissed,” Chan informed them after you gave your acquiescence, and you watched them retreat in the same formation down the hall.

In their stead approached a shorter man, dressed in full battle attire. Well-muscled to stretch the fabric of his shirt and pants, with serious dark eyes. “My King,” the man said, bowing once. “You are needed on the training fields.”

You flinched when the man’s eyes found your neck, likely noting the swollen mess that Chan had left behind. “I’ll be there shortly, Changbin,” Chan said, and he waited until the man was gone before looking at you. “The Castle is yours, my Queen. Feel free to look around and acquaint yourself with your new home.”

“I will,” you whispered, forcing yourself to stay still when he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Tonight, we can eat together,” came his parting words, and you grimaced at the idea of sharing a meal with him. 

But the concept of sharing a meal with him was nowhere near as horrible as the idea that this place could ever be considered your home. What a nasty thought! This place was nothing more than a prison forced upon you because your parents were desperate for Chan’s allegiance.

“Why did he agree?” you huffed to yourself, spinning on your heel to start the trek back to your room—as much as you could remember. “Leaving me here as if I know where anything is!”

For months leading up to your shared nuptials, you had pondered the reason why the powerful Wolf King had even agreed to marry you in the first place. Neither of your meetings had been particularly impactful, and your Kingdom had nothing to benefit his own; in fact, your alliance was more of a detriment to Chan and his people—a burden that he willingly took on.

You turned the corner to the last corridor, grateful that you had managed to retrace your steps, faltering when you noticed something on the floor outside of your door. You kneeled to retrieve it, glancing at the writing and noting with a happy hum that it was addressed from the Northern Highlands!

“Grace!” you exclaimed, clutching the envelope to your chest as you quickly rushed inside your room, glancing back to ensure the door was locked before hopping onto the bed to rip the contents open.

Dear Y/N,

Congratulations on your marriage to Bang Chan - it will be a strong alliance for our parents and their Kingdom. 

I apologize for my absence - Hyunjin was unable to make the accommodations.

As you know, snowfall comes to the Highlands in the upcoming months. It will soon be impossible for me to journey to you, or for you to make the journey here. I’d love to see you and your new husband before it is difficult to do so.

Please write to me when you can to arrange a visit.

Lovingly,

Grace

You read over the letter twice before releasing a deep sigh. Would your Wolf King even indulge in such a trip? Perhaps it wasn’t even necessary for him to go. You could make the trip on your own.

You held fast to that thought, of getting away from your prison even if only for a few days, as you lounged around in your room for the remainder of the day. There was little to entertain yourself with, re-reading Grace’s letter over and over again, and sitting outside on the little veranda attached to your room to watch the clouds moving in the sky.

It would be another mercy to escape Chan’s presence if you were to head North alone, but you were afraid that you were pushing your luck, wincing when you heard the door to your chambers opening again, returning inside from your observation of the grounds to greet Chan as you were expected to do.

“My queen,” he rumbled, reaching out to hold your shoulders between both hands, a grip that was impossible to mistake. “Were you able to see more of the Castle?”

“Yes,” you lied through clenched teeth, only breathing a little easier when he released you, eyes dropping to the letter in your hands.

“What is that?”

“It is from my sister,” you explained. 

“I see.”

“She wasn’t able to attend the wedding,” you went on, saving yourself a bit of time as you scrambled for the best way to drop the news to him. Maybe it would just be best to try a blunt approach, giving him your demands since he insisted on calling you an equal. “I wish to see my sister,” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Before it is too dangerous to make the trip to the Northern Highlands.”

Chan grunted at your request, and you weren’t well-versed in his language to know what that meant. “She invited you?”

“I can go alone,” you said. “If it is too much for you.”

“I would love to come with you,” he said, disregarding the determination in your tone. “It will give us more time to spend together on our own.”

“Oh.” Your gaze remained trained on the floor, hopes dashed that you could leave him behind. 

“It will be nice to visit there,” he said. “I will make the arrangements. You may write her back to expect us very soon.”

“As you wish,” you sighed, trying to keep the disappointment from your tone, flinching when he grabbed one of your wrists. He didn’t seem perturbed by your reaction, and you watched as he pulled a delicate piece of jewelry from his pocket.

“Well?” he smiled, something that made you shiver. “What do you think?”

“What is it?” you asked in return, resisting the urge to pull back the wrist clasped between his scarred fingers. Even if you did manage to finally meet his gaze.

“It is a gift for you,” Chan said with a smile you were not expecting—blinding and warm. “I made it myself.”

“You made this?”

“As our traditions dictate,” he agreed, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to clasp the little bracelet around your delicate flesh. “It is meant to show our bond to the world.”

You studied it curiously, noting the simple design and the small wolf-shaped carvings engraved in the metal. It was cold against your skin, even as the heat from his body balanced it out.

“Shall we eat?”

He dropped your wrist, and you were able to gather your bearings. “Of course.” You managed a nod, watching as he opened the door wide, allowing a small servant girl to enter the room.

The girl offered you both a respectful bow before she started to set the table, laying out silverware and fine china plates. Behind her, another girl rolled in a cart, wheels squealing on the floor, with prepared food steaming from beneath metal lids. 

“Here, sit with me,” Chan said, patting the space on the bed next to him. “Until they are ready.”

You obeyed, sitting down next to him. Your gaze remained trained on the servant girls, moving about in a well-rehearsed manner as if they had done this too many times to count. 

He reached for your hand, and you did your best not to flinch. “Look,” he whispered, urging you to follow his gaze. “This line on your hand, do you see the way it moves?”

You shivered as he traced the mark he referred to, following it up and down the length of your palm. “Yes,” you whispered, struck by the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.

Goosebumps followed the trail he left on your wrist, and you held your breath when he brought it to his lips. “The same as mine,” he said, almost reverently. Your eyes widened, breath hitching as he aligned your hands together. “A perfect match.”

You could hardly believe it, eyes searching back and forth, but seeing the same line digging into both of your skin. Like it belonged there. 

“There are reasons for everything,” he said, and you felt a small flicker of shame when you read his knowing gaze as if he could sense those dark thoughts that you sheltered about him—wondering why you out of everyone in the world had been chosen to stand at his side. “I wouldn’t question so much,” he continued. “The things that fall into place so perfectly.”

He offered you a wink, surprisingly playful for a man of his reputation. “Let’s eat.”

You nodded, the most you could, and followed him to the table. He was polite as always, allowing you to pick first, waiting until your first bite before claiming his own. You were content, at that moment, to answer the questions he threw your way, increasingly aware of the way the place he had touched warming and the mark on your neck drummed in a gentle pulse.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and there was less trepidation in your soul when you lay with Chan to sleep. 

You journeyed to the Highlands the next morning, riding behind Chan on horseback, leaving the Wolves’ imposing Castle behind. There was a lightness about you as distance added more miles to your ride, growing brighter and brighter the further you traveled. Even with light conversation petering between you and Chan, you had never been freer in your entire life, the wind blowing back your hair as you soared across the plains.

Despite his repeated requests for you to take a break, you were determined to make it to your sister’s palace before nightfall. You wanted to see her outside, in the meadows that spread invitingly across the Highlands, and walk together just the two of you as you did as children.

There was excitement spiking hot adrenaline in your veins when the hills opened up in the distance, revealing a gorgeous mountain Castle with imposing towers and the familiar flags of your sister’s powerful family. She belonged to Hyunjin, taking his name and crest, and it made you sad to realize that there was a greater distance between you both. You loosened your grip on Chan’s waist, not realizing your grip on him.

You had grown tired of being around him, constantly blinded by the weight of his shadow. At least out here, with the sun beaming down from above, you could feel great relief from the pressure lightening. Perhaps there should be shame associated with your actions, but as soon as you could identify a familiar shape up ahead, you were already leaping from the horse despite Chan’s protests.

Thankfully, your sister was there to greet you, surrounded by two guards. Immediately, you jumped from your steed, falling into her arms and inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. “Grace,” you squealed, keeping her held tight to you as if it would be the last time you could ever do so. 

“Y/N,” she sing-songed back, and you smiled at her playful attitude, only growing a little despondent when you detected Chan’s approach from behind.

“Hello,” she greeted Chan with a polite bow. “It is an honor to welcome you to the Northern Highlands.”

“Your palace is beautiful,” Chan complimented, and you shivered when he drew fingers down the length of your spine—a show of affection that you would never get used to experiencing.

“Thank you,” she said, turning around to gaze back at it as if she were seeing it for the first time. “It has centuries of history.”

“I have heard the tales,” Chan remarked. “From when I was a boy.”

You tried not to snort, not wanting to relive any memories of Chan from his boyhood. Grace’s careful eyes, however, seemed to detect something, and she looked at you with a curious gaze. “Well, I can show you to your quarters.”

“No need, I’m sure one of your guards will know the way. I think Y/N has been waiting for some time with you. I’ll leave you both alone,” he said, even without your prompting, and your sister gave you a familiar smile.

“As you wish,” she said with a little curtsy, beckoning a guard forward with stern orders to help the Wolf King settle in while you and Grace took a stroll of the grounds.

You held your breath, not wanting your impatience to show as the arrangements were made. Only once Chan had started in the direction of the Castle, guards following him closely, did you exhale. Reaching for Grace’s hand, and tugging her forward.

“No need to drag me!” Grace chuckled at your actions, and she linked your arms together, steering you toward the familiar meadows.

You both settled into easy conversation as it always seemed to happen, topics flowing from one to another. There was a lot to catch up on, things left unsaid from your sad exchange of letters. Rumors swirling around the highlands, and stories from your own homeland that you consumed greedily, excited for any mention of your little Kingdom.

Even if you didn’t really belong to it anymore.

You wanted to walk forever, to keep going beyond the highlands. Escaping to a distant land with just you and Grace. A place where you could both live in peace and go about your days just chatting and reading together by the fireplace as you did when you were children.

She laughed at your complaints, forcing you to return to the Castle when the sun had started to set. Thankfully, you didn’t go all the way inside just yet, and the two of you sat down at one of the picnic tables in the gardens. As you settled next to Grace, bowing politely to the maids who brought you both a cup of tea, you frowned as you recognized Chan between the hedges, strolling along with Hyunjin, Grace’s King, down the trodden paths between the mazes. 

You did your best to ignore him, focusing instead on the moment you had with your sister. The setting sun was warm as you reclined your head, eyes closed as you accepted the gracious touch—burning just as hot as your sister’s intense stare.

“Do you have something to say?” you huffed. “I can feel you looking at me.”

Her smile was clear in her tone. “You just seem...different.”

“How so?”

“Like you’ve been tamed.”

Your eyes flew open at the comment, glaring at her. “Stuck in an arranged marriage, you mean?”

“Mine was arranged as well, but you can rest assured that I don’t take the same comfort from my particular suitor.”

“I hardly take comfort from the Wolf King,” you argued, but Grace simply shrugged.

“You’ve never seen things as I do.”

“What’s so bad about Hyunjin anyway?” you asked instead, to direct the conversation away from Chan,

Her smile curdled. “He keeps busy with his whores,” she said, shocking you with such an accusation.

“Grace-”

“Don’t.” Your sister sighed. “There’s nothing you can do.”

She attempted to restore her previous smile, looking back over your shoulder with a sigh. “I like your Wolf King,” she eventually said. “He cares about you a lot. I haven’t seen him take his eyes away from you once.”

Grace must be imagining things. “He’s tolerable at best,” you decided, earning yourself a sigh from your sister.

“My how your perspective has changed,” she remarked, finally turning her attention to the lukewarm tea in front of her. “You were kicking and screaming when you first learned of the marriage.”

“It is something that was forced on me!”

“But you’re not the only one, Y/N,” Grace said with a tone filled with sadness.

Suddenly, you felt chastened and guilty for even protesting her. “For us both, it has created nothing but discomfort.”

“I think there is potential in your match,” Grace argued. “You resist because you are stubborn in nature, but I think there could be good things for you if you just tried to make it work. Wouldn’t it be better, sister, to live with him as lovers than as cold strangers?”

“He is too wild for marriage,” you weakly protested. But your argument held no merit, and you hated the logic in her words, turning away to glare into the distance.

Night passed before your eyes, like the dimmest flicker, and you had never been more unhappy to greet the rising sun. 

It seemed that all good things inevitably came to an end, and you were holding back tears when you parted from Grace the next morning, holding the embrace for far too long. Even as you allowed Chan to help you back onto the horse, positioned directly behind him on the saddle, you kept your gaze trained behind you, watching Grace grow smaller and smaller.

Until she was gone.

Your heart was heavy when you returned to Chan’s castle that same afternoon, but your foul mood didn’t last for long. Distracted as you were, surprised by the bustling activities throughout the grounds, everyone scrambling for something you couldn’t identify. “Our moon festival,” Chan explained. “We will be shifting tonight.”

Oh, right. You had forgotten about that part, too distraught reminiscing on your brief moment of freedom with Grace. “I almost forgot.”

“There will be a feast tonight,” he explained. “We will both join as King and Queen.”

You scowled at the idea. “As you wish.”

Chan frowned at the comment. “You must be tired from the journey,” he continued, choosing not to react to your passive comment. “Feel free to rest in our quarters. I will come get you later.”

You agreed with a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment. Sleep did sound like a much-needed relief from the exhaustion threatening each unsteady step you took up the stairs. It was what you blamed your disorientation on, barely noticing when Chan leaned in to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek.

That same spot burned under the barely-there attention. But you chose to ignore it, instead focusing on how your feet were throbbing when you landed on top of your bed with a huff, allowing tears to escape as you gave yourself a moment to purge the nasty emotions that had built after leaving the Highlands. Unable to do so as you rode behind Chan.

There were too many different emotions piled on throughout the day, mixing with a heady combination of your exhaustion from traveling. Countless thoughts also swirled through your head, and it was inevitable that you would fall under, losing yourself to the easy promise of sleep. An easier task than grappling with your conflicted feelings. 

Darkness greeted you like an old friend, and your dreams were wild. One moment you were back with Grace, strolling through the meadows. The next, you found yourself in an empty forest, shadows chasing each breath evaporating on cold air, ensnared by a pair of red eyes in the thick foliage.

You stumbled on the undergrowth, falling backward ungracefully. You only had the wherewithal to put a hand over your face, trying to block everything out, as those eyes descended on you. Fear caught in your throat, and it was the lasting image that haunted you as you jerked upright in bed, barely withholding a scream when those same eyes met you in the real world.

“Y/N.”

Chan’s voice was deep, guttural in its intensity, and filled with concern. You flinched when fingers came out to gently remove sweaty bangs from your eyes, heart thunderous inside your chest. His hand paused in its motions, and for a fleeting second, you thought you might drown in his stare.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Bad dreams.”

“I see.”

There was a question in his tone, but you didn’t know how to provide an answer, choosing instead to gently push his hand away. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

He nodded, lower lip caught between his teeth. “If you’re certain...”

You studied him for a moment, wishing that you could confide in him. But there was still a great distance between you, perhaps put there by your own accord, but heavy in its existence. “I shall get ready.”

Chan allowed you the space, agreeing to meet you in the hallway as you rose to get dressed, finding the dress that had been laid out for you by the maids. You slipped the fabric over your body, shivering as the silkiness slid across your skin like a lover’s caress.

True to his word, Chan was waiting patiently on the other side of the door, and you hesitated before taking the outstretched hand offered to you. Unprepared for when it pulled you in closer, under the scrutiny of his affectionate gaze. “Beautiful,” he declared, nostrils flaring as if taking in the scent of the perfume you sprayed. 

“Thank you,” you offered in return, choosing to keep silent as he led the way, helping you down the stairs in your heels. 

For once, you willingly stayed close to Chan, especially as you approached the Great Hall where the festivities would take place. Chan led you into the dining room, perhaps a bit too hastily, uneasy with the weight of his people’s stares boring down upon your figure. Dressed simply in that white gown—pure, as you had always remained—and looking entirely out of place amongst battle-hardened soldiers. 

You caught Changbin’s stare from across the room as you sat at the head of the table next to the King. There was lust in his gaze. And it deeply unsettled you, to the point that even Chan caught your shiver.

He followed your gaze to Changbin who looked away at once. “Tradition says that the King can share his mate,” Chan whispered. “But I will not share you with him. So he can only look.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything in return. “I didn’t know.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Chan stood, addressing the room. “Let’s feast together, comrades! We run together at the moon’s highest cycle!”

A chorus of cheers and howls greeted his words, and everyone started to fill their plates, easy conversation flowing between the wolves like the smell of the delicious-looking platters laid out before you. Still, your stomach revolted, swimming in circles as you picked at the helping Chan had served you. You wrinkled your nose when his grease-stained fingers brought a piece of chicken to your lips, and you forced yourself to take it from him. 

Chan sighed as you chewed, forcing the morsel down your throat as it stung. “I won’t be with you tonight, of course. We will likely stay out in the moonlight until dawn. But I will return in the morning.”

“Okay.” You shrugged, seemingly indifferent. Some time to yourself seemed nice. And you weren’t keen on being outside when they were no longer human. 

“You don’t have to be miserable here, my Queen,” Chan suddenly said, tone taking on a hardened edge. Perhaps the first time he had ever sounded stern with you. “Wolves mate for life, and they choose their partners seriously”

You contemplated his words, chosen ever so carefully. “I - I will try,” you managed, recalling Grace’s advice from the previous day.

To live as lovers rather than strangers. 

He hummed at your agreement, eyes glued to your form as he appraised you with something akin to curiosity. “Don’t roam so far from the castle tonight. It isn’t dangerous, but it is your first time. Of course, there’s usually nothing to fear in the gardens.”

There was a layered hint in his words, but you chose not to think about it too much, simply nodding your head as you resumed your task of picking at your food. There was nothing wrong with the offering in front of you, but your newfound uneasiness mixed with your emotional charge from earlier—it had not yet completely dispelled itself from your system—left an unpleasant ache in your chest.

As if something was missing…

Later that night, long after the wolves left the castle, you realized you couldn’t sleep even if you tried, listening to the chorus of howls from outside the castle walls. They rang through the night, loud and clear, and harmonized with one another as if perfectly in sync. Perhaps they were since Chan and his wolves shared a tight bond, and you wondered what it must be like to be so perfectly in tune with one another.

It was these thoughts that plagued you, and even as midnight came and went, you grew more restless. You resolved to walk through the castle, to quell your thoughts and ease your mind. Even as your footsteps echoed through the halls, you found yourself becoming more awake instead of the opposite effect.

Fresh air would be nice, you thought until you remembered the wolves outside. But then again, Chan did promise you that the gardens would be safe. You could trust him, right? Or was that the problem? Your lack of trust in someone meant to be your partner. 

You resolved yourself in that moment to try. And if that meant venturing out into the gardens, then no one could accuse you of being silent and passive. This was your attempt at trying, and if it ended badly, then you would have all the more leverage to ignore him.

However, despite your attempts to steel your resolve, you found your heart beating impossibly fast when you greeted the moonlight outside. Each lungful of air that you forced down your lungs felt like sharp knives attacking your flesh. Gaze swimming in front of you, footsteps unsteady as you entered the hedge maze surrounding the gardens.

You inhaled deeply, trying to find comfort in the familiar smell of the foliage. There was a strange air of peace surrounding you, and that was all the solace you needed to keep going, admiring the way the colors of the blooming flowers bled in a different light. It was easy to grow distracted by the sight, as beautiful as it was, and perhaps you could blame your wandering eye for failing to adequately identify the rustling of something large in the undergrowth of the forest. 

You hummed to yourself, leaning down to run your fingers over the soft petals of a rose. Its usual red was subdued somehow, under the moon’s glow, and you smiled at the effect, completely ignorant of a different red seeping through the hedges near your right.

It wasn’t until a gentle whimper sounded that you jerked to a stop, hand fluttering to cover your chest as you whipped around to locate the source of the sound. And what stood before you, as powerful as the looming mountains above the castle, nearly had you falling to your knees.

Except, you realized upon a second cursory glance, that there was something uncannily familiar about the beast in front of you, and it only took you another moment to make the connection. A gasp fell from your lips when you realized that it was the wolf from your childhood—the one you had found that day Chan visited your home for the second time. The one you played with in the gardens. The one you spent time with just talking and believing it was nothing more than a common wolf.

You stumbled then, recognizing the now familiar crimson eyes looking back at you—the same ones that belonged to your husband. The wolf, your Wolf King, butted his giant head against your outstretched hand, giving an affectionate lick to your fingertips.

“I understand,” you whispered, unable to decipher the emotion in your voice, but one thing that you knew for certain—there was a clear absence of fear. Because you had never feared this wolf, always approaching it with happiness, completely ignorant of its true state. 

The wolf gave you a meaningful look, and you were struck by the humanness of the gesture. Understanding dawned on you—Chan had always known. He had always known it was you—the one his wolf had chosen. The girl who had never shown fear to a beast that others considered a monster. 

You had known Chan for your entire life without even realizing it, and your eyes welled with tears, watching him toss back his head and release a spine-curdling howl. One that was joined by a chorus of beautiful melodic cries, merging and joining together, and reaching down to your very bones.

You dropped to your knees then—a mere speck before the Wolf. You cried without fear, and this time, the tension between you and your King vanished like the stars in the night sky when dawn cracked across the horizon.

Three Months Later

On most mornings, Chan was gone before you woke up, and that left you with a disconcerting feeling of disappointment. You supposed there was much to do for the King of the Castle, but lately, it made you ache for something you couldn’t quite discern.

For the past several months, you found yourself opening up to the Wolf King in ways you would’ve never imagined. The truth of who he was, the Wolf from your childhood, along with Grace’s well-intentioned advice, had managed to crack through the stoic guard you had raised from the moment you bound yourself to him.

He taught you about the bond—how, even if you weren’t a Wolf and couldn’t experience the same emotions, he could feel each flicker of happiness or stroke of sadness as it moved through you. 

You had not known of this connection before—because of your stubborn nature—and you would always regret resisting it. But things were better, and you could see the beauty in the bond and how truly spectacular it was to feel and understand another person so intimately. It made you wonder—for longer and longer periods of time—just how deep you could make that bond.

Curiosity weighed heavy on you, and your eyes cracked open at a gentle knocking on the door—an opportunity presenting itself when you recognized a familiar servant girl entering your room. “Good morning, Y/N,” she said, and you nodded in return.

At first, you had kept yourself closed off to the other maids, but this one in particular, Ivy, had been insistent. It was hard to deny her, especially when she became your best teacher, indulging you in learning everything related to the wolves and their way of life.

She was also quite willing and open to help you with anything, even if it involved the more intimate parts of your relationship with the Wolf King. You brought it up again that morning, growing more and more confident, especially since Ivy was completely shameless when it came to that sort of thing.

“I thought about your words from the other night,” you opened the conversation, watching as she put your breakfast down onto the table.

“You’ll have to remind me.” There was a teasing note in her tone, and you glowered at the playful look she shot in your direction.

“We spoke about the King,” you said. “You told me things…what I can do to please him.”

“I remember.” She took a step closer, and you were wary of the look in her eyes. “Does he not fuck you well?” Ivy asked, and her tone was absent of the same filter that would stop your tongue.

Still, you were embarrassed, looking down at your feet, wondering how to disguise the truth. “It doesn’t feel good when it seems like he just uses me to get himself off.”

That much was true as you had heard Chan masturbating next to you on countless nights, and your name often fell free from his lips.

“I see.” Ivy nodded. “He doesn’t know better. He was taught that a good alpha fucks his mate and makes sure that she is pregnant for him.”

You winced at her blunt explanation. “Is that all...wolves need?”

“Not necessarily,” Ivy said with a bright smile. “I can teach you...if you want.”

“Teach me?” you asked, gasping when Ivy placed a hand on your chest, forcing you to fall back on the bed.

She was all smiles when she crawled into your lap, grabbing your hands and securing them to her waist. You gasped when she started rocking her hips into your own, feeling the pleasant ache resonate up and down your spine. “The most important lesson of them all,” Ivy said with a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “The art of seduction.”

“I - Ivy...”

“Tell me, Y/N,” Ivy interrupted your ramblings, leaning down so that the tips of your noses brushed together. “Would you like that? Seducing your wolf? Driving him to the point where he can’t resist taking you?”

You moaned around your response. “Yes! Please show me.”

Her hips rocked harder into yours, and you could see white forming at the edges of your vision. “Leave it to me.”

And you did, surrendering to her touches, and the wicked way she showed you all the ways to drive a King mad. 

The following night, you bravely waited for your Wolf King to return from patrol, wearing nothing but a sheer robe that left little to the imagination. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, you caught each breath as it rattled between your lungs. Nervousness eating away at your resolve and leaving the poor skin around your cuticles abused by your touch. 

Ivy’s advice rang clear in your mind as if she were there with you, holding your hands between her own as she taught you how to please the King. You blushed at the memory, hands covering the bare skin beneath your robe, caressing the delicate flesh as she had done the night before. Demonstrating to you the best ways to please a man, and to make him beg for you. 

That kind of power held its curious appeal, and you thought about it constantly. Wondering what it would be like to make Chan lose his mind to the sin of your smell and touch. You could hardly wait, bouncing your leg and jostling the flimsy material of your coverings. 

Thankfully, your Wolf King didn’t make you wait for very long, punctual as always in these recent times of peace in joining you during the evenings. The easy smile he always offered you vanished as soon as he closed the door behind him, eyes locked on your figure clad in so very little.

“Be assertive.” You recalled Ivy’s words, and you stood on shaky legs to take a few tentative steps towards him. The implication was not lost in translation. You could barely get out a greeting before Chan was on you in seconds, gently pushing you back against the wall. He pressed his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, initiating the first indulgent kiss that lit a fire that you felt down to the tips of your toes.

“Then have me,” you said against the purse of his mouth, tongue tracing that full bottom lip. His gaze widened perceptibly, holding you at arm's length.

“What do you mean?”

“Take me the way you want,” you replied. “I’m ready. You love me, don’t you?”

The intensity in that gaze you had started to yearn for burned even brighter. “You know that I love you Y/N, and I understand why it would be hard for you to believe. I’m more than willing to take this chance to show you.”

He pulled away despite the tight grip you kept on his powerful bicep. Even so, you kept your eyes open as wide as possible to enjoy the scene playing out in front of you when he kissed you again. You curled your fingers into his thick black hair, remembering Ivy’s advice, and pulled his mouth against yours, crushing your lips to his. Chan’s chest rumbled as he kissed you fiercely in return, grabbing onto your arms as his tongue plundered the hot cavern of your mouth.   

Your lungs screamed in protest, and you pulled away suddenly, shivering at his resounding whimper. You opened your eyes, keeping your hands in his hair to hold it back from his crimson orbs. You found the lust there, making his eyes appear darker.  “It’s so hard for me to do this,” you said softly. “I- I want to please you…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Chan replied. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt something hard against your stomach. “Y/N,” Chan murmured, leaning into your neck to inhale deeply. “I want you more than anything else.”

You shivered as you felt his other hand come to the sleeve of your gown, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingertips slid across your skin, weakening your resolve. His lips followed his touch, peppering soft kisses along the exposed skin. He tugged on the fabric more and you felt the fabric at your right breast start to fall, slowly exposing the flesh to him. His blazing eyes looked down at what he had uncovered, as his hand moved up to hold your breast in his palm. You moaned when his thumb started to rub against your nipple, growing alarmed at the sudden ache between your legs. Like before, his lips soon replaced his fingers and you cried out when he gently nipped the sensitive skin.  

He suddenly tugged the fabric back up, releasing your wrists so that he could have both hands when he grabbed the sides of your robe and tugged it aside to reveal your bare skin to him. Your hands fell to your sides as your chest heaved up and down to match each of your panting breaths. Clad in the lingerie Ivy had helped you pick out the previous night. 

Chan’s eyes were glued to your bare torso. With a moan of his own, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he trailed his mouth down, over the soft skin of your throat, down your chest, and between the valley of your breasts, over your smooth stomach down to the top of your lace panties. Looking up at you with hungry, lust-filled eyes, Chan started to tug the fabric down your legs.

Clenching your fists against the wall, you couldn’t begin to describe what you felt when he pressed a kiss against the front of your panties, holding your thighs in his strong hands. Standing back up to his full height, he pulled his shirt off next, tossing it onto the floor. You breathed out deeply as your eyes greedily took in the sight of his muscled torso. Timidly, you reached out a hand, aware of his eyes watching your movements as you hovered your palm over his firm abdomen. “Touch him with your fingertips,” Ivy’s words whispered against your ear. He groaned, bracing his arms on either side of you, moving his head against the wall next to your ear. You heard Chan’s husky voice whisper: “Baby, please touch me.”

Your eyes fluttered at his request, and you placed both palms on his hard stomach, moving them up and feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. Your hands danced across his pectorals, rising along with the muscles. You moved your palms over his shoulders and then back down, pausing when you hit the top of his pants. Before you could muster up the courage to move any lower, Chan’s lips were back on yours, kissing you senseless. You wrapped your arms around his neck, working your mouth against his, feeling your lips become swollen from his kisses. As your tongues touched, you felt Chan’s hands return to your thighs, lifting them so that you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his trim waist. Holding you against him, he carried you into over to the bed to deposit you on top. You missed his warmth as soon as he was gone and opened your eyes to meet his black gaze.

This was your chance. You remembered Ivy’s words and scrambled to get in position. Present. The command burned its way through your whole being as if you had no control over it. Instead, you turned on your hands and knees, arching your back and keeping your ass held high in the air.

You had never done this before, and you felt so exposed, but at the same time so good, so right, and you restrained yourself from trying to cover up against the shameless crimson stare watching you.

Suddenly, all went quiet, prompting you to glance over your shoulder. The Wolf King was staring at your ass, his mouth slightly agape. “Good girl,” was all you heard before Chan dove down abruptly to taste your dripping cunt, dragging his tongue all the way up to the source of the wetness leaking from you with a single, hot swipe, before latching on and sucking eagerly at the sensitive skin around your opening. 

You keened at the sensation and shivered at his satisfied grunts and moans as he took his fill of your taste. It made you want to please him. To do whatever it took to make him completely lose his mind.

“Chan!” You moaned out, reaching beneath him to flick at your neglected clit. “More!” 

Your demand did not go unanswered. With a grunt, Chan yanked your ass up higher for a better angle, digging his hands into the plush flesh of your hips. His touch was rough, and strong, undoubtedly leaving marks behind, but you absolutely loved it. And when the wiggling muscle of his tongue finally pushed inside, you cried out in absolute bliss and pleasure. Time itself seemed to slow down as that tongue relentlessly moved inside you, searching for that spot that could make you see stars and, once found, pressing down hard. Again and again, Chan dipped inside with his tongue, and each time you moaned for him. It didn’t take you long until your body tensed and shuddered, squeezing around the intrusion as you rode out your orgasm. 

With a satisfied groan, Chan released your hips, and you collapsed on your stomach, still aching for him.

You attempted to look back at Chan, groaning when you realized he was pushing down his pants and underwear, freeing his stiffening cock before crawling back over you. You were met with a flurry of kisses, on your lips, your cheeks, and your neck, before his tongue trailed lazily over your chest and down to the delicate curls damp from your release. 

You squirmed under him as he held himself up on his arms, dragging his eyes unbearably slow from your face and down to your toes. He moved one finger down over your stomach, and you watched it enter the forest of blonde curls around your center. Panting, and nearing combustion, you found yourself instinctively thrusting your hips up, begging him for more than just touches. Growling, he practically shoved your hips back to the bed, reaching down and jerking his thick cock with rough strokes. He abruptly flipped you over onto your back, craning his neck to look down into your eyes. “Let me make love to you, Y/N.”

His words sent a flurry of heat straight to your core. You had never had sex before, but you wanted it desperately. You told him as much and could see him visibly shaking. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, kissing your lips tenderly, before reaching down to line himself up at your entrance. You closed your eyes and winced as he pushed into you. Pliant and soft from his earlier ministrations, the bulbous head found little resistance as it breached your cunt.

You could feel his face bury itself into your shoulder, his knuckles turning white as they gripped the bedding, as if it was taking everything he had to go this slow. Once he was buried inside of you completely, you groaned, adjusting to the sudden intrusion. You could feel him still above you, and his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder. “Son of a bitch,” he growled. “It’s taking every ounce of control I have not to flip you over and fuck you senseless.”

His words, as crude as they were, only served to heighten your arousal. “Move,” you said, grabbing his black hair and pulling his face to yours. You kissed him quickly. “I’m fine.”

He needed no further encouragement, as he slowly pulled out before pushing back in. You could see the sweat breaking out across his forehead from the exertion, causing strands of his hair to stick to his forehead. His right hand moved behind you to grip the headboard as his hips slowly rocked against your own. As good as it felt, you could see he was about to lose it. “Faster,” you told him, and he complied, speeding up his thrusts and allowing some of the tension to escape his body. It was a little painful, especially when he let out a low growl and really started grinding his hips.

You could feel it building inside, the pleasure of his rough movements far outweighing the discomfort. You let out another moan as he moved in and out, feeling the smooth friction all the way to the tips of your toes. The Wolf King chose this moment to draw his hips back, dragging his length out to the tip, before slamming it back inside with a powerful thrust, rocking your body to the point that you felt your vision turn white for a moment. Without giving you time to recover, Chan repeated the motion over and over again, speeding up and adjusting the angle to relentlessly hit deep inside, hips bumping your clit with every smooth grind.

He grunted from his efforts, one hand on the headboard while the other came to grab your breast, his lips sucking at your neck. For your part, you arched your back against him, allowing your hips to come up a little to meet his movements as he hit even deeper inside of you, just barely kissing your cervix. Your fingernails scraped down the smooth skin of his back at this new angle. He moaned when your nails dug into his flesh, bringing his lips up to yours and you kissed him feverishly, tasting him like your life depended on it. One of your hands curled into his smooth black hair while the other gripped his bicep tightly, sighing happily as you felt the muscles move.  

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to not feel overwhelmed by all of the things he was making you feel. Buried deep inside of you, you could feel him hit all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure to your tight center. Meanwhile, his lips were working magic against yours, leaving you breathless.  

You could feel an intimate warmth building inside of you the longer he snapped his hips against yours. Groaning, you let out a cry as you felt something inside of you break open, releasing wave after wave of heat through your core, leaving your body drowning in pleasure.  

There was a haze of lightheadedness clogging your senses, and you almost didn’t even realize the swell pushing against your ass, until it breached your core. “Chan!” you hissed at the combination of pain and overwhelming pressure, retreating and then swelling again as he ground that hot mass against you.

“My knot,” he groaned, and you could feel the heat from his chest against your breasts as he pressed even closer. 

You vaguely recalled Ivy warning you about this, telling you that it would be hard to prepare for the massive instrution. You felt a spike of fear as it stretched you even further, and you worried that your virgin body would suffer. All you could do was grit your teeth and bury your head into the blankets beneath you, feeling the swell of his knot pressed against the cleft of your ass. You fisted the sheets between your hands. He would split you in half, and then you would be nothing.

“Y/N!” he growled, slowing his hips to a timid roll as his knot locked between you both, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt his release flood your insides, filling you to the point that your lower stomach had started to swell from his cum. 

He groaned as you both came down from your highs, and you gently petted your finger through his unruly curls. He experimentally rolled his hips to test how firmly the knot was locking him inside and it wouldn’t budge. Your cunt squeezed the knot, eliciting another grunt from Chan, another twitch, and another spurt of hot cum inside of you.

The pop didn’t swell until Chan was fully seated, his thick cock barely able to seat itself fully between your pulsating walls. It was a painful stretch, of course, but you were hardly focused on it.

Chan continued to hump against you, long after his release and teetering on the cusp of oversensitivity, but those seductive hips had lost their rhythm. It was only moments later, as Chan pulled away from your lips and buried his face into your chest, that he growled when something warm filled your center. You let your hand wander down his spine, stroking along the individuals knots. You could feel him breathing hard above you, and you tried to soothe him back to normal.

You were locked together for a long time, and you were almost asleep when Chan was finally able to pull out, collapsing onto the mattress next to you, looking up at the ceiling. You watched as his chest rose and fell quickly until you could barely see it move at all, signifying his return from his high. Your own breaths came out much shorter, and you were aware of the sweat that coated your skin. 

You watched as Chan ran his hand through his dark hair, moving it out of his face. Looking over at you, he turned on his side and used one hand to bring you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. You hummed in delight as your chests pressed together, moving in sync with each other. Chan’s eyes scanned over your face as he leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I love you Y/N,” he said. voice rumbling. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

You were barely coherent, collapsed against the sheets with a line of drool pooling out from your mouth. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall against his chest, savoring his warmth.  “I trust you,” you said softly, and you could feel him sigh in relief. Simply holding you against him, surrounded by his warmth, you suddenly felt very much like you belonged.

“You and I have always been destined,” Chan whispered, and for the first time since you had taken your place as his Wolf Queen, you weren’t afraid.

Instead, you were irrevocably alive.

[jewishvitya]

[This post was originally written in response to someone tagging me and claiming that a free Palestine would mean all Israeli Jews will be kicked out and where will I go, and how they can't understand why I'm so against Israel being our ethnostate. OP blocked me, so I'm reposting with a few edits, because I already wrote this and I might as well.]

Look. I understand your mentality. We're traumatized by a history of violence against us. We were shown that so many in the world want us dead, and so many others won't stop them. I get it. But I refuse to let myself silently become the face of similar oppression for other people.

Israel benefits from antisemitism and maintains myths that got Jewish people killed in the past, like double loyalty. It weaponizes it for propaganda reasons. It's supported by antisemitic Christian zionist organizations with terrifying motivations. It started out with violence not only against Palestinians but against Jews too. Israel isn't motivated by our safety, it abuses that idea. It manipulates and weaponizes our trauma to make us feel justified in causing so much suffering to innocent people.

You're right that I'll have nowhere to go if I'm kicked out of here. This is where I was born. My parents come from other countries that I won't feel safe in. But all of this is hypothetical. The ethnic cleansing and genocide of Palestinians is not hypothetical, it's REALITY. It's happening RIGHT NOW. And I don't understand how, as a Jewish person who knows what this kind of suffering and loss of life means, you seem unable to prioritize that. I tell you I'm witnessing a genocide happening right next to me and you keep telling me "but what if they hurt you instead."

The assumption that Palestinians will pull some sort of reverse ethnic cleansing against us is racist. This assumption is the reason Israel feels comfortable calling the carpet bombing of a civilian population "self defense." Killing them based on a this is not self defense, it's a racially motivated crime against humanity.

And I'm calling it an assumption because I'm not willing to pull from the Hamas charter that they've since replaced. Hamas isn't Palestinians. The only reason they became this powerful is Israeli funding, and Israeli violence giving Hamas free PR as the only ones who will stand up to the state that will keep them trapped and dying.

We control every aspect of their lives. Israel created a place that breeds radicalization. No group of people, living under the conditions forced on Palestinians, would be peaceful. They would fight back. Because peaceful attempts to have the human rights that Israel denies them got nothing. We stomped on every single one. We blocked all other routes and left them with only violence, which Israeli politicians have been using as an excuse for over 15 years to make a show of force with military campaigns whenever they wanted a boost in popularity. We created living conditions with such low life expectancy that half of the population is children because so few adults survive. They don't deserve this. No one deserves this.

Palestine was a land with people living in it. One plot of land can create multiple groups of people, especially when we've been separated for 2000 years. Our connection to this land does not cancel out theirs. Removing them to create our own country could never be right. It's not an argument saying that our connection to Israel gives us the right to move here to live ALONGSIDE Palestinians. That's not what we wanted. We wanted a country that enforces Jewish majority and legally prioritizes Jews. You're justifying this when I repeatedly state that the only way for it to exist is through ethnic cleansing and genocide. There's no way to make this concept into a reality without killing, displacing, and oppressing whoever's left in various different ways, from apartheid to other kinds of discrimination.

I'm not against safety for us. I want to be safe. I want my children to grow in a safe world where we can be openly and joyfully Jewish. I'm not willing to pay for that with the lives and freedoms of other people.

So I will be loud about this: Palestinians deserve to be free in every part of their homeland, even if it's our ancestral homeland too.

If safety for us means we're the ones committing the genocide, maybe we should rethink what safety looks like.

I'm terrified for the lives of millions of people in Gaza. Right now, all I can think about is this, and it baffles me to see people so willing to transfer the horrors of our history to other people.

I had a lovely conversation in DMs in response to the first post, about how zionism encourages us to isolate rather than build bridges in the places where we live all over the world. We can't ignore the way antisemitism saturates culture, but we should also remember the places where Jewish communities thrived for centuries, the places where our neighbors protected us. We're hated, and we're loved. Each form of oppression is unique, so no other group experiences what Jewish people do exactly, but we're not alone. We have a long and rich history of solidarity with other marginalized communities and involvement in liberation movements. We're actively working to make the world safer, and we have people fighting with us. I'm just participating in this fight where I am. The struggle for liberation is a human struggle. You can't use the trauma of antisemitism to silence me about other kinds of bigotry.

Never again. To ANYONE.

[beloved-blaiddyd]

When The Cypress Tree Wilts [Yandere!Kamisato Ayato x Reader]

Prompt: Kamisato Ayato, the sole survivor of Teyvat, struggles to cope with grief. He finds solace in the company of a fellow survivor, (Y/n), on the Astral Express. Although the two came from different universes, with him being a fictional character on (Y/n)'s end, he had grown fond of them. Perhaps too fond for Mister Yang's liking. He has seen this story played out once already. [Dedicated to @jessamine-rose]

Content Tags: (light?) yandere themes, major character death, we ain't trusting getting roses again after this one boys

For twenty-seven years, the cypress tree stood alone. Its branches, exhibiting complete fortitude to withstand erosion, have been a home for many animals. A guardian of many and a home for herons. It's no stretch to say its artistic seriousness made the Cypress tree the Warden of the Forest. 

What happens, though, if the forest catches fire? What happens when everything it held dear—all the pillars ingrained in the firmest soil—is reduced to ashes in a single glance? When the forest's life-loving temperament disappears, just what is left of the guardian tree? 

There's only one answer: the Cypress loses its Inazuman function. Harmony, balance, and peace wither away from the tree's symbolism. All that's left is the alternative Enkanomiyan myth: cypress trees must only be planted as a mourning tradition. 

The Warden of Death...

Kamisato Ayato closed his eyes, making his umpteenth attempt to breathe steadily. 

He sat upright on one of the Astral Express's couches. It's been more than eight months since he had found himself as the sole survivor of his world. So far, everything that had been told to him had been unreal. 

Gone were the clan, his retainers, and his dearest sister. None were left as he watched their remains swept by the wind. Memories of Ayaka's burnt hair and cheeks crumbling refused to leave his every waking moment. He tried desperately to hold on, but the ashes kept slipping through his fingers until his family's white heron was reduced to a lifeless husk. Her feathers were plucked too soon.  

He cannot have her back. He cannot have his clan back. His world was forever unsalvageable.

That was his fate as the Remembrance's souvenir. He can carry the weight of survival while the memokeepers preserve Teyvat's memories.  

But at least he has someone in a similar position as himself. 

"Mister Yang," you called over the older man hushedly. Welt glanced at the mopping mess and knew just what you were hinting at. Better to alert someone who can assist him better.

"Are you alright, Mister Kamisato?" Welt asked, sitting beside Ayato. He passed his cane onto his other hand so he could pat his shoulder. Ayato only laughed stiffly. 

Thankfully, it's not an entirely hopeless cause. There was, at least, a silver lining to make up for it. No matter how dim the glimmer was, he at least had the Express's understanding. 

And yours as well. 

Ab███████, h█ed his pl█as.

"—to, you can still think this through!"

"Stand back, Himeko."

Just like him, you lost your world, too. You came from a fabric of existence wherein he was deemed fictional. A video game called "Genshin Impact", as you called it. You were terrified when you discovered your universe crumbled because of some time-travel paradox. But in spite of your enormous losses, curiosity triumphed over fear. You would prefer exploring the galaxy than thinking about how much work you still need to do for your college classes.

But today? You rest. After all, the express is landing in Penacony.

While Welt did his best to provide consolation, you handed them warm drinks. Ayato gave you a gentle nod. 

He gave it a quick sip. Unlike Himeko's, your brew was more tame. Not at all professionally made— it's everyday coffee— but that adds more to its appeal. Ayato politely wiped possible stains near his lips. You can't help but notice how his mole was placed below it. 

He's definitely a video game character, that's for sure. They don't make people this attractive in your old world. 

Just holding the coffee you made… feeling its warmth in his hands… It gave him strength to speak. 

Ayato sighed. "Apologies, I simply… will take longer to recover my mental composure. I am not usually this easy to rattle or ramble often. I deeply apologize for the trouble I caused the express thus far."  

"I do wonder if I had wronged the Gods. I committed plenty of misdeeds in the eyes of the Shogun, yet they were pardoned. But perhaps the Heavenly Principles…" He muttered, thinking he was inaudible. More than half a year without his retainers and constant troubles had dulled his vigilance.

Welt shook his head. "Do not be harsh on yourself by culminating these harmful… ideals, Mister Kamisato."

"I agree." You said. "At any rate, you'll end up miserable for the entire month if you keep overthinking what that Silver Wolf said."

His mood had been visibly dampened since Silver Wolf's last visit. She claims that he was "destined for ruin based on Elio's script" and that it was better he knew about it now rather than later. 

Ayato looked away. "I suppose so… This wishful thinking brings me nothing but thoughts such as to save my one and only sister, with this pitiable strength— how can I recreate the past?"

Welt grew cold with mild horror. Then, he cleared his throat after a suspiciously long pause. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

"Why focus on that when the future awaits you?" He said, but with how the older man refused to meet his lilac eyes, there must be more he won't let on. 

"Your reluctance… Does this have something to do with what the memokeeper previously stated?"

"...What Black Swan said?" You tilted your head. 

Welt sighed. "So many things must be runnin' around your head... I don't usually encourage drinking, but maybe you should have a few shots later."

"I shall consider it, but I must know now, Mister Yang." He looked at him. "What did she mean when she said I was an alternate version of your acquaintance, Otto Apocalypse?"

Welt coughed up his coffee. 

Re██y his angu█████ c███s.

"-to, don't do this. You can't bring ██████ back—"

“Your farcical tangents will distract me no more. Do not play parlor tricks with that cane of yours. My mind is sound, and my decision is final."

"..."

"..." 

"..." 

Ever since Ayato was dubbed as a new Nameless alongside you, he's been bombarded with both blunt and subliminal messages of his supposed "true" nature. One faction agrees he's an existence not meant to be trifled, while the other wants to cultivate him into a villain. 

You don't know much about that. Unlike whatever hero's journey he had been experiencing— you're detached from trouble. Your new life was spent writing, dressing up with March, eating with Stelle, and reading through Dan Heng's data banks about constellations & other aesthetically pleasing biological entries. You were a quiet existence. Black Swan remarked you're amicable for someone who cannot return to normalcy. You embrace change far better than others.

But you think that's because there's enough grieving for the Express to carry; they don't have room to acknowledge yours… 

"You're Kamisato Ayato, not Otto." You told him firmly. "Don't overthink what she said."

"It is not as if I do not know that, how—"

"No, there are no buts or howevers; that's final."

Ayato laughed softly, no longer tense. 

"Understood. I'm your Kamisato Ayato, right?" He tilted his head like a dog. 

"Yes, yes, you're our Ayato." You sighed. 

He's a lot cuter when relaxed. 

You shook your head. 

No, better not let this develop into something else. You don't want to have a crush on a guy that's essentially no different from a flatmate. 

Furthermore, you exclusively confide in him. You'd rather your relationship as each other's anchor remains the same in the future. After all, you're not the type to let everyone in the room know your baggage. So was Ayato, but... His trauma lends itself to the extremes.

While you were lost in thought, adorable footsteps strutted closer. 

Angry, adorable footsteps. 

"What are you guys doing drinking coffee?! The train is about to jump soon!!!"

Pompom huffed. They put their little paws on their hips, scoffing at you three. You apologized profusely, forgetting that your trip to Penacony was in ten minutes. 

"Sorry, Pompom." Welt sheepishly said. 

Ayato looked at Pompom earnestly. "So am I."

"Whatever, okay, but you better change later! You can't join a wedding wearing those clothes!!!"

You frowned. You were already dressed, though. You thought you already looked perfect for the evening. Maybe you should've tried harder... Perhaps you were too relaxed about this...

"Oh, but I'm sorry…" You told them, frowning.

Pompom shook their head, panicking. "Not you, (Y/n), you're always so harsh on yourself— you always know how to dress pretty. I'm talking about these two boys!"

They stared at each other before laughing awkwardly, provoking the conductor further. 

Pompom growled, grabbing the broom. 

"You know what?! Get off the sofa! Change! NOW!!!"

Abu████ce, stir this b███ft ████e, 

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM?!? HE WAS LIKE A BROTHER TO US!!!"

It's clear that someone isn't having the best time.

Penacony weddings are too lively for Ayato's tastes. But much like shadows, nobody can evade the bright lights. 

He nearly tumbled when he saw you. By the looks of his pale face, the lively atmosphere had been draining him senseless. While he maintained his elegant demeanor when talking to Aventurine (and failing), you were refilling your cup at the food aisle. Once Ayato reached you, he desperately wanted to place his head on your shoulder. 

“Please… lend me… Five…”

You smiled and opened your arms.

"Don't speak, I got you."

He leaned on your shoulder.

The five seconds you assumed were startlingly morphing into five minutes. You can't feign as a warm statue for that long. While you worry about your willpower, Ayato sank deeper into his thoughts to meditate. 

From this angle, he looked like a resting cat.

"You okay, Ayato?"

"The SoulGlad, it's so…"

Ah, right. You figured he might've drunk.

"Not once had it been a passing thought that excessive alcohol and fire displays would be a common wedding practice. The culture shock is astounding." Ayato leered quietly. "Thankfully, I no longer care about putting on a social mask. I cannot stomach participating in copious amounts of… festivities."

You laughed. Is it bad you find his suffering entertaining? 

"Is it so different from how they conduct weddings in Inazuma?"

"Hard to say… The Clan may be focused on cultural ceremonies, but I purposely avoided weddings. It helps steer clear talks of arranged marriages. I can only name Chisato's as an exception on top of my head." Ayato placed a hand on his chin. 

He continued. "Extravagant weddings such as this had a decline for two years. The dismal lives of vision wielders immensely affected how much pyrotechnics and other displays were available. Any commonplace joy could be marked as vulgarity by the Shogun at any second... All those charges just for an insincere ceremony."

"I… See." You assumed the answer was a resounding no. "Sounds like you're against marriages of convenience."

Ayato pulled away, looking at you. 

"Not entirely. I understand why it's a necessary evil, given our politics." He said. "But I still firmly believe that when there's true love, nothing should stand in its way."

His eyes reveal that he's starting to sober up. In Penacony, it was probably a beneficial phenomenon. Might as well give away hangover relief if you market alcohol as the icon of your dreamscape. 

"(Y/n), this may sound peculiar, but I glimpsed at an apparel store nearby."

You nodded slightly. He knew you had an affinity for fashion. When you visited the Xianzhou Luofu, he mapped out stores that might interest you. Ayato likes the way you dress. Sometimes, he would even approach you for a consult. 

"And? What did you see? Did you take a picture?"

He groggily nodded and pulled out his phone. 

"Please, take a look."

…

You blinked, turning red. 

"Ayato, these are wedding dresses…"

"I do know that, yes, but don't you believe some of these would suit you? Oh— this one is a particular favorite of mine."

…

He said it so casually that you were beginning to doubt if you were insane. Do friends casually daydream about another friend in a wedding dress? Is that a norm for platonic relationships? You looked away and gently pushed his phone away. 

… You hate how you liked what he picked out.

And you know he noticed it, too. Cheeky bastard. 

"Let's hold that thought for now."

"May I ask why?" He tilted his head, slightly pouting. "I think a traditional white wedding dress would compliment you. Are you, perhaps, seeing flaws I have missed?"

"Y-You're really not getting it, huh…"

Whatever was troubling you, he wasn't about to dissect it. His thoughts were reduced to simplicity that evening, just down to you look gorgeous tonight. The two of you should extend your visit to Penacony for much longer. It is always night here… 

How unfair that you dressed so prettily; he wished it was for his eyes alone. The delicately lace-adorned pastel pink dress suits you well. It felt like a grave sin for him to keep staring at the delicate sapphire necklace resting atop your neck. Not to add, a few strands of your hair framed your face, and your hair was tastefully swept into a neat (h/c) bun. What completes the look is the strappy heels. 

When will it be your wedding, (Y/n)?

Your face contorted. "How drunk are you?"

Ayato smirked curtly and shrugged back to what March calls his "nobleman smile", gazing at you intently. You weren't sure if he was listening to you anymore. 

"Enough."

That was his reply, short and simple. 

As long as your eyes mirror his, it's enough for him. 

“LAAADDIEESSS AND GENTLEEEMEEENNN AND OTHER LIVING CREAAATURREEESSS!!!!”

A rather shrill voice shouted through a microphone. It's the wedding's host. From the volume, anyone can discern that it came from the event room. You placed your cup down. It's that time— noises from excited guests, lonesome people, in particular, were shared around. No one can miss their hands, which tremble with excitement. 

You jolted.

Shit, that's Sparkle. You promised Stelle and March that you four would take BFF pictures in the costume photo booth before the final farewells. Something about silly masks and hats. Miss it, and you're guaranteed to enter the next fight without a shield. Worse, you might wake up with a bat-shaped wound on your head. 

You grabbed Ayato and swerved past the crowd.

“(Y-(Y/n)?!”

Ayato's mind went blank. 

You voluntarily held his hand. Gloved hands. Still, he thanked March that she gave him a pair for the occasion. His hands were sweating, and his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. 

Public displays of affection are generally subdued in his old world. Handholding raises questions regarding those reared into nobility like he was. His upbringing was far from liberal, so he did his best to give his sister more freedom, yet he is not accustomed to this skinship.

He gripped yours back weakly. Ayato can't stop staring at your determined expression. He gulped. Can you sense it? Are you secretly enjoying this? Do you know what you're doing? 

Can you feel your effect on him?

He's not just drunk. 

He might be hopelessly in love with you.

Ayato grew hotter by the second. His breath was stripping away bit by bit. This epiphany was consuming him. He's been trying to deny it for as long as possible, but how laughable is it to do so when he had often pictured himself in peaceful household situations beside you? Can such desires be kept in the shadows, much like his Shuumatsuban work?

He wants you.

Kamisato Ayato wants you as his sole partner.

Wherever you're taking him, he'll follow you to the end, down to the last seconds of this script.

"THE BRIDE IS ABOUT TO THROW THE BOUQUET!!!"

Many lonely guests packed together like penguins. When the bride spun the bouquet around her palm, their reactions ranged from hopeful and cheerful to downright competitive and miserable. They thought a few flowers would ensure marriage, which is a little absurd, but who are you to spoil their fun? Simply because they obstruct your path does not warrant your discreet resentment—

Ayato stopped, halting you as well in the process.

"Ngh…?!"

You looked back, and such an act almost felt as forbidden as Orpheus' most egregious mistake.

If there was a semblance of variety in those women's faces, they were unified in one fell swoop. Their faces soured when the bouquet was passed down to its next owner. Worse, the flowers sat so beautifully in his arms.

That's right. His.

Those red roses…

"AALLLLRIIIIGHTTT! IT SEEMS MISTER KAMISATO GOT IT!!!" Sparkle cheered on. She had a crooked smile on her face. It didn't ring as malicious; instead, she was conflicted before she donned a playful mask. "And sheesh, while holding (Y/n) 's hand too— CONGRATS TO THE SOON-TO-BE-S!!!"

Ah, damn it. Instead of this, you wish people had applauded when you presented your thesis. No matter how crestfallen some were, they were at least good sports. They clapped and teased; you even spotted Himeko raising you a glass at your shared table, laughing. Beside her, Welt did you the courtesy of reminding you that you're hands were linked together. You gawked, pulling away as though Ayato's hand burned. Immediately, he cleared his throat and looked away. 

To Ayato, this was the only sign he needed.

With enough time and effort, a leafless tree could still be saved, new birds could still migrate, and an abandoned forest could still be restored. Gradually, he was discovering a fresh cause for optimism instead of a substitute for the people he had lost. There he was, Kamisato Ayato, a hidden custodian of Inazuman traditions, with his feet rooted in a foreign land. Though not very stable, his groundwork keeps him on course.

If he could revive the Kamisato Clan on its brink, how can he not do the same for his life? It's just like what his late father said:

Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. 

Unfortunately for you, it was yours that held his so tightly.

Hence, whether you like it or not, amidst the guests' congratulatory remarks and the bride's laughs, he had made up his mind.

Ayato will pursue you until you wear the gown of his dreams. 

More people trailed behind Sparkle and the bride as they went down the stage and to Ayato. You made an effort to get in touch with him to return to your starting point. However, it was challenging, given the number of people around. To hear what bashful comments he said was an even taller order.

That was until the bride dragged her new husband towards you.

"Here, dearie, the garter!"

You blinked.

"What?"

"You know the tradition, bouquet, and garter— I know it ain't as exciting as a bouquet, but ya can't be a pair without it." The husband grinned. "C'mon, take it!"

Your eyes widened.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly—"

"Aww, please, do you think we'll get in the way of love when we just got married?" The bride joked. Even though you don't know her well—you just know she's Stelle's friend—you didn't like how this sounded. "C'mon, take it! Don't make poor Mister Kamisato sad."

Did Ayato request this?

You looked back at him. He was smiling at his fellow guests.

He must've made a drunken joke.

"Alright, I'll have it." You'll be a team player, too.

Unbeknownst to you, Ayato's heart was brimming with joy as soon as you accepted it. You twisted the garter around your hand and tied it into a bracelet, and his eyes wrinkled. His face was beaming, and the guests warmly pointed out that it was definitely NOT the drink.

You laughed softly.

Maybe Stelle wouldn't get too angry after she sees these "loots".

Unfortunately, unlike the worlds you once immersed yourself in, your life was not a game. This second try was no exception.

There's a stark difference between the people he loves and himself, Ayato later found. The latter cannot sustain a better life for those he warded, while the former cannot attain the luxury of a peaceful death.

Readers would have gone crazy over how the author mercilessly punished and blamed the main character's dreams if his life had been a work of fiction. If it were genuinely one, he would venture to say that the systematic fate that everyone else was subjected to is the primary criticism.

His mother, his father, his sister, his clan.

And then you?

Ayato had already lost everything twice. 

There's no restraint left for him to hold on to. 

So…

"Mister Kamisato, please hear us out!" March begged, the shrill of her voice becoming hauntingly akin to a dull knife— repeatedly cutting through ears in prolonged agony. 

Ayato scoffed. His blue locks framed his face as he gazed down.

He's heard enough. 

Why shouldn't he challenge his fate?

Why shouldn't he challenge Elio's script?

"Whether I permit you or not, there won't be an intelligent word out of you." 

No other voice came to disparage him. This silence was loud. As if a voice was missing. Ayato looked at the ground.

He had almost forgotten he had used his former "brother" as a sacrifice. Silently, he thanked Dan Heng- or perhaps Dan Feng- for all that he had done for him and his "bride".

This act angered the rest. His temporary family brandished theirs in unison, with Stelle moving to the front. His response greatly saddened March. But Mister Yang? He was frozen. He didn't seem to move an inch. The older man looked deep into his lilac eyes. There must be more he won't let on. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

But unfortunately, history is a vicious cycle— and it repeats itself.

He materialized his haran geppaku futsu, letting Dan Heng's blood drip while its azure glow shine bright. But what shone brighter was the cryogenic "coffin" behind him.

You may have lost your battle with this curse, but you have helped him not lose his. 

You were looking out at a night with a full moon in your last moments. The pitch-black moon seemed to loom life itself. As you strolled alone, every step wet your feet, but there's a persistent sense that you might have been staring at your reflection the entire time despite the void's lack of offerings.

It's always night in Penacony. You have heard that innumerable times. Night never sleeps. The chitchat never stops. The tango doesn't halt. But time stands still for you as the rest of the world rejoices. 

But Penacony was not your resting place. It was the Xianzhou. 

How unfortunate that you forget that in your last moments. Mara has a knack for erasing the memory of its victims. The only solace that your admirer gets is that your previous recollections are of him, of you, and of the bouquet and garter you received. 

At least before you closed your eyes, you thought of him. 

Ayato gazed at your mara-struck face once more.

Beauty is eternal. Despite the chill seeping into your bones, your clothes were nothing short of ethereal. A traditional white wedding dress, floor-length with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt, would've been given more justice if the wearer was not frozen in time. The laces and beadwork detailing were reminiscent of sakura petals, with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves.

You're holding a bouquet of roses mixed with sakura...

Just like you, Kamisato Ayato always had a good eye for aesthetics. 

It's a shame the little life left in his eyes was wilting away.

It's a shame that this wedding never happened.

It's a shame you told him you needed more time to think.

It's a shame you're frozen in time.

However...

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. And Yaoshi has plenty to reach for.

With that, using the blood of the Vidyadhara he had slain, he summoned his new Aeon.

One that he does not particularly believe in. And if he had never placed his blind faith in the Shogun, he doubts he would do the same in Yaoshi.

So, Aeon of Abundance, with the former High Elder's blood on his hands...

Prove him wrong.

"Abundance, heed my pleas,

Repay my anguished cries.

Abundance, stir this bereft peace,

Awaken love from death's disguise."

Bring his soon-to-be Kamisato (Y/n) back to him.

[spectrum-color]

So we all know GRRM, like all authors, took a lot of inspo from real life fairy tales, religion, and mythology. There are a ton of parallels but I picked out a few to put in this poll

Propaganda: Before anyone says anything, I know a lot of these are dark spins on the original. I’m not trying to say Littlefinger is a handsome prince or whatever. Also note that some of this is based on either things that haven’t happened yet but are highly likely to happen in Winds/Dream up to and including being confirmed by GRRM.

Arya and Jaqen as Hades and Persephone-the young maiden of spring is found by the lord of the underworld, who gives her an object (in this case a coin) to trick her into being trapped in the world of the dead. When she leaves home, winter comes, but when she returns, so does spring.

Sansa as Rapunzel-a princess locked in a tower by an evil sorceress (or just queen) who is spirited away by a man who wants to marry her. Strong focus on her hair as a symbol of her identity.

The Brotherhood Without Banners as Robin Hood and his Merry Men-a band of outlaws who defend the common people against corrupt authority figures. This one is really self explanatory.

Cersei as the evil queen and Margaery/Sansa/eventually Dany as Snow White-a vain, cruel women terrified of her beauty fading and being replaced by a younger woman who outshines her, so she tries to destroy her perceived rival, ultimately leading to her own downfall. The girls in Snow Whites slot are the popular choices for the identity of the YMBQ and the one Cersei is currently convinced it is.

Jaime and Brienne as Beauty and the Beast-a double subversion. Jaime is handsome and Brienne is ugly, but when they meet she’s brave and kind while he’s selfish and cruel, so it’s the beast who helps the beauty be better.

Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Robert as Helen of Troy, Paris, and Menelaus-a beautiful woman fiercely desired by two powerful men, she either runs off with or is kidnapped by a prince, leading to her (soon to be) husband retaliating by starting a tragic war.

Stannis and Shireen as Agammemon and Iphegenia-a king and commander sacrifices his daughter to the gods to win a war. Bonus if this ends up causing Stannis’ downfall.

Lady Stoneheart as Demeter-a mother wanders the land bringing destruction and misery as she searches for her daughter(s.) When her daughters return to her, spring comes.

Cersei and Jaimes children as the emperor wearing no clothes-the emperor walks around naked insisting that he’s a wearing magic invisible outfit, but everyone is afraid to tell him the truth until finally a child points out that he’s wearing nothing at all. See: everyone pretending not to notice that Cerseis children are the result of incest with her brother, and Ned finally realizing the truth when his 11 year old daughter points out that Joffrey is nothing like Robert.

Bran as the Fisher King-the Fisher King is a character from Arthurian myth. He is the guardian of the magical holy grail, protecting it so it (and power) does not fall into the hands of the unworthy. Notably, he also has a deliberating injury to his legs or groin (depending on the version.) Of course the endgame Bran of the show is a blatant rip-off of Leto II from Children of Dune, but I think the Fisher King sounds more like GRRM would do.

Dany as Moses-a leader who has prophetic visions, who after performing a miracle, frees her people from slavery and leads them on a harsh journey to a new land. Notably regarded as a critically important figure by a monotheistic religion.

[flowerprose]

N A M E S A K E 🌷💀🏛️

for nanowrimo 2023

with my fourth rewrite officially started, it was time for an updated wip intro! some settings, conflicts, and character arcs have drastically changed, but we're hauling ass to finish this damn thing.

Genre: Myth retelling

Projected word count: 95,000

🏛️ SUMMARY

a hades and persephone myth retelling in which kore, newly dead, is taken to the underworld to rot as mortals do. when hades discovers she is the godly offspring of his older siblings, he tricks her into eating pomegranate seeds and siphons her abilities into his own domain, unleashing a curse that ultimately causes him to start to decay.

NAMESAKE explores stolen girlhood, death and rebirth, patriarchal structures, grief and atonement, and redeemed villains through lyrical, flowery prose. this novel is ideal for devourers of anne carson's translations, circe by madeline miller, and ardent readers of louise glück.

follow along as demeter receives her deserved redemption arc as her harrowing grief threatens the balance of life and death; kore blooms into persephone, queen of the underworld and polluter of the gaian realm with festering necromancy; and hades uncovers a love for humanity and what it means to have agency in a body robbed of it.

🌷 KORE / PERSEPHONE

flower maiden and queen of the underworld

a deathbound flower maiden lured into the underworld, where the rotten and fiendish welcome her home. as her flower-weaving evolves into necromancy and the routes to gaia emerge for the dead, she soon becomes lost in a world of carnivorous, wrathful summer, harnessed by her mother’s despair that has buried the realm in everlasting mourning.

💀 HADES

receiver of the dead and king of the underworld

a king-deity who's tired of the shadows and seeks to be the nightmare mortals dare not utter. but after succumbing to a vengeful curse that begins his undoing, hades loses his agency and godhood, and learns to survive without all the power and might his birthright afforded him. misanthropic goth king forfeits the body to bed a wife but finds the heart to love one.

🌾 DEMETER

mother earth and goddess of harvest & earth fertility

a mother who grieves a world without her beloved daughter. her disappearance creates a chain of events in which the dead spill into the land of the living while an unrelenting garden sweeps over the mortal plain and threatens to end all life.

nanowrimo ✨ official artwork ✨ writing tag

tag list: @mr-writes, @afoolandathief, @sapphic-story, @megarywrites, @blushroomx, @ozzie-scribe, @theskeletonprior, @muddshadow, @thepixiediaries, @nikkywrites, @bebewrites, @jhellfiregirls, @pinespittinink, @pink-prose-n-wiriters-woe, @phantomnations, @queenslayerbee, @antihell, @monstrousfreedom, @perasperaadastrawriting, @andromedaexists, @thebluesthourcommunity, @fearofahumanplanet, @bloodlessheirbyjacques, @stephwriteswords, @cljordan-imperium, @carminasolis, @kaatiba, @moondust-bard.

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter I : Apollo

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else. 

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored. 

Enter: The creation of myth.

Content Warnings: Dominant Din Djarin; Unprotected sex; Creampie;Size difference; Size kink; Rough sex; Overstimulation; Spanking; Brat taming; Touched-Starved Din Djarin

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hello, friends, and welcome to the new story! 

A few notes: We are starting prior to season one’s canon, and I am doing what I want and making it so that Din already knows about the Force and the Jedi. I make free use of canon and the timeline in whatever way I see fit to suit my own horny purposes, sorry. If things aren’t canon or don’t make sense pls don’t tell me. I am naught but a fragile flower who wilts under harsh criticism. 

Please note as well, that I do describe the FMC as having two different colored eyes although I do not specify what color they are. 

Also, I will be updating the tags as we go along so as to avoid spoiling too much too early on. 

Thank you and enjoy!

Word count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

PART I

CHAPTER I : APOLLO

Is it a god inside you, girl?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

The first time you meet, he’s sitting in the corner of the shithole cantina on the shithole backwater planet you currently find yourself on: Nevarro. Sometimes you were wont to flight – in search of a nowhere place in the middle of a nowhere part of the galaxy to lose yourself. And the barren landscape of the volcanic planet, a broken star of red, the only interruption in the black field of ash, no wind, no life, no sound; it provides the perfect environment for getting lost when necessary.

And then one day, unexpectedly: him. He is a shining, metallic, mountain of a man. 

Mandalorian. 

Whenever you’d felt too suffocated, strangulated, in need of a moment, a breather, a reprieve from the reality of what you were… what you are becoming – this place is enough of nothing to be just the perfect something. When you’re not busy flitting from planet to planet, sector to sector, looking for something to fill the gnawing void within you. Before landing here, you’d been on Sorgan for a time. It’d been… nice… peaceful, or whatever approximation of peace you could partially recognize after an existence such as that which you were currently trying to run from. A temperate climate, kind people, but after a while, you’d happened upon a community one day, and they’d been so… so together, so familiar. Happy, they’d be so openly, unabashedly, uncomplicatedly happy. It was simple, and it had made a terrible lance of poisonous jealousy roil through you. Jealousy and anger and bitterness and a loneliness so painful that you’d had to flee, as far and as fast as you could from the reflection of all your envy and shame. And so you’d come here instead, to Nevarro. A more barren, emptier sort of place – better suited to your ilk. 

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” you croon up at him, smoothly sliding into the booth he’s currently occupying in the furthest dark corner of the cantina, only the gleaming silver crescent of the curve of his helmet visible from the other side of the room. 

This is the first of many lies you will tell him. 

No response. Only the dark, yawning pit of his visor faced slightly away from you. 

The stark curve of his helmet gleams brightly. Beautiful. He looks strong, thickly built. His shoulders, so broad. The armor adorning his torso is beaten and worn, and yet, there’s something so… what’s the word? Lived, perhaps, about the facade of him. This is a creature who has lived – who has seen things, who has battled and survived and most assuredly killed. 

Maybe a little like you, but good. For this you know with certainty about Mandalorians – a flash of a pained scream, beskar crumbling beneath the force of you, for not even what could be considered the most endurable alloy in the galaxy could withstand something of your nature, blood, so much blood, and the sound of such defeat as you do the unforgivable– they are good and honorable and worthy – great warriors. But perhaps, on the surface, with a face of shared, painful history, of survival, maybe there are some things between the two of you which could be called similar. 

“I’ve always been curious, though… Always wanted to meet one.” You sidle closer to him. There’s something about him, the weapons, the breadth of his shoulders, the silence, which starts a chilled little shiver of fear that flashes and coalesces into something hotter and wetter deep in your belly, the closer you get to him. And the feeling of it – of apprehension, of standing in the presence of something other, something that could perhaps best, even you, it is exciting and arousing and different to everything else you’ve ever encountered.

Still no response. 

“You’re hard to come by now. Not many of you left, right?” A curdle of shame and regret hidden beneath your wry tone, “A girl’s got to get extra lucky to find something as interesting as you nowadays… something as pretty too.”

He does react to this, finally, and a little shock of victory fizzes in your belly at the fact that he’s at last deigned to give you even a semblance of his attention, for you are desperately in want of it, as he turns his helmet the fraction of an inch in your direction at the sound of you calling him pretty. So, it seems even a Mandalorian is victim to vanity. 

“Oh, so you can hear under there,” you quip, “I was beginning to worry…”

And then his voice, deep, and of potentially the lowest and smoothest baritone you’ve ever heard, comes through the modulator, “I can hear.” Clipped, and even maybe, a little cold. 

“And he speaks too!” He flexes open the fingers of the gloved hand that lays on the table. You’re annoying him. “How exciting.” You cross one knee over the other, elbow propped up on the edge of the table and chin cupped in your palm, looking up at him. He’s tall, even sitting. Your joint presses into the hard muscle of his thigh, and you feel him scoot just the tiniest bit away from you. You have the uncontrollable urge to snap your teeth at him. You must surely be at least half his size, especially with all that beskar covering him. Don’t act so scared, big, bad Mandalorian. I’m just a little girl. You don’t know what I actually am.

Helmet now turned entirely in your direction to keep an eye on you, he says, “What are you?” Or… whoops, maybe he does know. 

You ignore his question. “You know, I met a whore once – who claimed she’d fucked a Mandalorian. Is it true you just pull out the important bits and get on with it? Seems a bit cold, no? Even for a paid fuck?” He jolts a little at your vulgarity, and you flash him a wide grin, wriggle one delicate eyebrow provocatively. “No game?”

He turns his body to face you more fully now too, his thigh pressing into yours once again as he takes you on directly. Perhaps a warrior's instinct that can sense he is not in the presence of something to be trifled with. The helmet cocks slowly to the side. Silent, silent. Not one for many words this Mandalorian, although, it seems you’ve provoked him now. 

“What are you?” he says again, voice measured. 

“How do you mean?” You let your voice end on an upward lilt, and he shifts minutely, as if agitated at your uncooperativeness. 

“You’re not– I don’t–” The helmet tilts the other way as if inspecting you, and you cut him off before he can finish. 

“Oh, so many things.” You roll your hand on your wrist in a fluttering wave, tapping your fingers quickly against your thumb one by one, flexing a muscle you’ve not allowed yourself to use in a while and repressing it, all at once. You’re watching him so closely you see the small pivot of his neck to glance at your hand, and then back to your face. “Who can keep track anymore? So many strange creatures roaming the galaxy after the fall of everything. The Empire. We’re all just madly careening around as whatever the moment requires of us, aren’t we?” He’s quiet, still inspecting you, and you feel his gaze like a brand on the skin of your face. Like fire, like something that you remember from a nightmare, and that you think should be painful, but now only feels exciting. “So, what are you, Mandalorian? What does the present moment require of you?”

He goes silent again, and you watch the subtle downward tilt of his helmet as he inspects the length of you. You wish you could see if he was ogling the tight swell of your breasts beneath your dark clothes. You tilt your head side to side, smile big at him again, and you’re pretty sure you hear an agitated little huff of annoyance slip through the modulator.

And then: “I’m not interested.” He turns back to face away from you, both fists now firmly planted on the table’s surface, clenched into tight balls of clear annoyance. “Go away.”

Oh, he’s funny too. You throw your head back in a quick laugh, “Did I offer something?”

Silence.

“Dirty mind, Mandalorian.” You drag the vowels out to irk him just that extra bit more. “What? Just because I made one little mention of a whore means that, I too, must be peddling my wares?” And you knock your knee into his beskar clad thigh again. He scoots a smidge away from you, and you follow him, laughing again. Oh, you really should stop provoking him, but it’s just turning out to be too much fun. And you’d been watching him for weeks now, every time he came in here for a new bounty puck. You’d so wanted to talk to him, had snooped around to find out he’s in the Guild, and now you finally are. It was just too much for a girl who had too much time on her hands, and too many ugly thoughts she’d rather forget, roaming around in her mind, to look away from a moment of distraction such as this. 

“Stop,” and it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. 

You snicker. “Stop what?” in a sing-songed lilt that you know must be grinding his gears. Poor, shiny Mandalorian. 

“Whatever it is you’re doing – speaking to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want something from me.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Who’s the one peddling their wares now, Mandalorian, hmm?” He says nothing now, and you know you’re pushing him, you can see the vibration of his restrained agitation in the lines of his thick arms, but there is something needling and annoying and obnoxious inside of you that wants his attention, that wants to incite him. And so you make a mistake that perhaps, is not a mistake at all, but a call for something more, for a reaction from him because as you slowly start to lift a single finger up towards the curve of his helmet, you say, “Tell me, what do you have to offer?” At the same time, he pivots and snaps up to grasp the thin of your wrist in a bone crushing grip as you’re about to make contact with the smooth surface of the gleaming beskar helmet. And you know you were asking for it, that you should never have even insinuated that you were going to touch a Mandalorian’s helmet, and that this is only your own doing, but as his harsh strength makes contact with you, so unexpectedly, he’s so fast, that you’re caught almost entirely unaware, you react on pure instinct. A reflex so embedded into the deepest and most poisoned recesses of your mind, that despite the fact that you know this is the last sort of reaction you should exhibit, that above all else you needed to keep this part of yourself hidden and secreted away from the rest of the galaxy, you can’t help yourself when, at the moment that his crushing strength slams your hand back down onto the table, twisting painfully so that you’re crying out in shock and hurt, you weren’t going to do anything to him, you just wanted to touch a little, you can’t help it when you let go of the reins on your power, and you feel the Force snap out of you like a band of rubber, to crack out and wrap around his arm and rip his painful grip away from you. Another inviolable tendril shoves against his chest plate to push him back. His movements, too abrupt, too unexpectedly aggressive to give you a moment to temper your reaction, to give you a chance to remind yourself that this is not one of your painful, dark memories, that you’re free, you’re free, you’re free, and suppress your reaction to not reveal yourself.

The two of you pause for one long moment, him by force, and you in shock and fear and slight nausea as you pant breathlessly. It’s been a long time since you’ve lashed out like this, since you’ve used the Force in front of another person, and the sensation of being perceived, of being seen for what you truly are is disequilibrating and terrifying and sickeningly liberating all at the same time. 

One thick arm of his is held up and pinned against the back of the booth the two of you are ensconced in, hidden from prying eyes, at least. His legs start to shift restlessly, seeking purchase or trying to kick out, and you pin him there too, lest he try and hurt you again. 

“I do not like to be handled so,” you admonish him, clicking your tongue. You can feel the seething fury rolling off him. “I wasn’t going to do anything to you. I am not going to do anything to you.” He’s got a blaster strapped into a holster at his thigh, and you’re sure his vambrace is hiding several other nasty tricks up his sleeve. You eye them both. “If I let you go, are you going to try and hurt me again?”

“No,” he growls out.

“No,” you mock back, but release him anyway, letting an impenetrable wall settle between the two of you. He immediately goes for his blaster, and you block his reach which has him furiously growling and lurching towards you, only to be met by the invisible Force impeding his attack. He spits a frustrated volley of curses in a language you can’t understand, but that you’re fairly certain is Mando’a. 

“Ah, ah, no blaster,” you tut, and he settles, going suddenly, shockingly still, watching you watch him. “You really are quite poorly mannered and surly.” There’s a part of you that is still slightly unbalanced, heart beating painfully against the cage of your ribs, but you’re trying to hide it behind a wry smile and light tone. Echoes of pain and hurt and cruel and unyielding hands molding you into a thing that was just as cruel and unyielding. You cannot tolerate being handled like that anymore, and you feel contrite that you’d provoked him into doing so. Sometimes it is still difficult for you to remember how it is you’re supposed to behave around other people. 

And then something you weren’t expecting, for he says, “You’re a Force weilder. You’re a Jedi.”

You let out a barking laugh. “What do you know of the Force?”

“Are you?” He presses.

“Yes, but no, definitely not that, no.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing. Or… whatever the opposite of a Jedi is, I suppose.”

“The opposite?” He shakes his head, “I don’t–”

“Hmm…” you cut him off, turning to make sure the two of you still haven’t been noticed. “Not anymore. I don’t use it anymore.”

“Oh, no?”

“Well… you’ve gone and ruined that now, haven’t you?”

“You started–”

“All I was trying to do,” you interrupt, “Was make nice. I’d always wanted to meet a Mandalorian,” Lie, “Haven’t you ever heard of a little flirting? And I fear, now, you’ve painted them all in a very poor light,” Lie, “Look at how rude you’ve gone and been, when all I wanted was to be friends,” Another lie, “A shame…” you heave a big sigh, “You really are very beautiful.” Truth. That fist clenches again, and you cock your head to the side, getting one last good look at him. You feel suddenly sad, you don't want to go. You’ve enjoyed this brief moment you’ve gotten to talk to him. Even if you’d gone and pissed him off and ruined it all now. 

“It was nice meeting you, shiny. Even if you were an abominable beast about it.” You give him a nod of your head, and a quick two fingered salute before you’re sliding out of the enshroudment of the booth and slipping out the back of the cantina, into the dark alleyway, leaving him behind. 

The last glimpse you catch of him out of the corner of your eye before the door shuts behind you, is the sight of him scrambling out of the booth and starting towards the door to follow after you. 

A glutton for punishment, then, so it seems. 

You flit through the dark, dirty alleys, scampering from shadow to shadow. The city streets around you, gone quiet now as the sun over Nevarro sets quickly, and you can feel him hunting after you. He’s strong, and you can almost feel the heavy weight of his life force even at a distance, almost as if the goodness and honesty of his character is a presence of its own, sentient in a way. And he’s angry, and you can feel that too, charging after you, provoked, even if he does it on entirely silent and measured feet. You can sense that ravenous curiosity and frustration at being bested and evaded pressing up against you, chasing after you. As if there were some dark red thread connecting the two of you from spine to rib bone, leading him to you, pulling him along your trail. You tiptoe the lines of the shadows silently, making your way through the winding city streets, feeling him getting closer and closer, trying to confuse him, even as he gains on you anyway. 

And then he’s there. 

You feel a massive hand, strong and sure, clamp around the back of your neck, but his touch is measured this time – he’d heeded your warning. His other hand wraps around the bend of your elbow, twisting your arm back behind you, and then he’s kicking open the nearest door, what seems to be some sort of storage alcove, the space dark and humid and mildewed, and pushing you inside. He shoves you away from him once you pass together into the darkness, and you catch yourself on the edge of what feels like some sort of table or workbench.

You laugh breathlessly. Overwhelmed by the thrill of the chase, of the feel of his hands on you, the surrounding darkness, the sound of his own panting breath through the modulator of his helmet. You hope he’s just as overwhelmed, disequilibrated, as you are now. 

“Oh, you again?” you laugh, turning to face him, bracing yourself back against the table. All you can see of him is the silver crescent of the curve of his helmet, the outline of his wide shoulders in the dim light of the moon seeping in through the cracks of space around the door. He is a steel giant.“Did you forget something? Need me to hand your ass to you again, Mandalorian?”

“You’re a fucking brat. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

You gasp mockingly, “Me? Never.”

“Why is it that everything you say sounds vaguely like a taunt? Like you’re trying to provoke me.”

And, oh, he sounds just so unbearably serious and put out by you, that you pout, forced to match his serious tone with one of your own. You force the smile to leave your voice, “Maybe because I am,” and your voice goes quieter, softer, because again, truth. There is something about him that incites provocation, you want him rattled, come undone. “Maybe I want to see what happens when a man made of metal loses control.”

“I can’t – I don’t–” His voice, even through the modulator, is its own flavor of foreplay. “I don’t know…” he says again, whispers it, his tone seeping through the helmet, entirely uncertain, or at war with himself. 

He takes one menacing step forward, made even all the more intimidating by the vast difference in your heights, the sheer breadth of him, the darkness wrapping around him so that all he’s made into are slivers of gleaming silver flame here and there. You feel the whisper of one leather covered finger skim lightly over the outside of your right forearm, another soft touch to the left side of your waist, and you shiver all over. 

“Not a virgin? Your Creed lets you fuck?”

“No.”

“No, what? Use your words.”

Silence. Stubborn, silent, tin can.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Whores?”

A grunt. 

“Aha! Gotcha.” You start to toe your foot forward, bending your knee to make contact with him when you find his leg, tilting slightly away from the table so that you can slide your thigh between his legs. “Is that what you want me to be for you?”

“No.” Fucking monosyllabic–

“Then what do you want from me? Why did you follow me?”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t lie.”

“I want to fuck you.” Your cunt goes soaked and tight at his words, because yes, yes yes, this is what you were leading him to. Finally, he’s caught on, and then he’s planting a strong, broad hand to the center of your chest and pushing you back into the table, and pressing the hard, unyielding length of himself against you. He’s hard and swollen beneath his pants, you can feel the thick heft of him against your belly as he presses into you, and you bring your palms up to slide against the unprotected sides of his strong waist, sending him into a full body shudder as you touch him, helmet falling forward on his neck as he hunches over you, hands planted on the table behind. You can hear his labored, panting breath huffing through the modulator as you run your hands along the planes of him. He’s huge, pure muscle beneath unrelenting beskar, and if you weren’t the creature that you are, you’d feel slightly frightened at the unbelievable strength he’s made up of. He is a thrumming effigy of restrained power beneath your hands, different to that which makes you up, and you feel the strength of him once again, humming through the Force. His light burns so bright, almost blindingly. He’s strong. 

You slide one of your hands up his chest plate, tucking your fingers into the top-most edge to bring yourself up and closer to him as he curves over you, bending you back into an arch over the table’s edge. Your other hand reaches for his wrist braced against the table, wrapping around it, so thick your fingers don’t meet, to tuck your fingertips into the space where his sleeve meets his glove, and at the feel of your bare skin on his, just there, just there, he growls, deep and savage in his chest at the same time that you let out a breathy, warbled moan. His other hand shoots up to grasp at the small of your back and press you into him, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. He’s burning hot, sweltering, and he slides his palm lower, tilting your pelvis into his as you hitch one of your knees up the outside of his thigh to his hip, and then your cunt is rocking against the thick length of his cock, and another breathless, pained groan from the both of you as you make contact there, pushing and pulling against each other. You want to taste his skin, his tongue, you want to kiss him, to feel him licking into your mouth. You pull yourself in closer by the hand tucked into his chestplate to press your face into the warm space between his helmet’s edge and the folds of his cowl. He smells so good, like leather and sweat and metal. Something earthy and musky, something that proves to you that despite the beskar, there is only a man of flesh and blood and want beneath. 

His palm slides to grip the lush of your ass, rolling you onto his length harder, pressing deeper as if he could fuck you through your clothes. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you, little brat?” he pants, ending on a stuttered groan as you hook your calf around his waist and press your foot into the small of his back to grind particularly sharply onto him, pressing your clit into the edge of his utility belt, “Please, just– just–” you gasp, head falling back on your neck. And then he’s spinning you abruptly and pressing between your shoulder blades so that you're bent entirely over the table, cheek smushed against the hard surface. That wide palm slides down the slope of your spine, squeezes your asscheek harshly so that you’re moaning out in lust or pain, you can’t tell.

“Was that a yes? Who can’t use their words now?”

“I liked it better when you weren’t talking,” you grouch, but then his fingers have somehow snuck their way up beneath your tunic and under the edge of your trousers, and he’s ripping everything down to leave you bare and unprotected from the sudden onslaught of that huge expanse of leather clad palm cracking down painfully on the soft skin of your ass so that you’re scrambling to find the opposite end of the table to pull yourself away from him. A pathetic little screech claws its way out of you, and he wraps the length of your hair around his fist to pull your head back and up, turning you into his own little bow string, head resting back on the hard pauldron over his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going? I caught you, you’re mine now.”

“Fuck off–” You try, but he clamps his fingers around your jaw, squeezing the fine bones of your face to cut you off, his other hand in your hair gives a sharp tug that makes the tips of your breasts go hot and tight and your cunt clench around nothing. You can feel yourself dripping down the insides of your naked thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders, shoving the thick of his fingers inside to press down on your tongue. You try and moan around him, protest or something, but you can’t help but run your tongue around the digits, tasting the smokiness of blaster residue, the tang of whatever he must use to oil his gloves. “Finally, some silence. I like you better like this,” he taunts you with an imitation of your previous words. He bends his head forward, “Get them wet,” he murmurs, voice soft and sultry through the modulator, and the moan you give him now is all desperation as you let saliva pool heavy on your tongue to coat the leather. 

When he pulls them from your mouth, tugging your head back further so that you can look up into the dark tee of his visor as he slides his spit slick gloves between your thighs to press against your throbbing clit, your whimpered little mewl has a chastising tut filtering through the helmet, “Slippery, little thing.” He starts to press slow circles to the aching bundle of nerves, sliding down on every other swirl to press gentle, teasing pressure to your clenching opening. “Did my chasing do all this? Do you like being hunted, brat?”

“Not–” you moan as he presses down hard on your clit, then back to the mouth of your cunt, giving you just the tip of his finger, “Not a brat,” you struggle to get out.

“No?” He starts to press two fingers inside at once, both of you groaning in tandem. “Maker – fucking tight–” He scissors his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist to fuck you open, making room for himself inside of you. “Don’t know if I’ll even fit in here.”

“No,” you groan, low and drawn out, and then, yes, whispered breathlessly, one of your arms reaching back to hold onto the wrist of his hand still twisted in your hair, trying to find purchase on anything to anchor yourself with. Because the stretch of just his two fingers inside of you – you can hear the slick squelch of your wetness as he starts to fuck them in and out of you slowly – is so unexpectedly obscene. You had not expected to find yourself in this position with any man, especially not one like this – had not thought you were yet ready to be touched by another person. Not so soon after– “Please – m– more. I want–”

“You think you’re ready for my cock, little one? Have I stretched this tiny cunt out enough?”

“Yes– yes. Just do it.”

“Fuck–” You listen to the wet little pop as he pulls his fingers from you, and the clink and shuffle of his belt and armor as he pulls himself out of his clothes, and then he’s shifting behind you as you brace against the edge of the table. The burning hot blunt tip of his cock skimming against the round of your ass, and you feel him spread his feet wide, bend his knees, and then his cock is there at the slick mouth of your cunt, and he’s thrusting up and into you on the downward roll of your hips, and Maker, he’s deep like this. Suddenly, twin strangled groans of pain or relief ripping from your throats in tandem as he grinds deep, deeper, for a moment. You feel the heavy kick and throb of his cock inside of you, and he is too big, too thick – he forces you to take it anyway. Stretching you in a way you’ve never been before, your eyes smart, forcing your body to make room for his inside of you, it leaves your breath to stutter out in a weak little puff of shock. 

And you moan, using the palms of your hands against the edge of the table to grind yourself back onto him while his hands clamp tightly around your hips, his fingers so long they almost meet at the center of your belly beneath your navel. 

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That’s so good.

You can’t tell which one of you is speaking. You can't even tell if you’re still breathing. And then he starts to move. 

You knew he’d fuck hard, from the first moment you’d seen him, you knew.

He pulls his hips back, the slick wet, the grasping walls of your cunt trying to suck him back in, and then the scorching slide of him pressing back in, in, in, grinding again, those long fingers pressing down on your belly so that you feel him from the outside too. 

“Harder,” you beg, because of course you want more. You are a creature made of greed and hunger. You always have been. 

“Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given,” but his hips slam back in, a savage growl punctuating the movement. 

He gives it to you almost brutally, without pause or thought, fucking punched out breaths and whines from you. 

“Shut up,” he spits on the end of one particularly deep, harsh thrust that’s followed by a high pitched mewl from you. “You want every piece of shit on Nevarro to find you split open on my cock like this?” Your head lolls back limply on his shoulder, the wet slap of his heavy balls against your clit overwhelming the sound of your thoughts. You can’t speak, your brain is currently being jostled within the confines of your skull by the force of his cock splitting you open. “No? Then be a good girl, and be quiet,” his voice, rough, even through the modulator is almost drowned out by the wet, obscene sound of him pounding into you. 

He brings one of his hands back up to your jaw, turning your head slightly so that your nose is almost smushed up against the chrome of his visor. He wants to look at you. The hard beskar of his chest plate rubs harshly against your back on every push upwards of his hips, and you’re sure that’ll hurt later, but right now you just can’t seem to care. You can feel the humid, warm air of your panting breath, foggy against the gleam of his helmet, and you bring one of your hands up to the wrist holding your face, holding on for dear life, sanity, you’re not sure what. Your other hand twists back into the hanging fabric of his cloak so that you can pull yourself more tightly back into him as he slows his thrusts, making them longer and more drawn out. “Yeah– like that. Settle… good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut. Too much, too much. It should hurt. You wanted it to hurt. Not gentle, you don’t want it gentle.

“Harder,” you whine, plead.

“No. How I say.” He rolls his cock into you over and over, your slick sliding down your thighs, the backs abraded by the plates of beskar over his own legs. He’s so deep, so big it hurts so good. Even if you want it harder, it still hurts so good. The hand at your face slides down to rip open the fastening of your high necked tunic, reaching inside and under your breast band to pull out the heavy aching weight of your tit and pinch your nipple, rolling it between his strong leather clad fingers – more high, desperate mewls that have him groaning deep in his chest. You’re sure if your face wasn't so close to his you’d never be able to hear them through the helmet, low and rumbly and so delicious. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs low, cupping your breast to plump it up, massaging it in his palm.

“What? You can see?” 

“Yeah– fuck yes, I can see.”

“Not fair,” you whine. It’s so dark in the little room he’d pushed you into, you’re not even going to get to take a good look at his cock before this is all over. 

“You don’t need to see. You just need to be good and take it.”

“Do you ever kiss?” you ask him suddenly. Irritated by the fact that you’ve not gotten to ogle him – or kiss him. If he even does that.

Another deep roll of his hips, a tight squeeze to the swinging globe of your breast, “No.”

“That’s a shame.”

And he responds immediately, voice subdued and even, underneath the helmet, despite the fact that you feel like he’s cleaving you in two. “Maybe next time,” he says. His palm slides down to your belly then, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to fold you over the table, hands moving to wrap around your hips and lift you up and back onto his impaling cock so that the tips of your toes are left skimming the ground beneath, your fingers scramble and claw for purchase against the wood of the table. You can feel the wide tip of his cock punching against your womb on every thrust in and stars flash behind your eyes, mouth hanging open pathetically. 

There is nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. Like he wants to split you in two, like he wants to make sure the shape of him is branded into the center of your body so that you’d never forget this. The sticky sweet coil of your orgasm starts up low in your belly, and you feel molded in his image for one second, pushed out of yourself to stand on the sidelines and look upon the sight of your much smaller form draped over the table and being fucked into so savagely by this silver blade of a man.

And then: they’re fucking bare, they’re fucking raw, and it has been so, so long since he has felt the touch of another person, someone else’s skin on his that was not bestowed upon him in violence or with the barrier of a sheath between. It is an almost overwhelming feeling, that of your hot, soaking wet cunt pulsing around him, you’re about to come for him, he can feel it. The fluttering of your inner muscles, delicate thing that you are, your thighs shaking as you struggle to push yourself back on to him to get it harder, deeper. He is, almost, made faint with the feeling. And those eyes… you’ve got the strangest multicolored eyes. One enshrouded entirely in darkness compared to its bright counterpart – as if one had forgotten to take that last step into the light. You’re fucking beautiful and–

You snap back into yourself. No, no, no, stay out of his head. Stay out of his head. Focus. You push yourself up again so that your back is against his chest, and he bands one tremendously strong arm around you, gripping your breast tightly. You feel him bend his knees framing your thighs to change and deepen the angle, and then he’s pounding right into that tender, devastating place inside of you, and your cunt twists and floods with your orgasm, electric shocks of pleasure numbing your fingers and toes. You can do nothing more than let him do with you what he will. Your toes aren’t even touching the floor. 

He presses as deep as he can, grinds for a moment, and then he folds you over the table once again and presses down harshly on the small of your back with one heavy palm as he pulls his cock from you and finishes himself off. You listen to the wet thwack, thwack, thwack of him pulling on his cock, and then the searing hot spurt of his come is hitting your ass and the exposed seam of your fluttering cunt, a savage growl ripping through the modulator as he squeezes all of the air out of you with that unyielding hand. You’re like a pressed flower between the pages of a book – wilted and frayed, but still held in the image of that which you once were. At the last spurt from his cock he brings his hand to your ass, spreads you apart to rub his spend into the tight furl of your ass, and then further down into your throbbing, overly sensitive clit. All you can do is cry and whimper weakly, still trembling from your own orgasm. “T– too much, nooo,” you whine pathetically.

“Easy – easy, settle.”

You feel him fall to a crouch behind you, pulling you apart with both hands by the meat of your ass to look upon the sight of your blushed, fluttering hole. Messy, little cunt, you hear him whisper. He rubs his come into your trembling thighs, over your swollen clit again, inspecting every vulnerable inch and crevice of your sex, and then he’s pushing two of those thick fingers back inside of you, the passage made slick and fucked open by your mingled come. “Just one more, little one. Want to see it up close,” he murmurs. You try and wiggle away, tears of oversensitivity brimming beneath your lashes, I can’t, I can’t, you think you whisper, but he’s inescapable. He clamps one hand painfully over your asscheek, keeping you spread apart for his inspection, the other one buried deep inside of you so that his fingers are hooked against your g-spot where he presses over and over, quick and relentless, his fingers almost vibrating inside of you until your vision is going white hot and a buzzing sound rings in your ears, and you’re crying for what you think might sound like mercy or something equally despeerate. “Yes, fuck, yes. Just like that.” Your answering sob does not prompt him to abate, for he keeps his fingers pressed against that spot inside of you until you’re leaking an embarrassing amount of wetness down your thighs, until the rippling throbs of your orgasm have finally settled. You feel his head fall forward, the beskar of his helmet pressing against the space where your asscheek meets your thigh, and he holds there for a second against your burning hot skin, the scorching soothed by the cool metal.

You can’t stop shaking, you feel, suddenly, like you might cry. You were not prepared for something of this intensity, to be touched like this, and now that it’s happened you’re left reeling. You don’t even know his name. And now you’re sure he’ll go away to wherever it is that Mandalorian bounty hunters run off to, and you’ll never see him again, and you’ll have to live with the memory of this forever. And something like this… amidst all the other horror that lives within you, you’re sure that the intimacy, the fervor of this, will make it hurt all the more, even compared to all the rest. 

He uncoils behind you, rising up to his towering height. You listen to the rustling of his clothes, and then he’s smoothing a large palm over the slope of your trembling back and reaching down to pull up your trousers, tucking your breast back beneath your tunic, righting your clothes for you without commentary. When you think you’ve finally caught your breath, or can at least pretend you’ve done so, enough to push yourself up from your position over the table. Your eyes feel pinched and hot, your heart beating so hard, almost painfully, within the confines of your ribcage that it feels as though your bones are rattling beneath your skin, knocking together in the imitation of a death rattle so that he’ll surely know that you feel two paces away from falling apart entirely. 

“You’re… Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” Voice stilted.

“No more than I wanted you to.”

He’s silent for a moment, uncomfortable. You can feel the sensation of him pulling away, getting ready to make a run for it. “That’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Do you– do you spend much time on planet?” He’s awkward, uncomfortable now with this unnecessary notion of seemingly required small talk.

“No.” Lie. You like Nevarro, you spend more time here than anywhere else. 

“What’s your name?” It shocks you that he asks, for you know he’d not give you his if you asked it of him in return, but for one infinitely painful, insanely uncharacteristic moment, you want to tell him. You want to give him your real name desperately, tell him who you are. But if you were to do that, then you might tell him what you are. And then he’d hate you, and the memory would be ruined, and you have so few good ones, that this one must be protected at all costs. 

So instead you say that which you have no real desire to say, do what you have no real desire to do, and make sure that he thinks you’re not interested, that you have no desire to ever see him again. Maybe next time. Your heart gives a surprisingly painful pinch, your eyes growing hotter by the second. “This was just a fuck, don’t get all sentimental on me now.” Your voice is so cold, so uncaring. You hate the way you can make yourself sound sometimes. You sense him snap with tense shock, and he nods once, succinctly. “Very well. Thank you… for this. I suppose.”

You lean back against the table, trying your hardest to appear as unaffected as you can. You turn your face to the side, roll your cheek over the hill of your shoulder. “It was my pleasure.”

He turns to go, his cape snapping with the sharp abruptness of his movements, and he pulls open the door of the little storage room letting a flood of moonlight sweep in to shed light on the construction of this memory you’re assembling brick by brick to preserve in your mind for as long as you possibly can. Your eyes sweep over the length of him ravenously, trying to catalog every single detail of him, the incredible breadth of his shoulders, the silver gleam of his beskar helmet, the sweep of his cape, the arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, lethal. He turns back to look at you for one moment, the yawning darkness of his chrome visor, “Don’t get killed, Mandalorian. There are so few of you left now.” And truth, truth, truth, for it would be a shame beyond imagining for a creature such as this, something so strong and beautiful and other, to perish when so few like him remain. He pauses to take you in, as well. You wish you had the courage to ask him what he sees when he looks at a thing like you. The tears are right there, and you hate them and feel weak and disgusted, but also relieved, and you could fall to your knees, in this moment, to thank the Maker that you still possess the ability, the heart, to cry, to succumb to something as trife as tears. You hope he cannot see them. The helmet cocks to the side for one second, perhaps he too is cataloging you to his memory. He nods once, and then he’s turning and gone away into the night. The door snicks shut behind him, and you’re alone once again. 

You pause for a moment, hoping that relief will come. He’s gone, you got what you wanted from him. You should be glad. But there is only the screaming thought of wait, there was still more, there was still more that I wanted from you. 

You let yourself sink slowly to the ground, hand braced against the edge of the table he just fucked you over, lest your shaking legs give out and have you planting face first into the dirt. You fold your legs beneath you, tuck your wild hair gently behind your ears, your movements measured, trying to breathe deep and slow, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Don’t cry, there’s no reason to cry. But shouldn’t we be glad we can still cry? Isn’t it a sign that not all is lost? That there is still a part of us that feels enough to shed tears? This should be a good thing. And so you let the tears fall. You fold yourself over as small as you can, one hand pressed over your hot, leaking eyes, another over your mouth to keep your sounds contained, and you sob as quietly as you possibly can. It was so good and you’re crying and you’re alive and you’re free. You are free, and you should be glad of this. Cry, cry, but cry for your own victory, for your own freedom, for the chance to cry. This is what victory feels like. This is what it is to be alive. 

And so, here is your truth: It is a difficult thing, to shed the facets of the dark side after you’ve lived with it for so long. To be a Sith is to forsake all connection, all peace. There is only passion to strength to power to victory to the Force, but it is always alone. Always against someone or something else. So, yes, it is difficult to shed the facets of the dark side that have made you the thing you’ve been for more than half your life, since the time you were stolen from your cradle, your parents slaughtered, and spirited away into the shadow of a cruel and unforgiving master. What is it to know exactly how your life will play out, to see everything, to be so aware of what you will be – and to still be lost? Part agony, part madness. The pieces of you that are secretive, that like to hide, to run, these are especially difficult to let go of, and you are so, so interminably sad, you live in it. It’s all you feel you are now, after the dark, after the fall of the Empire and the Sith, after escape, after freedom, after you’d so forcibly ripped its claws, that were so deeply sunk within you, out by sheer force of will, by sheer force of desperation, you worry that it’s taken a piece of you with it, your soul. That it had eaten a piece of you. That you don’t have one anymore. 

You don’t even know his name. And even if you’re certain he would not have given it to you, for one moment, you feel an incredible lance of regret that you did not give him yours. 

But then: a person without a soul could not cry. 

And so this must only be proof of the fact that you must still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must. 

And you think: I am not unfamiliar with this half life – there is a wound inside of me – dark and putrid and festering. But perhaps my tears will heal me. Seal the wound closed. 

You feel lonely – worse, you feel strange. Once, you were terrible – now you are only yourself. So you cry for the passion of the moment, for the way he made you feel, for the loss of a name, for the truth of freedom.

Chapter II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[thc-au]

Master-post:

This post is too big, so, just press <keep reading> button and enjoy!

The Amusement park

Tutorial area: [Unlocked] The park [The park is full of attractions, abandoned a long time ago.] [The danger inside - Mannequins that can move if the lights are off. Happily that there's always bright.] The Circus tent [A dark circus tent that has no bright light inside.] [The danger inside - two clown puppets whom a tutorial encounters that Pomni uses to teach the player how to fight. A dark maze where Pomni plays hide and seek (under the tent)] Boss: Pomni [immortal]

Side chapter: The attractions area [there are many attractions, all of which are broken and not working, where you can see a lot of old mannequins.] [The danger inside - Mannequins, light cut off] The carousel [12 horses, mainly unicorns, pegasus, and common horses.] [The danger - these encounters can move and try to kill you if you come too close.] Boss: [̵͎̜͕̊ͅḐ̸̧̞̦̯͐Ĕ̷̪̘̑L̷̮̭͇̮̏̑̓̓ͅÊ̴̺͊͗̊͝ͅT̵̖̭͙̜͗͐́̕Ę̸̛͙͎͌̏͌͜D̴̢̨̢̬̚]̵̝̈́̉̀̕

Greek drama comedy pantheon

Chapter 1: [Unlocked] The pantheon [The giant ancient Greek pantheon that is based on Greek attributes like mazes with common myth encounters, traps, and puzzles.] [The danger inside - Minotaur, soldiers, dark in location] The Amphitheater [A large arena with a stage where operas were. Mostly destroyed.] [The danger inside - traps, gladiators, common myth encounters] Boss: Gangle

Dollhouse

Chapter 2: [Locked] The garden [The big garden with a dollhouse in the center, abandoned and broken giant villa with three floors. The garden is desolated and filled with dangerous encounters.] [The danger inside - Dolls, spiders.] The house [Giant villa, abandoned, broken, made in dark-colored wood and stone. ] [The danger inside - Dolls, bugs, traps, old floors.] Boss: Ragatha

Playground Meat Factory

Chapter 3: [Locked] The Factory [An abandoned meat factory for a long time, but with the mechanisms still working. There are many gigantic rooms here, which have complex mechanisms] [The danger inside - traps, puzzles, encounters "workers" and mechanisms] Boss: Zooble

Wonderland Nightmare-land

Chapter 4: [Locked] The forest [Huge forest full of mushroom trees, trees. Some of it can remind of human silhouettes.] [The danger inside Wild creatures (animals mostly), Card guards, flowers with faces, living trees.] Mini-boss: Cheshire cat The Madman's house [A small house in the shape of a hat is unremarkable at first glance. However, the inside of it is much larger and consists of long corridors with many doors. The location is full of scratches of nails, broken portraits, and furniture.] [The danger inside - Jax] Boss: Jax

Chess castle

Chapter 5: [Locked] The chess desk [A giant chessboard inside a majestic castle divided in half by two colors - old, slightly faded platinum and dark copper. There is weak lighting around the field from torches attached to holders.] [The danger inside - the chess. The Pale King] Boss: Kinger

[Locations gates] [The gate is giant and looks heavy because of the forged steel. Each gate has its unique tag belonging to one or another boss of the location behind these gates.] [Five gates in summary]

COMICS:

Chapter 0: The end of everything [1] [2] [??]

MASTER POST REF SHEETS:

Pre horror: [dont turm on the light!]

Game stuff: [cover]; [chapters menu]; [...] About: [DLC?]; [non canon DLC]; [...]

[Jax]

[Kinger]

[Queenie]

Post horror:

Size line: [additional]

Limited edition/ Abel

2 | 6 Main Bosses

[vamptember]

Welcome to MerMay - Vampire Chronicles edition! Vampire lovers, please join us in celebrating another category of mythological creatures and monsters: mermaids, sirens, rusalkas, selkies, and so on, combined with the VC characters we know and love all month long! 🫧🐠

Create fic, art, playlists, moodboards, photo manipulations, and anything else you can think of that relates to the theme of bodies of water and their inhabitants! 💙

Base it on the characters of the books, the movie, the show, the musical, or even that other movie! Genderswapped and trans versions welcome! Whatever ships, pairings, genres, tropes, and ratings you feel like doing! 🐙

𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 & 𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

1. MerMay VC will run for 4.5 weeks with each week featuring FOUR THEME PROMPTS and a bonus FREE SPACE prompt where anything in the spirit of MerMay goes! Prompts can be interpreted as SFW or NSFW — go nuts! Pick one or combine them or rearrange them, it's up to you!

2. Tag your posts #vamptember so that we can reblog! We'll be staggering out our reblogs throughout the month so that we can make the mermaid magic last longer! ✨ If your post isn't showing in the tag please don't hesitate to send us the link in our ask box! Delayed submissions are always welcome!

3. As of 4/24/24, our ao3 collection is now live!

4. Follow @vamptember to see everyone's incredible creations and keep up with our latest fandom events! Our sister blog @priapus-at-the-gate will also be a hosting an exclusively NSFW MerMay event, so feel free to give us a follow there as well for more fun stuff coming soon! And as always, let us know if you have any questions about anything, we're here for you!

𝕿𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉! 𝖂𝖊𝖊𝖐𝖑𝖞 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖙! 🪼

WEEK 1 (May 1 - 7)

fishing net / stuck on land / gore / pearl / FREE SPACE

WEEK 2 (May 8 - 14)

lighthouse / curse / knots / thalassophobia / FREE SPACE

WEEK 3 (May 15 - 21)

sea cave / pirates / specimen / myth / FREE SPACE

WEEK 4 (May 22 - 28)

rescued / song / bioluminescent / depth / FREE SPACE

WEEK 4.5 (May 29 - 31)

tentacles / under the moon / eggs / shipwreck / FREE SPACE

[shriekingpyre]

DESCENT TO THE VALLEY / AN ELEGY: LATE SUMMER'S BLEEDING OUT, ryn selene

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[full text below the cut]

an elegy dedicated to death in the summertime.

july ended kneeling by the bedside wondering if i was praying right. it was the season when sunbleached memories plagued:

down by the creek, signs of god. saltwater fingers trapped in a sharkbite snarl. crane your neck. i’ll demonstrate. creation myth, horror flick. the killer’s weak to the impulse. matching scars: his collarbone, my hip. aching jaws and unzipped jeans in the backyard. stumbling through boyhood, eternal collapsing omen. all the lies my sister never told me.slow rain turned flashflood. sunburnt hands, feverish dreams. drowning in misguided love. violence cycling over. stop pulling your punches. this is our way to heaven. life grew wider, / inevitable, / in the wrong place.

unfinished summers stretch into days spent waiting for a sign. stained letters deemed holy text. frenzied whispers echoing along empty backroads and highways. the still silence of our truck. passenger side chainsmoking wishing time would erase.

final destination: the desert. my own private holy land.

i search for my god. / i find him at a grave. / he recites psalm 139:7. / outgrown resentment, has he scratched that itch yet? / this eden of mine robs me of love and devotion. / am i in the right place? / i miss the silence. / i miss a god who would listen. / this isn’t the heaven i wanted, i believe it does not want me either. / this desert is vast. / take me out of eden, i miss my god. / the only thing worth saving is death. / what if i’m the apple instead?

was it worth it?

tags: @geryone @hauntedwoman @hangsawoman

[nocasdatsgay]

The Siren’s Song

Day 5 of @polyacotarweek Favorite Tropes (Sex Pollen and Mating Bonds 😉)

Pairing: Nesta/Cassian/Azriel | Rating: E | Word Count: 2667

Poly Week Master Post | Read here on Ao3

Warnings: Unadulterated smut. Sex Pollen Trope. Slight dub con

Summary: Nesta Cassian and Azriel go to the middle to investigate an illegal trade route that is involved in some assaults in the Court of Nightmares. But instead of a headquarters they stumble upon the very field that’s being harvested.

AN: This lovely fic Called I Pretend You’re Mine All the Damn Time by daycourtofficial is what reminded me of how much I love the sex pollen trope. If you like Az/reader and this trope, go read it.

Tagging: @saltedcoffeescotch @hieragalbatorixdottir @ysmtttty @mybestfriendmademe

“The camp is empty.” Azriel landed beside Nesta and Cassian. 

She took in her surroundings; the small clearing with a few tents and a small campfire in the middle was indeed empty. They’d been tracking the trade route for a week and planned on ambushing them. Instead they found nothing. 

“Maybe they knew we were coming.” Cassian crossed his arms. “Wasted all this time for nothing.” 

“Or maybe something else found them first,” Nesta pointed to the tent on the right, which had the sides shredded. 

She looked back at Cassian and Azriel, both shooting each other concerned looks. The Middle was not a safe place. Nesta knew that first hand. She walked over to the tent; she could smell something rotten- food it looked like. The tent was full of supplies left behind. Something definitely came here and took out the residents. 

“Found a map.” 

She moved out of the tent to see Az and Cassian looking over a large roll of paper. Az lowered it so she could look as well. It was a crude drawing of The Middle, some blank spaces with others filled in. A circle over an area in red caught her eye. 

“Maybe they went there,” she pointed at the circle. “They marked it for a reason.” 

“Wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” Cass looked to Az. He didn’t disagree. “Let’s go so we can head home. I’m tired of this spy shit.” 

“It’s only been a week. Big baby,” Nesta teased. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The flight was short. Nesta held tight to Cassian as they flew. She too was ready for this to be over. The field seemed no different than any other they’d come across. Az signaled for them to land, Cassian following wordlessly. As they got closer the grass seemed to be speckled with white. It wasn’t until they landed that they realized the whole field was covered in small star shaped flowers. 

No sooner than he let go of Nesta, placing her on her feet, Cassian began sneezing repeatedly. Nesta stepped back and yellow pollen kicked up around her feet. 

“Don’t move,” Az said, his shadows flurrying about him. 

“Why?” Nesta shifted and kicked up more pollen, making Cassian sneeze again. 

“Stop Nesta,” Az panicked. Nesta and Cassian stood still as stone. “We need to leave. Right now.”

“Why?” 

Cassian sneezed so hard his wings flew out. Pollen kicked up high, covering all three of them. Az cursed and he moved, pollen flurrying around him and his shadows. He grabbed Nesta and Cassian and pulled him into his shadows. 

They reappeared at the House of Wind.  

“We need to bathe this shit off, now,” Az beckoned them to follow. 

“Azriel, what the hell is this shit,” Cassian tried to dust himself off. It only smeared on his leathers. 

“It’s,” Az looked pained. “It’s Siren’s Dust.”

“What does that mean?” Nesta felt Cassian stiffen beside her. 

“That shit is a myth,” Cassian snapped. He sneezed again. 

“What does it do?” 

Nesta watched Az tug at his collar, his shadows disappearing under his wings. Nesta didn’t realize she, too, was tugging at her leathers. Cassian scratched his neck beside her. 

“We need to bathe and lock ourselves in our rooms until it gets out of our system.”

“Neither of you are telling what it is,” Nesta stomped over to Az and his wings flared out. 

“Nes don’t,” he stepped back. She did not stop and Az couldn’t help himself; he grabbed her, shoving her against the wall. “Cassian, come get her out of here.” 

Heat flared through her. She could smell his arousal and surprisingly her own. Azriel’s pupils were blown and he still looked pained. She wanted to kiss him. She looked to Cassian, he was walking to them and her gaze dropped down to the bulge between his legs. He was turned on too. Nesta let out a noise- a sigh and a moan. Az whimpered. 

It clicked for Nesta what was happening. “It’s an aphrodisiac,” she panted. 

“Yes,” Az said through gritted teeth. “We need to get it off of us and wait it out.” 

Cassian stopped beside them. He too looked pained. But instead of grabbing Nesta, he gripped Az’s hair and pulled him up into a kiss. The two males sighed loudly as their lips met. The lightning of want shot through her and she almost fell to her knees. Azriel was the only thing holding her up. Cassian pulled back and rested it on Azriel’s forehead, both of them panting. 

“Take us to the guest room,” Cassian panted. “The one with the shower.” 

Az nodded and shadows enveloped them all once again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nesta had to be dreaming. 

Her whole body was on fire and she was in the middle of Cassian and Azriel in the shower. She had to be dreaming. In what world would she be so lucky? Azriel’s hand was between her legs, rubbing her clit while she could feel his cock rubbing against her ass. All while she stroked Cassian’s and kissed him with her tongue in his mouth. 

They’d long since washed off the pollen. They somehow managed to keep their hands to themselves until Az decided to grab her and lick at her neck. Now they were all moaning, trying to get each off. Az explained through heated kisses that it would take a while to wear off. He even tried to leave but Nesta and Cassian both weren’t having it. 

She came first, those textured fingers making her pull away from Cassian yell as she clenched around nothing. Cassian and Azriel both groaned, Cassian coming all over her hand and Az on her back. She could hear the thuds of their wings trying to flare out, which made her laugh loudly. 

That cleared their head but not by much. Just enough for them to rinse off and get out of the shower to dry. Nesta was putting her hair up when she turned to find the boys kissing again. Heat bloomed between her legs again. 

“You two look like you’ve done this before,” her voice sounded as hazy as she felt. 

Az pulled back, Cassian went for his neck. “We,” Az groaned, his cock hardening again. “We’ve fucked before, Nes.”

That made Nesta weak in the knees. “I want to watch,” she replied. 

“No,” Cassian pulled away and gave her a look that made her cunt throb. “No, I think we want you with us.” 

Thank the cauldron, the guest bed was huge. Az was tossed by Cassian onto the bed and Nesta crawled up between his legs. Gods his cock was pretty and everything she imagined. She didn’t ask as she took him into her mouth, both of their moans filling the air. 

Nesta bobbed her head and hollowed out her cheeks when she felt the bed sink behind her. She pulled back, cursing as Cassian pushed into her from behind. 

“Keep going, baby,” Cassian said, thrusting into her again. “I wanna see my good girl choke on his cock.” 

She clenched around him- when was the last time he called her a good girl? She did as she was told, taking Azriel’s cock in her mouth and forcing it down her throat. Az let out a strangled curse and his hands went into her hair. 

“So good, Nes,” Az panted. “Gods Cassian, she beautiful.” 

“Wait until you see her ride you,” Cassian chuckled. He grabbed her hips to hold her still while he thrusted into her harder. 

Nesta almost came at the thought of Az buried deep in her. She pulled back and licked up his length, swirling her tongue on the head. Cassian’s movements were getting sporadic. Something cold touched her clit- she looked between her legs to see a shadow swirling above as Cassian fucked her. 

“I knew it,” she looked up to see a smug Az. “I knew you used them for sex.”

Az didn’t say anything but the shadow and Cassian hit her both just right that she squealed. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” Cassian said behind her. “Come on my cock while you have Az in your mouth.” 

She nodded and took Az back down her throat while she used both hands to hold herself up. It didn’t take much more for her to come, a muffled yell on Azriel’s cock making him come down her throat. Cass was right behind them both, thrusting deep into Nesta, spilling in her with his wings flared out. 

Another brief moment of clarity passed between them all. She pulled her mouth off Az and he scooted up the bed looking sheepish. She wiped the seed and drool off her lips and Cassian eased out of her. He moved off the bed and she could hear him walk to the bathing room again, probably to get a towel. 

“I’m sorry,” Az pulled his legs up to cover himself. “You two should go, it only lasts a few more hours I think.” 

Cassian came back and wiped up the mess between Nesta’s legs. 

“But I still want to ride you,” she said bluntly as she sat up on her knees. 

“That’s the pollen talking,” Az shook his head. 

Cassian laughed loudly. “No, Nesta’s been wanting this for a while.” 

“I’ve had two males before.” Nesta couldn’t be bothered to be ashamed. “But they weren’t either of you.” 

The pollen was hitting her again. Nesta could smell arousal spiking in the air and heat flushing her body again. She looked at Az with her piercing silver eyes. 

“Do you want us to leave?” 

“No,” he said immediately. “Gods no.” 

“Then let me ride you. I want to feel you inside me, Az.” 

Az cursed but lowered his legs, his length had hardened once again. She crawled over him and pressed her chest to his and kissed him. He tasted as good as she expected. His hands grabbed her ass, kneading the flesh and forcing her cunt to rub against his cock. She pulled back and reached between them, wasting no time sinking down onto him. 

He felt so different from Cassian- longer but not as thick. Still it felt right. She let herself adjust, head falling back with a sigh. She didn’t notice Cassian crawl up the bed beside them. His wings were tucked in, his own cock hard and curled up to his chest. 

“Okay pretty girl, show Azzie what you got.” 

That first lift and drop made her wince. Az was longer than Cassian by only a small bit but it was enough to make a difference.

“You okay?” Az whispered. 

She nodded. “I’m not used to the length.” Cassian busted out a laugh and Az’s cheeks darkened. “Just need to not overestimate it.” 

She sat up straighter and did it again. It didn’t hurt that time. It was easy to find a rhythm, pleasure coiling in her stomach and thighs quickly. Az used one hand to cup her breast and pinch her nipple. The other reached over to stroke Cassian’s cock. 

She watched one shadow come up onto her other breast, brushing her nipple and another slide down Az’s stomach to settle between her legs again. This orgasm was slower- not as strong but still made her yell when she broke, throbbing tight around Az. He and Cassian both groaned, Az coming inside her and Cassian spilling on his stomach and Azriel’s hand. 

Another bout of clarity and another haze swept over them. They went slower the next round, Nesta on Cassian’s face, licking up their cum while Az rode him behind her. Another round with Nesta on her back, Cass inside her and Az inside him. Nesta stroked their wings at one point, finding all the spots that had her males singing. Hours later there wasn’t a position they hadn’t been in already. 

Nesta herself was starting to feel sore and tired, the haze not taking her over like it had before. She laid between Cassian and Azriel, hot and sticky from sweat and other things. Az buried his face against her arm and pillow. Cassian was on his side, a hand resting on her sternum. 

“I think it’s over,” Cassian murmured. 

“Good, I’m tired,” Nesta closed her eyes. “I don’t think I could walk if we had to do another round.” 

She felt Azriel stir beside her, and she opened her eyes to watch him sit up. He didn’t look at either of them. 

“I’ll go clean myself up,” he whispered. His shadows seemed agitated as they flurried around him. 

“Stay,” Nesta reached out her hand to grab his. She squeezed it tight. “We’ll nap and then clean up.”

Az didn’t move. His wings were tucked in tight. She knew what he was thinking and it made her ache in her chest. 

“Please stay,” she whispered. 

“I don’t think I can handle it,” he finally replied back, his voice cracking. 

“What do you mean?” Cassian sat up on the bed and frowned. “Az don’t-“ 

“We did what we had to do.” He snapped. He turned and she could see the pain in his eyes. “Just let me go so we can get back to normal.” 

“No,” Nesta squeezed his hand again. Her chest ached more. She sat up beside Cassian and looked Azriel in his eyes. “Stay with us. This- this can be our new normal.” 

He shook his head. “But you’re mates. And I-”

Nesta didn’t know at that moment what came over her. She just knew Azriel needed to stay, that if she let him leave that bed- she moved to him and pulled him into a kiss. That ache in her chest eased and when he kissed her back something else tightened. 

She pulled back with a gasp. 

He shook his head with panic in his eyes. “That’s not-“ he looked past her and his shoulders hunched, like he’d been stuck in the chest. 

Nesta turned to Cassian and his mouth was dropped open. Did that mean-

“Holy Mother,” Cassian let out a breath. 

“It’s a trick,” Az said. She turned to see him shake his head. He tried to pull away and Nesta kept a grip on his arm. “It’s probably a trick of the Siren’s Dust.”

“Az, it’s not,” she shook her head. “Az we’re-“ 

“Don’t say it,” Az's voice broke. “Please don’t.” 

Nesta could feel his grief and worry, a bond now present and wide open. She could feel Cassian too, his worry and love for Az pulsing on her end. 

“We’re mates,” she whispered and tears fell down her cheeks. “We are your mates, Azriel.” 

“But how?” He asked and looked between them. He watched Nesta let go and put her hand to her chest when he tugged it. “Two mates?” 

Nesta felt Cassian shrug, moving on the bed to be closer to them both. 

“We can have Amren or Rhys check,” he said, his tone soothing for the panic coming off Azriel. “It’s there. I would know, I have one. Gods, this whole time,” Cassian laughed a little harshly. “We were mates this whole time.”

“Why don’t we clean up,” Nesta offered. “We clean up and have a good nap. Together. Then we can talk about it.”

Az hesitated but agreed. They all got out of bed and cleaned themselves up. As she feared it hurt to walk, but she didn’t regret it. The House changed the sheets when they returned and Cassian was the first to pass out snoring. Nesta looked over at Az, his hazel eyes watching her. She reached out and took his hand, stroking her thumb over his knuckles. 

“I prayed for a mate,” Az whispered in the dark. “I never got one. I thought the Mother had cursed me for being selfish.”

“I would know about being cursed, Az,” she whispered back. “We can be cursed together now.” 

“We are if he snores like that all the time.”

They both snickered, even more so when Cassian let out a louder snore. Once they finally settled, she sent her love down the bond to Az. Just as she fell asleep she realized he sent her love back. 

[sulfuric-deity]

Hermitcraft Pokemon AU thoughts!

(If using this as reference please tag as 'Hc poke au' so I can see, also feel free to tag me :))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This has been haunting me for a while so I figured I would throw them here for some people to enjoy

Basically this region would have a gym for each type, and the order is pre determined so each gym holds pokemon of a certain level. Once you get through all of them four are randomized to be your big trail at the end, with their real Pokemon.

The pokemon trial is a BIG DEAL needing to be signed up for and then selected as it is so intensive.

The main antagonist is an organization researching 'Sculk' who got infected :)

As well as an unusual myth that seems to be interested in a few of the members. The Watcher.

Now onto hermits and the rough order of gyms!

OTHER ROLES:

Rendog-

He is the host for the trails, the charming man who will guide you along your journey. However, somethings seems a little off about him...were his eyes always red? He is not infected with Sculk like the others think, instead The Watcher is using his eyes to gain information about its victims.

Xisuma-

Head pokemon professor, oversees all other branches of research as well as the trail. Elusive to the public, who has never seen his face, but close with the gym leaders as he is the one who calculates pokemon level for that year. Absolutely distraught at the appearance of Sculk, and values the safety of his friends over himself.

Cubfan-

An odd pokemon professor, researching the effects of pokemon moves on humans. He is considered odd, and many protest actually using people for his trails, but he is very careful and ensures consent. Was chosen to go and supervise the Sculk trials alongside the company to see if its harmful to people. (wink wink nudge nudge)

Mumbo-

The youngest pokemon professor, he focuses mostly on the evolution of pokemon and how and when it occurs. He is likely the professor you would see the most, interacting with gym leaders and Ren. When Xisuma begins to evacuate things, and Cub goes missing he is forced to run everything himself. On top of that, his close friend Grian goes missing. Absolutely crumbling under the pressure of the many tasks.

DocM-

The head of the organization researching the Sculk, he seems unaffected by the possession. (Until too late hehe) Cold on the outside, friendly on the inside he won favor of many gym leaders, even if the HEP and public are skeptical of his involvement. He is determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Cleo-

She is the head of HEP (Human, Environment, Pokemon) who focus on the human treatment of pokemon and the protection against pokemon rampages. They were tasked with monitoring the Sculk situation. With their 'no bs' attitude, you'd think they would have no friends with all the goofballs around, but its actually just a front for their pure sarcasm.

Joe Hills-

A member of HEP who came from distant lands, wont tell you exactly how or why but will spin fanciful tales of adventure. Actually under arrest for breaking pokemon out 'illegally' in his original region. Protected by HEP now, at least for a while.

XbCrafted-

A field expert HEP member, usually taking care of water based missions. He is close friends with Keralis and beef, often teasing that he could defeat their regular teams easy. During a mission to investigate Sculk along a beachfront, he goes MIA. He is eventually found stranded on an island with all his pokemon fainted, talking to a volleyball with Keralis's face on it. He is fearful of the man after being haunted by the small volleyball child.

Zedaph-

The last member of HEP, hard to spot and even harder to understand in a conversation. Smart enough to be offered a spot as a professor but denied it as he 'doesn't want his creativity limited.' Takes care of the technical aspects.

Etho-

Former Champion, held the title for many years before willingly giving it over to his apprentice. He is many peoples spark for wanting to be a trainer, and he is still incredibly talented. (Despite Gem's boasting.) Now he wanders across the land to revisit friends and watch the youngsters train.

Gem-

Current Champion! Rumored to be Etho's sibling or otherwise related she takes great pride in her title. Known as GeminiSlay, her pokemon are ruthless, mostly tanks and quick attackers. She often worries about how the public compares her to Etho despite their obvious differences. She takes care of her gym leaders, but always looks for opportunities to drop in for surprise battles, especially with Pearl and Joel.

Grian-

Very close with Pearl, former water gym leader but retired the position to her after she defeated him. Now he takes joy in annoying the other gyms and assisting Mumbo is his research. Still an expectedly powerful trainer. Snail, marine biologist man, surprisingly smart. Goes mysteriously missing during the Sculk breakout, and is found stolen by one of the legendaries of the region (the Watcher.)

GYM LEADERS:

BdoubleO- Grass

Disgruntled about being the first gym leader faced, but takes great pride in wowing the trail-goers and being a difficult first challenge. He takes excellent care of his gym, and enjoys his trail. He claims to be the only Gym leader who defeated Etho. One of the longest standing leaders. During the Sculk infection, he helps to maintain a safe area and contact Etho for help.

Pearl- Water

Takes excellent care of her pokemon and it shows, they are fiercely loyal and in tune with her. Sometimes seeming to move as one entity. Admires Gem for her determination and skill, the pair have a joking rivalry. Also very close with Tango, she likes having the upper hand in battling. She pushes Tango to train his pokemon better against water types. She leads the search for Grian when he goes missing, facing off against the legendary by herself.

Tango- Fire

A bit hot-headed, he can sometimes gain a one track mind when it comes to his projects and forget about his responsibility as a gym leader. He created his own trail, and ensured it was as far from the scorching flames the trail-goers would expect (Decked out themed.) Close to Zedaph, and often helps in HEP contraptions. When his dungeon starts to gain a consciousness of its own, he is surprisingly delighted, even if it costs him possession.

Impulse- Rock

Stubborn, vengeful, and critical he relies on his combined Gym to help even out his flaws. Despite what he considers fatal flaws, he is intelligent, loyal, and protective of his friends which compliment his other half. Like earthquakes he is a powerhouse with his pokemon, often intimidating trail-goers. Although they are very quickly shown otherwise with his welcoming personality.

Skizz- Ground

Overly trusting, friendly, and slack he relies on his combined Gym to help even out his flaws. Impulse pushes him to grow and match his level, as well as not immediately giving up on a grudge. While he calms and grounds Impulse's intense energy. The pair make a deadly duo and are the trial-goers first introduction to the concept of double battles. Warm and welcoming he surprises a lot of people with his demeanor.

Scar- Normal

While normal types seem boring, Scar would adamantly disagree. They have very few weaknesses, and have the potential to learn to many moves outside of their type! A lover of all pokemon trail-goer expect scar to be easy, but are very wrong. His Persian, Jellie, is not as friendly as her trainer. Distraught by the loss of Grian he is incredibly frustrated he cant go to look for his friend due to his wheelchair.

Keralis- Bug

Wide eyed and not that competitive Keralis aims to just have a good time. He showers any trainer who makes it to his gym with compliments luring them into a false security. Despite not being competitive, he is ranked higher than the rest for a reason. Bug types are underrated. Keralis was terrified when XB goes missing, he completely closes his gym to go looking for his beloved princess.

Ijevin- Poison

Goopy spooky guy, takes great joy in being so relaxed and still absolutely destroying people. Stock up on poison heals and hope he's having a good day! He is also one of the original leaders, and has fallen into a comfortable groove and gained mad skills. Overall reliable, and sturdy.

Beef- Fighting

His bulky figure leads most people to believe he is a ruthless fighter, and while this is true, he also has a heart of gold. During XB's disappearance he too closes his gym, strong arming any authorities away as he searches for his friend. He is the one to first find XB, who is fearful of Keralis after being haunted by the ball man.

Hypno- Psychic

A slinking, cheeky figure. No one has ever seen his eyes, and it is rumored that he can brainwash people with his gaze. It is of course not entirely true, but he continues it as it tons of fun watching trial-goers squirm as he watches them. Close with Wels and Ijevin, who takes great pride in making fun of being super effective against his pokemon. One of the older gym leaders.

Welsknight- Steel

What better category for a knight? With speed and tactic he tears down those who get in his way. He takes pokemon battling very seriously, but only because the competitiveness brings him joy. If he wins or loses, he had an amazing time. Although it can be hard to tell, the glare he gives while focusing would make anyone nervous. He plays heavily into the knight bit, people are unsure if je truly believes it (he doesnt.) But...recently he seems a tad more aggressive. And was he always so fascinated with the colour red? The watcher has taken a particular interest in the knight, and is attempting to use him in much the same way as Ren.

(Joel) Smallishbeans-Dark

His sarcastic ease makes most trainers doubt his skills, and he takes great pleasure in watching their faces fall as they realize it is NOT an easy fight. He is not what you'd expect for the Dark element, and he enjoys using contrast to highlight the shadows rather than just cast everything into night. One of the newer Gym leaders, he insists Etho would not get past him in a pokemon battle, and has spent most of his carrer jokingly threatening the man, and trailing after him to beg for a battle.

Iskall- Dragon

With a cackle he unleashes literal dragons upon trainers, likely named something ridiculous (such as The Sweed). He is very close to Stress, and the object of her terror via adoration tiny pokemon. He is also close with Mumbo, yet they drift apart as Mumbo takes on more responsibilities, due to the secrecy of projects he starts to feel resentment towards Mumbo for ignoring him in favor of Grian and Scar. However that quickly changes as the Sculk is revealed and Grian goes missing. Still reminds Mumbo that he wont judge him and wants to help when things get to be too much.

Stress- Fairy

She finds it absolutely hilarious that fairy types are stronger than dragon, and often terrorizes Iskall. Using the 'pretty but deadly' motif she dances circles around her opponents. Her pokemon are absolutely gorgeous! :) She cares deeply for the other leaders, and helps to calm and care for their mental health as the Sculk attacks happen.

False- Flying

The strongest of the gyms she is known as the 'Queen of hearts', as she often destroyed the dreams of those who dared to face her. She is the last hurdle before the final stretch, trainers often get sloppy now and she takes advantage of it. The longest reigning leader, she doesn't seem to want to retire anytime soon. Very close with Ren, but too busy to immediately notice his changes.... She is vital in helping drive off the Sculk, her powerful team helping to clear infected Pokemon and trainers.

[jayteacups]

Levi Week Day 3: Shy & Blushing | Affections & Fondness

@leviweek2023

To celebrate your second anniversary together, Levi takes you to see the beach for the first time. 

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!Reader

Tags and warnings: Back on my soft Levi agenda :3 Fluff, established relationship, canonverse, civilian!Reader, takes place a short while after the beach scene in S3. Mild NSFW (very brief descriptions of oral sex, F receiving). Mild as it may be, I still don't want minors interacting.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: So I haven’t written anything in a while but this event is helping me get over my writer’s block little by little! I missed the first two days sadly, and this is also a day late, but I wanted to at least get something done for Day 3 lol. This is based off a really cute dream I had a few months ago about a beach date with Levi, but I never got around to writing it, so this was the perfect chance to finally put it into words. I am absolutely incapable of writing anything other than soft sappiness lol. Hope you guys enjoy reading!

Before today, the biggest body of water you’ve ever seen was the lazy, winding river that runs right down the middle of your home village, where all the merchant boats come in, where all the kids go to play in the sweltering heat of the summer. You practically grew up in the river. It is a second home to you. 

And yet it doesn’t hold a candle to the ocean in the slightest. 

Miles and miles of pure blue stretch out far beyond the naked eye, the rolling waves on the horizon glinting as they catch the sun’s rays. Untouched by mankind, there is a serene quiet to the air, punctured only by the splash of water making land and the occasional bird cry. 

Such a place could only ever exist in myth, or so you thought.

“It’s like something out of a fairytale,” you whisper in awe. 

You feel Levi’s eyes on you from behind. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, it is.” 

The two of you are coming up on your two-year anniversary as lovers, and the Survey Corps’ last expedition to the coastline a couple months ago had inspired him to take you out to the beach to celebrate. He had wanted to show you it’s raw, untouched beauty, before the infrastructure development plans are put into motion. 

The way the dry sand shifts under your bare feet catches you off guard. Soft, warm and pliant, which isn’t what you expected at all. The sensation makes you giggle. You can’t help but lean over and touch the sand with your hands, picking a handful of it up and letting the tiny grains slip through your fingers. 

“Beware of the sand.” Levi says next to you ominously, taking off his forest-green cloak. “Before you know it, it gets everywhere.” He’s decked out in full uniform and gear. Even though Paradis Island has been declared clear of titans, Levi refuses to take any chances. 

You look over your shoulder back at your lover, grinning giddily. “Guess we’ll just have to wash it off in the ocean, then,” you declare, heading right towards the sea. Gone is the soreness from days of camping and riding through endless grasslands, your arms clenched like a vice around Levi’s waist as you tremble atop his horse, feeling all too exposed without the safety of the Walls. Only curiosity and joy remain, propelling your feet towards the water. 

“Shit—wait, don’t go too far,” Levi calls. You turn back. The reins on his horse are gathered in one hand, both of your cloaks and your shoes in the other. “I’m going to set us up under that tree over there. It’s hot and Mercy needs some shade.” 

You tilt your head. “Okay. Need a hand?” You reach for your shoes and cloak to carry them yourself, but he shakes his head. 

“It’s fine, I got it. Besides, I can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with excitement to go frolic around.” 

“Mm.” 

“So you can go ahead. Just not too deep, I know you can swim but the waves might be stronger than you think. And watch out for poisonous shit and don’t pick any sea creatures up. Hange got stung by this weird-ass blob called a jellyfish because they got too cocky after picking up several non-poisonous things despite me telling them every five seconds to not do that, and their hands were covered in welts for a fortnight.” Revulsion passes across his face for a moment as he recalls the memory. 

Confused, you frown. He hasn’t told you this story yet. “What’s a jellyfish?”

“Fuck if I know. That’s what Arlert said they were called. Just watch out.” He leans forward and kisses your cheek tenderly. As he pulls away, you notice his ears are flushed. How cute. 

“Alright, alright.” You laugh, and follow it up with a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be careful. Come join me soon, yeah?” 

The slightest of soft smiles graces his face as he nods, before you turn around and jog back towards the sea, lifting your skirt above your knees. 

The sand grows colder, wetter, firmer under your feet, a change that rips another joyous laugh out of you. As you approach, the sea moves forward, as if to greet you, and a small wave splashes gently over your feet. You giggle. 

“Hello, ocean,” you murmur, kicking the water to gently splash it back. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

A quick scan of the shallows revealed no sea critters. Bummer, you were hoping to at least see what a jellyfish looked like—what kind of an explanation is ‘weird-ass blob’?—but you suppose not seeing one is better than an accidental sting. Lifting your skirts up higher, you wade deeper into the ocean until the water reaches your thighs before looking back at the shore. 

On the beach, Levi spreads out his spare cloak as a mat underneath a tree. Next to him, his horse, Mercy, sits and takes a well-deserved rest in the shade after a long journey. He then strips himself of his jacket and boots, before folding them neatly into a pile next to your camping packs. He does the same for your cloak and footwear that you’d discarded carelessly earlier, too caught up in excitement. As he loosens his cravat, Levi’s head turns back towards the sea, evidently looking for you, and offers you a little wave. 

You wave back enthusiastically. “Come join me!” You call. As fun as frolicking in the water sounds, you don’t want to do it all by yourself. 

Another handful of minutes is spent taking off his gear and straps, before he walks out towards the sea. You wait excitedly, as he slows to a stop, just a hair’s breadth away from where the water stops. 

Levi rolls up his trouser legs and tentatively tests out the waters with the tip of his toe. 

You grin. 

“Don’t laugh.”

You purse your lips. “Not laughing.” He’s just so endearing.

He was like this too with the river near the Queen’s Orphanage, where you work as a teacher. One day, Historia took the orphans to the riverbank to play and invited Levi Squad to spend the day off there with her. You’d waded into the water and beckoned him to follow, only to find him standing hesitantly on the riverbank, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There aren’t many rivers and lakes down in that shithole where I grew up, are there? I can’t swim to save my shitty life, you remember him saying. Eventually, you’d coaxed him into standing ankle-deep in the river, and he’d ended up watching over the children that didn’t want to venture any deeper either. After all, they had all come from the same place he did. On expeditions and even now on this camping trip, Levi uses a bucket and rag to wash instead of submerging himself in rivers or lakes like everybody else does. 

“It’s okay.” You say reassuringly. “It’s hardly any different from standing in the river.” 

He gives you a very familiar look of exasperation. “Give me a break. I didn’t get into the ocean when I was here with the others, and I still can’t fucking swim.”

“That’s fine. We don’t have to go any further than knee-deep.” 

He nods. Despite that, Levi still lingers with his toes barely in the water. Slowly, you get the feeling that his hesitation has nothing to do with his inability to swim. 

You purse your lips, holding in a laugh. “I see. You’re scared of jellyfishes, aren’t you?”

He blinks, deadpan. “You’re hilarious. I’m not scared of jellyfishes.” 

Your face splits into a grin. “Yes you are.” 

“I am not. This is ridiculous.” 

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, what would you do? Hide behind me?” 

“If a jellyfish was to show up right now, you’d be the one hiding behind me, just like you do whenever there’s a spider in the house.” Levi crosses his arms and gives nothing away with his expression, but his ears are turning redder by the second. 

You give him a teasing look. “Sure, sure.” And even if you did end up being scared of a jellyfish, you know Levi would help you without a second thought. Just like he does with the spiders. “You know, I still have no idea what a jellyfish is. How would I hide behind you if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be hiding from? What even are they?” 

“Freaky little fuckers, that’s what they are,” he grouses. 

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let a stupid freaky sea creature ruin our fun, yeah? We know that they exist now, and since you’ve seen one, you know what to look out for.” You hold out a hand. “We’ll be okay.” 

Levi’s eyes drops towards your hand, clearly debating on whether or not he should take it. He’d been too shy to show any sort of physical affection towards you when Historia and his subordinates were also present, even though everybody was off-duty that day. 

Now, though, there is nobody watching. 

Just how the both of you like it. 

Levi searches your face for a moment, before he quickly snatches up your hands, and takes another step into the water. A new wave rolls in, harder than the rest, and crashes against both of your calves, soaking the hems of his trousers and your skirt. 

“See? All fine.” 

Still holding onto your hand so tightly his knuckles begin to whiten, Levi scans the waters with narrowed eyes. “Mm hm.” 

This won’t do. He’s still far too tense, far too on edge. What you wouldn’t give for him to be able to relax without feeling guilty about it. Concerned, you squeeze his hand. 

“Hey. How about we get out of the ocean for a bit? You said we were going to stay here tomorrow for the actual anniversary too, so there’s absolutely no rush. For now, we can walk along the beach as far down as possible and then back up here again. The sun looks like it’s going to set soon too, so it won’t be too hot for us. You won’t have to worry about leaving Mercy alone for a short while, she won’t overheat.” 

Bit by bit, the tension seeps out of him as he considers your offer. He squeezes your hand back.

You smile. “Let’s go.” 

———

As you walk along the beach, two bright red, shelled creatures make you yelp as they abruptly cutting the two of you off in your tracks, scuttling sideways. You also come across the occasional pretty seashell that Levi offers to hold in his pocket, before eventually stumbling across a strange mass washed up on the sand. 

Levi flings an arm in front of you. “Stop.” 

“What the—” Realisation strikes you quickly. “Is that a jellyfish?” 

He nods stiffly.

“So that’s what it looks like… well, you’re right. It is a weird-ass blob.” 

“This one’s triple the size of the one Hange picked up.” Levi informs you in a whisper.

“Um, is it dead? It’s not meant to be out of the water, is it?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.” Levi looks back out at the sea, tugging on your hand slightly as he slowly inches backwards. The sun is beginning to set. “Should probably turn back anyway.”

“We could just walk around the poor thing, if you want to keep going.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “But I don’t mind either way.” 

He shakes his head, the tugging on your hand growing stronger. “It’s been too long since I’ve fed Mercy. And the sun is setting; we need to set up our tent before dark. Come on, let’s go.”

He’d fed his horse not long ago, but you just suppress a smile of endearment and let Levi eagerly steer you away from the beached jellyfish. You squeeze his hand in comfort, and he squeezes back in thanks.

As the sun sets, the sky burns. Above you lies every shade of red, orange and yellow imaginable. The sight is gorgeous. 

But not more so than Levi himself. 

You’ve always attested to his beauty, though he’s always quick to say otherwise. But if he could see himself today, alight from the sunset glow, you aren’t sure even he could deny that whatever higher forces are out there took their time shaping every feature of his to perfection. 

And he says he’s the lucky one. 

As the two of you walk, hand in hand, you both gradually drift sideways towards the ocean, until the two of you walk ankle-deep in water, feeling the sand get drawn in and out under your feet as the ocean ebbs and flows. 

Despite his nerves from earlier, Levi had chosen to walk on your left side, the side exposed to the big expanse of ocean. Content to stroll in silence, to simply take in this beautiful feat of nature around you, you notice Levi looking out to the sea every now and then, admiring how the light glints off the waves. Even the curve of his cheek—which is all you can see when his head is turned away from you like this—just fills you with an inexplicable joy. As Levi looks back in front of him to see how much farther the two of you have to walk, you notice his expression is softer, content. Dare you say it: he’s happy. 

“It’s really nice seeing you like this.” You murmur, voice barely audible above the breeze. 

He looks back at you. “Hm? Like what?” 

“Like you’re at peace.” 

His breath hitches. At a loss for words, Levi’s pinky curls around yours as he looks back out at the ocean for a moment. 

“I have you to thank for that.” 

The words are accompanied with an awkward clearing of his throat and a blush so undeniable he could not possibly pin it on the reddish glow of the sunset. 

“The last time I was here, it wasn’t like this. It was… All I could think about was…”

He pauses, exhaling harshly, as his feet come to a stop. You come around to face him, taking his other hand. In times like these, you’ve found it’s best to not say anything, to give him the room to gather his words. It’s hard for him to express his feelings and thoughts, and from the small glimpses of his past he’s revealed to you, it’s not difficult to see why. There is no room for vulnerability in the life he leads. And yet, he tries for you. You’re so incredibly proud of him, beyond what your own words could ever express. 

“Hange and my squad were having the time of their lives. Armin’s dream to reach the ocean came true. But all I could think about was how everybody who didn’t live to see the ocean should have been there to see it. How much they would’ve loved this place, just like you do.” He swallows thickly. “Then Eren, that brat, he… he goes and ruins the mood for everybody else. He goes and reminds us all of what awaits on the other side of the ocean. As if we could ever forget.” 

You remember reading the article about it in the papers. How your blood had gone cold. How faint you felt at the realisation that everything Levi and his comrades fought for, shed blood for, offered up their hearts and lives for, had been for a truth uglier than anyone could possibly imagine. 

No. It’s not like you could forget either. 

“And if that wasn’t enough, he goes and contemplates what it will take to finally reach the freedom he thought was beyond the ocean. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what his first thought was.” 

You feel sick to your stomach. The hurt and shock on your face must be clear as day to him, for Levi shakes his head and pulls you in closer to him, a hand rubbing your back. 

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have told you that,” he says quietly. “Sorry. I just… before today, that was my first and last time seeing the ocean. This time… this time is better.” Voicing it makes him blush once more. He looks away again. “Much better.” 

Reeling from his words, all you can do is bridge the gap and pull him in close for a hug. Inside, there is a sinking, sickening feeling that things are only going to get worse for the Survey Corps from now on. 

You close your eyes. “I wish this could all be over,” you mumble into his shoulder. He’s warm under your touch. “You must be so tired.” 

In response, he holds you tighter, his body melting into yours, and sighs. 

———

On your way back, you feel Levi taking quick, stolen glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere. Every time you turn back to look at him, he’s whipped his head in the opposite direction and is looking out at the ocean, presumably to hide his blush.

You grin to yourself, and look in the opposite direction. Beyond the sand lies a more firm, grassy area with those unfamiliar-looking trees just like the ones you left Mercy under. You and Levi quickly agree that once you get back, you’ll go a little further inland to set up camp, since he’s wanting to avoid getting sand in the tent. 

In your mind, you replace a patch of the grassland with a cosy cottage facing out towards the sea. You can almost hear the sounds of joyous laughter being carried by the wind: yours, Levi’s, and perhaps a third voice, much younger, much less burdened by the weight of the world. 

The two of you make it back to where you started with still some daylight to spare. You give Mercy some water, and prepare dinner from the packed rations, whilst Levi, having proven himself capable since he does this every time he goes on an expedition, walks a little further inland and puts up the tent. 

The moment you two crawl inside and lay down your sleeping bags, Levi presses a searing kiss to your lips. It isn’t long before his head is between your thighs, bringing you to the edge. Always willing to give. Your fingers weave through his silken hair, and tears of pleasure—tears only Levi has ever managed to draw from you—sting at the corner of your eyes. 

When you come, he comes—untouched. And after the two of you gather yourselves and clean up, he’s looking at you ever so fondly, like he will never get the chance to look at you again. 

“If I could give you the world,” you say, pulling him closer (it will never be close enough), “I would.” 

“I don’t want the world,” he mumbles, leaning down to kiss you, “I never have. I want you.” 

———

Long after you’ve fallen into slumber, Levi lies awake, mind racing. 

I want you.

He means it in every sense. 

Out on the beach, walking beside you and admiring your breathtaking radiance, he’d come to a realisation he should’ve come to a long time ago: he wants to marry you. The question had lingered at the tip of his tongue the entire way back, but he had managed to hold back on asking you right there and then by looking away, catching his breath, letting his burning face cool with the breeze. He couldn’t let himself ask you in that moment. If he was going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, he was going to do it properly, with a ring that shines as brightly as you do. 

It’s kind of ironic, how this entire trip to celebrate your two-year anniversary as lovers, would’ve been the perfect time to propose, yet he’d been too slow to realise it until now. He decides that the moment he gets back to the Walls, he’s visiting the nearest jewellers. 

He’s always been that way, Levi supposes. It had taken him years after your first meeting at that teashop to tell you how he’d felt, and he almost never told you at all. For so long, he had been convinced this could never be in the cards for him. Everybody he has ever loved meets the same tragic fate, and he’s scared that one day, you will too. 

But if you ever do meet that fate, he knows in his heart of hearts he will never regret loving you. 

He reaches over to pick up his pocket watch. It’s dark inside the tent, but his eyes have always been keen, and he can make out the positions of the hands. 

Fifteen seconds to midnight. 

He takes a moment to look down at you in fondness. Your cheek is squished against his chest, soft lips parted to let out slow and deep breaths, your arm loosely draped over his side, legs entangled with his. 

Ten seconds to midnight. 

He dares to mouth the words. Will you marry me? 

As if in response, you snuggle up closer to him with a sleepy sigh. 

Three, two, one. 

“Happy anniversary,” Levi whispers, heart full, and closes his eyes. 

© 2023 jayteacups | do not repost, modify or claim as your own work.

Masterlist

[punkascas]

okay, so i don't want to, like, Start Something or whatever so we're doing a barely-tagged, separate post. i also realise this is mostly pointless because others have already said what i'm going to say, and did it better, with far more grace, and sound less like an asshole than i do.

but jesus louise helen christ, the weird fucked up ideas people have around abuse and personal responsibility and the effect of trauma. like as an abuse and csa survivor, it genuinely alarms me to read posts that use arguments i remember my dad making. like, i'm assuming most of this rhetoric comes from gen z — maybe that's inaccurate; maybe that's unfair. but right now i'm very much Having A Moment Here that the kids aren't alright.

no 22-year-old should be repeating the same awful, manipulative, logically and morally bankrupt justifications for violence and torture my dad says. like literally what's in the first two episodes of ofmd s2 is torture.

i love ed; he's an amazing character. taika is hella wowza top marks acting him. but like.

like.

torture, my dude. physical and psychological. trauma. harassment. that we see the lasting effects of through s2.

just. i. what??

so here we go, okay. have too many, zealously highlighted screenshots so i can dig into details.

cut to save your dashes. content warning for discussions of abuse and trauma (if that wasn't obvious), as well as spoilers for ofmd s2.

re: ed knew what he was doing was wrong and felt guilty about it at the time:

we have no on-screen, textual examples of this. not in the dialogue; not in the acting; not in the blocking; not in the cinematography or music. nothing.

knowing the crew are overworked and kind of traumatised by all the violence, ed bribes them with cake. because, as we know, cake like tea fixes everything. only ed wasn't even with them to share in the eating of the cake. he made izzy responsible for that. he doesn't give the crew a break; he doesn't choose less ethically-fraught prizes to hunt. there is not one scene of ed talking directly to the crew — until he points a gun at each of them.

we see ed crying (and drinking, and rhino horn-ing [way to help further extinction, man]) but it's always paired with shots or flashbacks that reference stede. ed is still all up in his feelings about stede, and ed confirms this when he tells frenchie the myth about albatrosses never needing to return to land. ed cannot go back, does not want to go back, because he was rejected. (like, stede is literally landed gentry, come on!) all he wants to do instead is stay at sea committing to this unhinged version of unstable, sadistic piracy.

but okay, okay. say we ignore all of that. let's say ed does feel sorry and guilty and ashamed of his actions. he knows what he's doing is wrong and unfair and cruel. that it's harming others. that it's particularly harming the dude that ed has, for better or worse, basically spent his life with (izzy; i mean izzy). ed… still continues to do the things! how far off are we at this point from the definition of malicious? you know action x hurts person b and then you do it anyway. is that honestly a better, happier, more ethically defensible reading of the character?

re: the crew didn't mutiny because they love ed despite his violent, sadistic actions.

mutinies were a thing, yes. but both historically and in the world rules established by the show, mutiny is disincentivised through threats, distraction via extra work, and corporeal punishment. we see both ed and izzy use all three of these to try to prevent the crew from disobeying orders. they didn't wait until the storm and izzy shooting ed to mutiny because they understood or sympathised with ed; they took the chance to kill him then because that was the first real opportunity they'd had. the reward finally out-weighed the risk given that ed was going to kill them all that night anyway.

again, we have no scenes, no dialogue, no visual or audio cues to tell us that the crew understands or loves ed — excluding izzy, obviously. fang could also be on that list, if you take into account his personality and his behaviour both in s1 and later in s2 in the fishing boat scene. but in the first two episodes, we only see the crew show trauma responses around ed. they talk about him but almost never to him. and when they do have a direct conversation with ed, it is either confrontation or head down, submissive, "of course, blackbeard; anything you say" placating. i'm so baffled where the show points to any sign of love from the crew towards ed before his "death".

re: ed can't be held responsible because he was suicidal.

uhm. no. hard no. a harder no than stede's brazilian cherry wood mast. fucked up people do fucked up things but part of being an adult is owning your fucked-upped-ness and not fucking up others while you work on unfucking yourself. children, children are not fully responsible for the impact of their actions on others when they're deep in their feelings, especially if they're feeling their feelings as a trauma response. this is because literally their brain cannot do that kind of control. it doesn't have that software pack installed yet. ed does have all the adult updates installed, even if he isn't running them at that moment. he has no right to take out his feelings on other people: to maim them, to psychologically torture them, to abuse them, to work them to exhaustion. to kill them. he does not get a free pass to do suicide by abused employees. (like suicide by cop but more indirect and passive and harmful.) talk about passive aggressive.

secondly, ed is not just passively suicidal and happy to find new risks that might end his life. he is very purposefully taking izzy with him (see: literally removing the bits of izzy that would help let him walk away from ed; the fact that ed becomes actively suicidal only once he thinks izzy is dead; the whole keeping izzy's corpse in front of his and stede's beach shack i mean inn — the codependence, she runs deep). ed is also putting the crew through the same risks, the same isolation, the same danger. both stede and izzy agreed that ed had gone full scorched earth policy. you don't get forgiven for the murder part of a murder-suicide pact just because of the suicide part. not to mention that no one (once again, you could potentially argue izzy as an exception) was good on a murder-suicide pact with blackbeard.

and then to say the crew felt guilty? i assume i'm misreading that. the crew. felt guilty. for ed's actions. that is, if not victim blaming and if not darvo, a very close inbred cousin of them. like hapsburg jaw inbred close.

re: ed healing and his view of himself as a monster.

to heal means, in part, to accept responsibility for the harm you've caused, whether it was intentional or not. it means making amends. it means building or rebuilding relationships where possible. it means putting the other person or persons' feelings and boundaries and need for safety above your desire for absolution or forgiveness. it means working through your own guilt and shame and anger (or whatever drove you to act the way you did) in a separate space, not with the people you hurt, but someone who can be a step removed, more impersonal and objective to help you reflect and face hard truths as needed. i say this as both someone involved in activism and community reparations and as an abuse survivor who has done nearly 30 years of therapy learning this in order to not hurt people. it's not ed's fault he's fucked up just like it isn't my fault i am. but it is on me, like it is on anyone, to make sure i limited as much as possible the harm i can cause to others because i learned some awful but very effective tricks at a young age to survive.

ed does not really do any of the above. he doesn't say "sorry". he speaks in generalised language. he complains about the cat bell (which he seems to wear only for one day, given the implied timeline with lucius and pete's engagement). i have a model ship on a stand that says "this is a safe space ship" as a joke because i work for the government and have written press releases that sound just like ed's "apology". where you take no responsibility and encourage "the culture" to move on.

so, really, my question becomes: ed sees himself as a monster. in s1, we had enough balance between ed's current actions and his referenced past actions to see this belief as likely untrue. in s2 though — i mean, is it? is that an unfair or inaccurate belief? i can understand how carrying that belief can get in the way of ed's growth and eventual healing but like. from an outside perspective of ed-the-fictional-character. he's not a "good" person. he's capable of and has done and continued to do horrible, cruel things. ethically, can you argue with that statement about him?

re: ed trying to destroy relationships because of his self-worth issues and instead the consequences of his actions proving that he's loved.

this is the point that made me go: right, no, i need to respond. i need to say my piece about this. izzy and the crew suffering ed's violent tyranny and then sticking around on the revenge anyway afterwards is not a sign of love. it is not showing love to bear pain for someone. it not showing love to let someone mistreat you, threaten you, hurt you, maim you. their actions are selfish and done to give them feelings of power and control over you. lying back and thinking of england to get through it is not love. it is absolutely a survival technique. but it is not love when you do it at the expense of yourself or others.

i also disagree that ed was trying to push people away or break his relationships with others. we know from s1 that ed is fairly blasé about whether crew members die. again, we don't see any friendly or intimate exchanges between ed and any of the crew to imply any kind of relationship there beyond "tools who accomplish ed's goals". the one exception, as always, is izzy. and as previously stated, ed seems bound and determined, in a very conscious way, to bring izzy into death with him. ed does everything in his power to make izzy want to kill ed, or at least agree that it's best if ed dies, and to want to kill himself so ed doesn't have to die alone. that isn't ed breaking that relationship; it's making it permanent in a really fucked up shakespearian way. the only relationship we see ed waffle between wanting to keep and wanting to push away is stede. after his corporate "apology" and the fishing trip with fang, all of ed's dialogue is with stede and a little bit with zheng until izzy's death scene. the crew loving ed just isn't a thing, at least not one we're shown. not from either side. ed's relationships are with stede and kind of, sort of with izzy (because he does manage to, if not fully break, do some major damage to that).

love did not save ed. ed wanting to live, because stede came back, because he didn't want to jump off hornigold's cliff in the first place, saved ed. izzy saved everyone else.

so yeah: that's it; that's the post. the rhetoric that abuse is love or that abuse can be "cured" with love or that trauma isn't lasting and serious and has impacts on people's daily lives is just. wild. wild.

and terrifying.

my dad was born in the 40s. why is anyone born in the 80s or later still defending this mindset? it honestly, truly freaks me out.

guess it's good i have a fucking therapy appointment on monday.

[meatballhead-usagi]

A Forgotten Realm (Barbarian! Bakugo x Reader)

You have been an archaeologist for years now but ushered into the darkest and forgotten corners of the museum. Your chosen specialty was in the once renowned City of Musutafu - which unfortunately for you has been seen as a farce, bordering on the make-believe and whimsical in high society. But you know the forgotten empire that was Musutafu was real, it just had to be with all the fragmented evidence found over the years, but several journals discredited its authenticity and cited that there was no conclusive evidence that Musutafu was anything more than myths and storytelling from much greater (and more realistic) societies. You never regarded these setbacks, even when they landed you in the basement of said museum, cataloguing donations and doing the linguistic legwork your superiors were far ‘too busy’ to do themselves. But when a strange journal turned up on your doorstep, outlining the archaeological find of the century, you embarked on the expedition of a lifetime. To bring back something to show that Musutafu really did exist. But you didn't expect to actually find a forgotten world, thriving and hidden. Nor the crimson-eyed prince who ruled there.

TAGS: barbarian!katsuki bakugo x female reader, slowburn, reader is an archaeologist, archaeology themes, all characters are above 18, kidnapping you from your camp.  Word Count: 3.1k 

Usually when people ask you what you do for work, you hesitate. You usually politely answer with anything other than what you really do. You say instead a scholar, or a linguist, that you work in the cataloguing department for the museum. You don’t say you’re an archaeologist for the pure fact that many of those around you have a completely different idea to what you do, than what the reality of it is. People imagine that you embark on adventures to unearth riches, march your way through jungle and over mountaintop to reach the forbidden mysteries withheld there, that you travel across the horizon to discover what may lay there.

You don’t. You, despite your brilliance and intellect, have found yourself holed away in the museum’s basement for years now. Going over dusty tomes and relics, cataloguing them for storage and rotating which artifacts are in the displays – all important jobs of course – but not quite where you imagined yourself either. You’re not entirely sure just how you ended up here, or why your work wasn’t taken as serious as your colleagues, but there you are. At your desk, alone, late into the evening as you dust through ancient Mesopotamian artifacts and package them for storage. “Don’t you ever go home?” A voice calls out from nearby, and soft footsteps cause you to look up from your work. You hum in response as a purple-haired man walks from his desk to yours – a tired look in his eyes as he examines the latest thing to have captured your attention. “Mh, of course not. Not when there is work to be done still Shinso,” you offer him a polite smile, “I won’t be much longer. Just have to pack these away.” You quickly begin to put your tools away and return the artefact to its bed of hay and secure box. “You work too hard, y’know. Don’t be too late.” Shinso gives you a soft nod before he yawns and cranes his head over towards the door. “Remember to lock up when you leave.” “I will, thank you.” You smile at him again and heave the box up into your arms, delicately holding it as if it were going to shatter with the slightest mistouch. “Get home safe, I’ll see you in the morning.” Shinso gives a satisfied nod as his eyes travel over your form curiously but he hesitates to move for a moment. He lingers as if he wants to continue the conversation before turning to leave. “See you in the morning, Y/N.” He calls back and throws his hand up in a casual wave as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You wave back and almost lose your grip on the box in your arms quickly returning both arms to the box to hold it correctly before turning on your heel to put it in its designated storage spot. This definitely isn’t where you had imagined yourself when you decided to pursue this field of work, but it pays the bills and keeps you warm, fed and a roof over your head.  The mind numbing commute from work left you dead tired, and the trek up the four flights of stairs to your humble (albeit tiny) city apartment reminded you of the hours already spent on your feet. You’re practically collapsing as you open the door. The hinges were rusted and old as you threw your body weight against it several times to encourage the damned thing open. It relented. You kick your shoes off and hang your coat before your foot nudged against something. Something hard. Reaching down to pick up the strange parcel that had been somehow rustled through the mail slot, you cautiously examine the address of the sender. “No sender… Where did you come from?” You murmur and flip the parcel over to tear through the beige paper. “Down the chimney, of course.” That wasn’t your voice. You didn’t say those words. Who said those words? A lamp light clicked on and illuminated the silhouette of a young man. A mess of yellow blonde hair, with two longer face framing pieces were the first thing that caught your eye followed only by the smirk plastered against lips. He looked almost bird-like, but charming all the same.  “Wh-Who are you?” You demanded, mustering up your best attempt at bravery.It earned a modest smile from the avian intruder.  “My name is Takami. Keigo Takami, but you’re welcome to call me Hawks.” He rose from the seat he was in and adjusted the cuffs of his red jacket,seeming to take a nonchalant approach as to not intimidate you. Not yet, anyway. “I’m here on behalf of my employer. He believes that you may be able to help with that little package I’ve so nicely delivered into your dainty little hands.” Your eyes drift back to the package in your hands before flicking back up to the blond who had now crossed one arm over the other, watching you in amusement. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” He teased with an admonishing chuckle. You go back to unwrapping the curious package in your hands to be met with a book. A book with Musutafu’s insignia inscribed on the cover. Your eyes are as wide as dinner plates now as your fingertips brush the cover. Its real. The lost city of Musutafu is real, and here is your evidence. You cautiously open the book and eagerly begin to skim the pages, taking in the words written and the imagery of the city. “Where did you get this?” You breathed out, barely a whisper, as you looked back to Keigo. He simply smiled and shrugged softly. “Found it whilst digging in a tomb. Thing is, no one knows how to read what’s in it. Not a single soul but you. Took a while to find an expert in the non-existent you know.” He stood straight and smiled reassuringly at you. “Suppose all those years in the basement of that museum really gave you time to study the language, huh?” You laugh. You don’t mean to – its almost like a knee-jerk reaction to the sudden thoughts whizzing into your mind. “Expert? I wouldn’t say I’m an expert.” You are cut off by Keigo giving you a look. A look saying you’re being too humble for your own good. “Shame then. We need an expert in gibberish to come with us.” He sighed and rest his cheek in his hand, very clearly baiting you into a response. “Come with you where?” You answer a little too quickly. “To Musutafu, of course. We’ve got a team assembled and we’re embarking on an expedition,” He says it as if it’s the simplest thing on earth, “And my employer has reserved you a seat on board, if you’d join us.” You don’t even hesitate to say yes.  

When Keigo ‘Hawks’ Takami made his introduction in your humble apartment you didn’t expect to find yourself in a ship not even some 36 hours later, traversing along the thrashing waves of some godforsaken ocean surrounded by your newly acquainted colleagues; Hawks, who was second in command and charming as ever; a Commander Enji Todoroki who captained the ship Endeavour, and the expedition team for your financier - one Mr. Toshinori Yagi.

You also hadn’t expected a maelstrom to engulf your ship like the metallic meal it was, and spit it back out in an underwater volcanic cavern. But as the fates take, they also provide. Many good men and women were lost to the sea, and you were all reminded by Commander Todoroki that your team was that remained and you’re all to ensure you look out for one another.  Your enthusiasm hadn’t died, unlike the Endeavour, and it was visible to your colleagues. You were left in charge of traversing through this cavern to find a safe place to camp and allow time for the expedition party to recuperate and figure out how the hell you’ll be escaping from this volcanic shaft. You did so diligently, and as you led the few dozen survivors along a pilgrimage further into the cavern the fates blessed you again with a clearing - and a ruin. A sanctuary where you’d be able to regroup for now.  “And as water gives life, it also takes. Be safe and well with she who shelters from the tides wrath.” You muse aloud as you read an inscription on the entrance to a ruined temple, inspecting the polished stone for signs of danger before you gave the go ahead for other survivors of the wreckage to set up shelter within its walls.  “This seems like a shrine devoted to the Musutafan goddess of water, or of safe travels.” You say as you turn your attention to a crumbling statue in the middle of it all. The statue depicted a woman kneeling with her arms up in the air - offering something to the heavens above. Only her hands were empty, and all else that was visible was the waterfall behind her and the lush shrubbery that covered the long forgotten stone. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.       “Maybe the goddess can give us some luck then, or a blessing.” Hawks spoke as he carted a tent kit over his shoulder and past where you’d set up your own little workstation. Thankfully you had managed to shave your books by some miracle in the wreckage.      “We don’t need a blessing. We just have to get out bearings, collect something from down here, and get home.” Commander Todoroki’s voice was a lot sharper and pointed than he intended.  You look back to the statue, taking out a sketchbook and beginning to jot down her features. “And you’ll be able to get us home, Commander. But in the meantime I’m going to be doing what I was bought here to do-”  “Decipher the jibberish?” Hawks teased. You snort in response.  “Uncover what happened here, yes. Uncover Musutafu and show the world that it really existed.”  “There will be plenty of uncovering to do later, Miss L/N.” The Commander’s spoke again to stop Hawks from continuing with his jilting. “Right now you’re to get your nose out of those books and help set up camp.” You can only nod and hesitate to put your sketchbook down, looking out over the ruins once again. You couldn’t help but be amazed by them and believe this place was real. Something, however, caught your eye. There was a slight movement from far behind the statue, towards the back of the shrine and the cavern wall, but you brushed it off. Could have just been air from the waterfall moving a plant around. You turn and walk back towards the rest of the troops when Hawks called for you to come help him prepare a fire and portion out the rations to the sick and wounded.  Under the cover of the cavern’s darkness, eyes peered out from behind some very well camouflaged greenery. Teeth drawn and weapons sharpened as several figures watched from the shadows. You, and your people, looked strange to them. What was the odd garments you wore, and what was with the strange sticks the men carried? What was their purpose?  You were outsiders. Outsiders were not meant to be able to find this place.         A soft nudge from a red haired male drew the leader’s attention to you - a woman who sat away from the rest of the group inspecting the writing on the walls.  Bakugo’s eyes narrowed as vermilion orbs focused on your body language, trying to figure out what your purpose here was. You were isolated from the rest of the group, he figured they were all warriors or healers of some kind or another based on their actions. But you were willingly venturing away from the group, busy keeping yourself occupied with examining the writing upon the stone pillars of the temple. In this forgotten place, in the crumbling and lifeless old ruins and why were you fascinated by these old rocks?  Bakugo clicked his tongue softly as he turned to the members of the hunting party and signaled for them to surround the encampment, observe, don’t get caught. Several other young members of the party nodded and split up, following the young prince’s orders. His ashen blond spikes shouldn’t have been able to be concealed by the darkness of the cavern, but they were, and his boots shouldn’t have been silent as he stalked his way closer to you.       He stopped short when he was close enough to watch you without your notice, examining what you were doing exactly.  “Vahemna... What does that mean...” You spoke softly as your fingers traced over the words on the wall of the pillar. Bakugo’s eyes widened in shock when he recognised his mother tongue among the words that came from your lips.  Could you speak their language? 

Bakugo remained silent in his position, hidden by the foliage as he watched you. He was curious already with the way your mouth moved and the softness to your words as you navigated his mother tongue. He smirked to himself, fascinated by your own accent and how it melded with his language. You were from the surface. 

Once the camp began to sleep the war party began to move - the members tip toeing their way between sleeping soldiers and the wounded as they inspected the outsider's things. Several of the others found themselves stealthily digging through the various things in the camp - looking at the guns your Commander had bought upon insistence, the card game a few of the others had played over dinner, the medicines and first aid items which you'd all lugged with you from the watery wreckage. A few of them held up items to each other and goofed around, making silly faces before earning a stern glare from the prince. He didn't even have to say anything to exercise his authority. Bakugo was more concerned with you though as he approached silently. You were quiet as you slept on a bedroll, your back to him and your things as he began to examine them. He crouched down by your sleeping figure and picked up the book carefully, eyebrows furrowing when he recognised the insignia inscribed on the cover. "Nis forten ji grinnesh?" Kirishima whispered as he came over to the prince - his words were strained and hushed as the bulky male tried not to disturb you, but his eyes widened when he saw the book too. Bakugo tucked the book away securely in his fur cloak, nodding to Kirishima. You, however, stirred and sighed softly as you began to wake. The presence of the two people by your sleeping form was what roused you from your sleep, but also the sound of a whispered conversation. Your eyes fluttered open and met Bakugo's, wide in horror as you froze. These two men standing above you both looked at each other, and then back at you for a moment before jumping into action. The blond slapped a hand over your mouth and yanked you roughly from the makeshift bedroll, his muscly figure holding you close against him as he began to move quickly back in to the shadows and the plantlife. Your scream was muffled enough by his hand that your camp mates didn't seem to stir at all, and your jerking and struggling only made Bakugo's grip on you tighten as he moved faster. You could feel just how rugged he was, but you could also feel how he was holding back from using his full strength over you as he absconded. Left with little other option, you bit down on his hand. Hard - hard enough to draw blood. Bakugo hissed and removed his hand from your mouth and shoved you into the other male's arms, the redhead restrained your arms behind your back in another tight grip. A bubble of gruff laughter came from Kirishima's lips as he held you back. He was clearly amused by the face his friend was making. Bakugo was less than impressed as a fierce scowl darkened his face and this gave you an opportunity to take in his appearance properly. Aside from the scowl, his facial features were sharp and his eyes caused your skin to burn under his line of sight. He wore thick, white fur-lined boots, knee pads and a pair of dark blue pants barely secured around his hips with a thick belt of sorts. You took in the sight of his Adonis belt, the toned abdomen as your eyes trailed upwards. The prince was almost completely topless minus the fur cloak he had around his shoulders, and the beautiful layers of beads which drew your attention to his very board chest and large pecs. Bakugo narrowed his eyes as he examined his hand - the movement causing you to oggle and the orange material around his arms and the bulging mass of muscle that could rip it at any second if he flexed too hard.     "Tch... Iknoz kil wegge lys dira." He spoke in a low grunt. Your brain began to search your mind for the translation. "We should just kill her now." is what this man said to the others as he watched for a reaction.     "No!" You piped up and shook your head, jerking a bit in the redhead's hold, "Fhyro, fhyro di kil!" You plead. Please, please do not kill! Bakugo's scowl faded into into a wide smirk when you did open your mouth. You could speak the language. He had been right. This had Kirishima slowly beginning to loosen his grip on your arms as you fell to your knees. Bakugo crouched down in front of you and roughly grabbed your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, examining your face. He tilted it around as he examined your features curiously. You were certainly pretty for an outsider.     "Wyros rif nagae?" What is your name? The redhead asked quietly, craning his head to the side in curiosity to get a better look at you too. Bakugo gave a soft hum as he let go of your face and rose to his feet again. The rest of the war party encircled you, all faces were shocked to see you speaking their language.     "Nagae? Mi nagae ich Y/N." Name? My name is Y/N. You reply as you look around at your captors.     "Vha rih schok dus mi lykiri? Hah?" Why have you come to my kingdom? Bakugo crossed his arms over his chest as his intense gaze burned through you. You looked surprised. His kingdom? You didn't know how to respond in his own language. You looked troubled as you hesitated to answer that there wasn't supposed to be a kingdom here.

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[acerathia]

drowning in you || Rafayel | Qi Yu

Summary:

Valentinesday doesn't work out, does it?

Wordcount: 2.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Qí Yù | Rafayel / Reader | MC

Tags/CW:

established relationship, dancing and kissing in the rain, flirting, bathing and washing each other, non-sexual intimacy, references(spoilers) to Mainstory and Myth, Moles as lasting kisses from the last life, implied sexual content after fic, domestic fluff

Note:

Happy Valentines!! I wrote this bc I go insane for him oops

– where r u? ive been waiting for ages omw! close to the entrance of the park –

With a little smile, you let your phone slide back into your bag. Rafayel has told you to come to the park nearby, and you wonder what he’s planning, hopefully not another trip on a boat, the simple memory makes you shiver. After that incident, you would never trust him with an oar ever again. But because you’re supposed to meet him at the entrance of the park, you assume it must be something slightly drier.

You round the last corner, and immediately spot his figure, arms crossed, close to the park. For a moment, you take your time to look at him, the way the sun shines between his hair, giving him some sort of underwater feeling. But you can’t help but squint when you notice his attire, one you have seen before, one Rafayel usually wears when meeting for some art stuff of his. You brush it off, it’s usual for him to wear something that draws the eye, being an artist and all, he does love showing his aesthetic with his clothes.

He seems to have sensed you, because he turns in your direction, and while you smile at him and hurry your steps to get closer to him, his lips push slightly forward.

“Finally, I thought you had forgotten about me! Did you look at the time? It’s been ages, I feel like I’m about to see fish walk on land,” he mutters the moment you stop in front of him.

“Well, I think I already see one,” you grin, before cupping his cheeks carefully. “In fact, this fish is right in front of me.”

The pout doesn’t disappear entirely, but it does soften as he leans closer to your skin. “See? I was right, you’ve left me waiting for too long.”

A huff of breath hits your face softly before he straightens up, not even waiting for your answer as he takes your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now. Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, you both enter the park, and follow the path for quite some time. You have no idea what Rafayel wants to show you, so you only walk by his side, simply enjoying this quality time while looking around the place in peace.

The park seems huge, as before you both even arrived at his set destination, you begin to feel something cold hitting your head. You scrunch your face and look up, only for a drop of water to hit your cheek, your eyelids. You blink in surprise as the rain falls, multiplying with each second, with each step.

A groan, and your gaze immediately flicks to Rafayel, who’s gingerly holding a hand over his head. “Great, now everything is ruined… Did the weather forecast make a mistake? I even checked it for today” He turns to you and meets your eyes. “Let’s go back, c’mon.”

He sighs, disappointment apparent in the way his shoulders slump. “I guess, we’re going to make it up another time… Let’s hurry up and escape this annoying rain.”

You squeeze his hand as you follow his brisk steps into the direction you both came from. “It’s okay, spending time with you is more than enough for me.”

Your words only seem to make him walk faster, the rain hitting your face softly, and you can’t help but slow down slightly.

Laughing, you can’t help but tease him. “But let’s slow down a bit. You’re not going to turn into a mermaid the moment water touches you, are you?”

He turns around to face you, his face scrunched up in a pout. “How ridiculous! That only happens in those TV series. And we’re both already wet, wouldn’t it be too late to consider that anyway?” He cocks his head to the side, before a smug look takes over. “Unless you want me to turn into one to ogle at me, hm? Wouldn’t you like that?” With these words, he leans closer towards you, a grin over his plush lips.

Your eyes flick towards them before returning to his eyes, his lashes clumped and longer with the dripping water. You feel a heat creeping up your neck, and now you’re the one with a small pout on your lips. For a moment, you don’t have any comebacks, so you decide to do what always works the best.

Your free hand grabs his shoulders and you stretch slightly towards him. Your lips meet his. And despite the cold water, his skin is warm against yours. Without missing a beat, his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you closer, stealing another peck before you could fully pull away.

Once there’s some space between your faces, you can’t help but grin at the redness spreading over the tips of his ears, but you want to see that color over his cheeks. So, you put your lips against his cheeks, closer to his ears.

“Of course I want to see you naked,” you whisper at him, and he immediately pulls away, the color bleeding into the rest of his face.

He holds his hands in front of his face, shielding it from your view. “Wh-what are you talking about?” he stammers, taking a small step back.

You can’t help but think how adorable he looks this flustered, but you stop teasing him, as the rain makes you feel cold, and you imagine he starts feeling the same. Taking his hand once again, you step closer to him and let your forehead rest against his chest.

Almost immediately, despite his embarrassment, his arm winds up against you, his face hot against the skin on your neck. Your other hand comes up to stroke through the wet strands of his hair, now closer to a darker blue when soaked like this.

You don’t know who starts it, but you both begin to slightly rock, a small dance under the rain, interlocked, heart against heart, listening to a tune only you both could hear.

“Let’s go home…” you whisper against his skin, feeling the goosebumps over it.

A sigh on your own skin, and he straightens up, his gaze wandering over your face, filled with something complex, something that warms you despite the cold seeping into your clothes.

Once he nods, you both are on your way again, heading towards the closest apartment of one of you. It doesn’t take long, and you’re glad to be out of the rain, because the moment you enter your home, the rain picks up, the wind sweeping over the streets. You really don’t want to know how it feels to be there.

Soaking wet, you begin to strip yourself of your shoes and socks. “I’m going to take a shower to warm up,” you tell him, and without words he just follows you on your heels.

It’s a burdensome task to get rid of the wet clothes sticking to your skin, but you manage it nonetheless. The heat of the turned on water is already spreading through the air, and you’re almost excited to get under it. With your focus on the upcoming warmth, a squeak of surprise escapes you, when you feel his cold fingers around your waist, his lips against the back of your neck.

You turn your head slightly towards him and kiss the corner of his lips, your fingers intertwining with his, before you fully turn around, your fingers carefully helping him out of his wet clothes, scattering soft kisses here and there over his cold skin. After that, you wordlessly pull him with you to stand under the warm rain of the shower.

For a moment, you let the heat seep into you, relax your muscles, before you grab the shampoo bottle. But instead of slathering it onto your own hair, you motion for him to lean down. Once he does, you put a good portion of the shampoo into his hair, and begin to massage it in, spreading it over his scalp and hair. You watch as he closes his eyes, leaning closer to you.

After you’re thoroughly done, you let him lean his head under the water once again, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair with soft strokes, your hands taking care of each strand, massaging his scalp. Once everything is truly gone, you grab one of your conditioners to take a bit of into your hands, spreading them over your palms before you begin to rub it into the ends of his hair.

A low hum sounds from him and he shuffles a little closer, his hands finding your waist, as always, keeping them there to anchor himself.

Allowing the conditioner to set, you grab his loofa, the one he has deposited ages ago, making himself at home in your home, sharing it with you. Making sure the foam has spread properly all over it, you begin to gently scrub his skin, his shoulders, his arms. You can’t help yourself but scatter some kisses here and there, on his jaw, on his neck.

Coming up to his chest, your eyes lock onto the tiny mole there. “Did you know, some people say that moles are an indication of where our past love has kissed us, over and over again,” you whisper against his skin before kissing the mole softly. “I will love you, for all of my lifetimes, over and over again… And I want to give you something to remember this one, and every one after…”

You’re vaguely aware that you have met Rafayel in your last lifes. And even if your memory is hazy, pieces coming up to you in blurry dreams, you know that you have loved him, and you will continue to love him, for as long as time allows you to exist.

You look up to him, his eyes wide, glazy with swirling emotions. Instead of saying anything, he leans down and catches your lips with his in something sweet, filled with love, of the past, present and future. You melt into his touch, into his warmth, into his steady presence. There isn’t another place you would love to be more than at his side.

For a moment, you let your thoughts focus on him, on the way he calls your name, on the way his ears blush when flustered, on the way he teases you with so much affection.

One last peck, and you continue with your endeavor, gently scrubbing his skin, massaging the tension out of his muscles.

After you make sure that he’s relaxed and clean, you once again guide him towards the water, letting the water glide over his body, warmth seeping into him and relaxing him a bit more. You gently grab his hair and massage all the conditioner away, until all that’s left are his pretty strands of hair.

Your lips meet his forehead, before you turn to take care of your own hair. But before you could even grab the bottle, he does, a bit of the liquid on his palms to slather onto your hair.

With the amount of knowledge he has on you, on your routine and day to day life, he manages to perfectly take care of your hair, his fingers carefully moving on your scalp, caressing the tension there out of your head.

A sigh escapes your lips and this time you’re the one stretching closer towards him, arms around his waist.

Rafayel rinses your hair carefully, each strand flowing through his fingers, and you enjoy each touch of his. Especially when he swipes your hair away to reveal your neck, placing a soft kiss there.

Despite being done, you both stay like this for a moment, his face against your shoulder, your fingers drawing random symbols on his skin, intertwined, skin to skin, warmth to warmth.

Just when you notice your fingers getting prune, do you turn off the water, reaching for the towels to dry up. You pass him his own, and watch as he dabs the water away, before wrapping it around his waist. You begin to feel a little bit warmer when he reaches up to swipe his hair away from his face, running his fingers through the strands, making them stick like that.

You turn around to take care of yourself and leave the bathroom to step into the bedroom, one supposedly belonging to you, yet filled with his trinkets and clothes. You step around some paint brushes clustered on the ground and grab a shirt and other clothes.

Once you put them on, you notice how the shirt belongs to him, something he has left behind after one of his escapades from the journalists. You don’t take it off though, rather you turn towards him as he pulls his pants on, a soft piece of clothing, perfect to sleep in.

His eyes glance up to you, getting stuck on his shirt on you, and you smile as you watch the redness bleeding into his ears, into his cheeks.

He crosses his arms, looking away. “So, you’re now also stealing my clothes now?”

You raise your eyebrows at this. “Uhm, what else have I stolen from you, Rafayel?” you ask, well aware that everything scattered around your place is due to him bringing it over. You can’t say you don’t love seeing his stuff around your place, though. It makes it more livelier, happier.

At your words, he turns around and begins prancing towards you, and you take a step back, your shins hitting the edge of the bed. He leans closer to your face, his eyes running over your face, admiring every single feature of yours, almost like his eyes have landed on an artwork.

You suddenly feel shy under his gaze, so you try to lean back, but when you try to do so, you end up falling onto the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

Instead of letting up, Rafayel puts both his hands on the side of your thighs, supporting himself on the bed to follow you.

“How dare you forget. You have stolen my heart, over and over again,” he whispers against your lips, before dipping in and taking a taste of your lips once again.

A small laugh of yours is drowned by his lips, as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him with you onto the bed. Drops of water fall onto your face from his wet hair, yet you don’t care at all. All that matters is him, Rafayel in your arms and his lips on yours.

With a puff of air, he lands on you, and as the kiss breaks apart for a moment, you take your time to admire his face, the soft lips, his translucent eyes, almost glowing every time he catches your gaze. He doesn’t give you much time, though, before he kisses you again, and again, each kiss making your heart thump with excitement, with all those emotions he manages to awaken in you.

And you’re happy to be the one waking up by his side, spending every lifetime as the person he loves. To be the person who loves him truly in every life.

You can’t help but shudder when his lips move over your jaw to your throat, when he softly murmurs against your skin.

“Let me drown in you…”