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msbigredmachine · 9 months

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Santa Daddy - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

All the Tribal Chief wants for Christmas is you.

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x OC

Word Count: 3.7k words

A/N: Sorry I brought this in so late, I got sick. Better late than never though! Enjoy!

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It was Christmas morning. Your face was a picture of utmost focus as you wiped away the hair stuck to your forehead. It was a mini madness in your open layout kitchen, but at least it was your controlled chaos. In a few hours' time, a select mix of friends, co-workers and family members would converge at your place for a Christmas sleepover for the ages, to mark your first holidays as Roman Reigns' fiancée.

What a crazy eighteen months it has been for you. If anyone told you that within that timeframe, you would escape from your abusive boyfriend, move states, find a new job and a new place to live, you would have laughed in their face.

And Lord knows how you'd have reacted if they added that you'd be dating a professional wrestler in that same timeframe. And not just any wrestler, but the marquee name, the number one guy in WWE. But here you were. In the house you lived in together. Diamond ring on your finger. Prepping dinner and being quite giddy about it too. It had been a long time since you were giddy about anything, but that changed after you said yes to a coffee date with Roman a lifetime ago, it felt like now.

The honey-glazed chicken, roasted potatoes and gravy were ready, as were the salads and greens. Your centerpiece was undoubtedly the smoky Nigerian jollof rice you couldn't wait for everyone to taste. The chocolate was fragrant as it melted in the pot and the sweet crème caramel was setting nicely. You really wanted everything to go smoothly today. Dinner first, after which everyone would gather in the den for gift swaps, karaoke, play some raunchy adult games, then go to bed whenever they liked before leaving in the morning for their drives home. It was the perfect itinerary and you planned to make sure it was.

You were whisking the chocolate sauce on the stove when the shuffling of a familiar pair of size fifteens invaded your ears. Your heart pounded a little harder anfd your brown eyes lit up as he walked into the kitchen, drinking him in with your heart-shaped mouth curving into a smile. It was incredible how he gave off the exact same aura and energy as his grand entrances to the ring with just entering a small room. It was intimidating in the sexiest way.

"I see someone found one of their gifts." Your voice was soft and sweet - a tone you used only for him - with the gentle tinge of a tease. Your man looked so good in his red Christmas-themed pajama set that matched yours, which he complemented with a Santa hat covering the top of his head.

Roman came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your neck. "You look amazing in yours," he told you. Taking a deep breath, he welcomed your fragrance deep into his lungs. Your scent reminded him of hot chocolate on a cold winter's day and the roaring fireplace several feet away in the living room. It reminded him of home. You were home.

"Merry Christmas, my beautiful wife-to-be. I love you." His voice was a low, tender rumble in your ear, and you shivered slightly as his hands massaged your waist, his warm breath caressing the sensitive nape of your neck.

"I love you too, Daddy. Merry Christmas," you greeted back, absorbing the aura, the love and affection radiating from him like a bright light. Gosh, how did you get so lucky, winding up with this incredibly handsome, sweet, gentle giant of a man as a life partner?

"It smells so good in here, babe," Roman complimented, dipping his finger in the gravy boat for a taste. "I wish you woke me up to help out," he added sheepishly.

You shook your head immediately. "Don't worry about it. You needed your rest from all the traveling you've been doing."

"What time do the festivities start again?"

You turned off the stove to temp the chocolate down and turned to him. "Not till like, three."

"Hmm, and it's only nine-thirty now. That's a whole lotta time to ourselves," he pointed out, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively as he tugged at the waistband of your pajama pants. "I know I got a lot of presents, but Daddy wants to open this one first. Can I?" he asked with a syrupy sweet voice that promised something much more carnal.

"That depends on if you were naughty or nice this year," you replied.

The dramatic pout that came with his puppy dog eyes was so cute. "I promise I've been a good boy."

You arched a manicured brow at him. "You sure? Not even the tiniest bit bad?"

Roman puffed out his chest and grinned proudly. "I'm positive. I made my woman very happy this year. That counts as good, right?"

The glittering rock on your finger answered that question. "Definitely," you agreed.

"Exactly. By the way, look up."

You followed his pointed finger. A sprig of mistletoe dangled from the cabinet right above you. You met your fiancé's stormy stare, and your pussy purred from the mischief and lust you saw in them. You licked your lips with anticipation, knowing full well he was going to have his way with you, like he always did. Like you always wanted him to.

"C'mere." He guided your face to his own with his hand on the back of your neck. Your hands clutched his broad shoulders as your lips melded together in a soft, passionate dance. You stood in the kitchen for what felt like hours, worshiping each other's mouths, the smacking of your lips and hushed sighs mingling with the soft Christmas ballad playing through Alexa.

As you kissed, Roman couldn't help but get turned on. He let his hands slip down into the back of your pants and over your backside, molding your bare ass cheeks in his palms while you pressed yourself against him. You continued the increasingly intense makeout session, neither of you seeming to be in any hurry to stop.

"Santa Daddy thinks you've been a good girl this year," he murmured against your lips, "so good that you deserve a special present."

"Mmm, I love presents, Santa Daddy," you replied, allowing him to pick you up and place you on the countertop. He stepped into the space between your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, while your arms curled around his shoulders as you dove into the kiss. He caressed your mouth with his luscious tongue in a way that made your knees weak. Your hands and his moved in unison, pulling off each other's clothes until you were both completely nude. The second your top was off, his fingers teased your nipples, which instantly pebbled at his touch. His broad chest was hard and warm against your palms, and you scratched your nails along his ribs just to hear him hiss in a breath right before his mouth latched onto your throat. You whimpered and gripped his hair. God, his mouth and tongue felt so good on your skin. He nibbled and sucked on you while massaging your right breast, and you felt the pit of stomach heat up with the rabid need for your pussy to be filled. The moisture pooling between your thighs could probably fill a lake.

With your eyes closed as you savored the sensations, you never quite saw him take the pot of chocolate, dip the whisk in it and wave it over your nipples. The chocolate that dripped onto your skin seared with heat, but his tongue was there to quickly lick it away before the pain registered as anything more than a turn-on.

"Mmm, that's tasty," he commented.

You watched him and his lethal mouth like a hawk. "You like that, Daddy?" you inquired, resting back on your elbows.

"Oh, I do." He drizzled more chocolate over your breasts. Your mind swam as he took his time sucking each soft flesh, activating your erogenous pressure point. He then dipped his finger in the warm chocolate then made a long trail down your lower belly. He licked that away, then used two fingers to paint your entire pussy with the hot chocolate, his face a mask of concentration as he worked on his masterpiece. Your body jerked and you sucked in a breath at the fire that raged between your legs. Then his tongue was down there, splitting your soft folds apart to delve into your sweetened essence.

Yanking the Santa hat off his head, your fingers threaded through his messy ponytail, pulling his face flush against you, writhing against him and begging for more. "Unnnh, babe, that feels so good," you groaned, your brain growing fuzzy as he French-kissed your pussy, pleasure licking at you with the same devastating impact as his tongue. "Fuck, baby, I love you!"

"I know," Roman moaned back, pushing your thighs further apart. "Spread your legs, baby...wider," he instructed you, his burly arms winding around your thighs and yanking you closer to him. "Mmm, perfect. Imma eat you off this counter, girl."

And he was. With gusto. Desperate for release, you tried to squirm but he had you pinned down to the kitchen island, keeping you still. You were panting hard as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. You were almost there, just a step away from that cliff, when he nuzzled his face against your wet pussy and flicked your hard little clit with his thumb. The pressure sent you over the edge and you moaned through the orgasm, your back arching against the cool surface of the counter. Your string of moans was an aphrodisiac to Roman, and he kept up his tender licking and sucking until your legs fell from his shoulders and you gave a shuddering sigh.

"Jesus," you whispered.

Roman resembled a kid in a candy store with his beard stained with cum and chocolate, eyes bright and lust-filled. He looked up, licked his lips with a smug smile and said, "Nothing tastes as good as you, baby," he praised, and your ego swelled. He always knew the right things to say to make you feel good. Twining your fingers in his, he pulled you upright and kissed your lips, sharing your tangy sweetness with you.

"Your turn," you announced, and slid carefully off the counter, pushing him to sit on one of the stools. You moved to take the pot of chocolate, but the three mason jars filled with homemade caramel sauce caught your eye. A devious little idea popped up in your head. Grabbing one, you unscrewed the cover, licking the sauce around the rim before grabbing Roman's dick with one hand, bringing the jar up to his plum-shaped tip.

"Fuck, girl," Roman shivered, his eyes wide when you dunked his dick right inside the jar. Your eyes shone excitedly as you pulled him back out, the thick, succulent syrup dripping down his pipe and around the rim of your hand.

"Mmm, look at all this sweetness on your dick, Daddy," you moaned, bending at the waist to capture his cock between your lips, your husky sigh vibrating against his sensitive skin. Roman moaned softly as you angled your bobbing head, sliding his dick further down your throat with the same rhythm as your hand stroking him, the sensations leaving him boneless.

"Shiiiit, just like that, baby, eat up my dick like a good girl, how's it taste, huh?" he managed to ask.

"Good," you hummed, working your tongue from the tip of his dick down to the veiny underside of his shaft, causing his breathing to grow labored as his cock throbbed in your hand.

"Oh my god, your tongue, dem juicy lips," Roman clutched your hair, watching you intensely. "Keep suckin' my dick, baby, show me what that mouth do."

Wordlessly, you drew his cock deeper into your mouth with a deep breath and started sucking him with only your jaw doing all of the work. His dick was more than sizable, but was no match for your mouth. Daddy had trained you well to handle all of that fat dick with your mouth and pussy. You paused to scoop more caramel sauce with his dick like a spoon, licking off every drop off his shaft with lavish swipes of your tongue.

"Put some on my balls," Roman instructed.

He held his dick up and out of the way while you rubbed a mix of chocolate and caramel all over his balls. As you sucked on them, Roman slowly massaged his dick, occasionally slapping your face with it. The visual of your arched back mesmerized him, the deliberate twerking of your plump ass cheeks as you pleasured him short-circuited his brain. Even hotter was the sight of his balls hidden in your mouth and the sauce mixture smeared on your chin. The contrast of the dark substance on your brown skin was so fucking sexy.

"That's it, baby, that's it...shit!" The Tribal Chief's deep voice was a strangled gasp, his breaths becoming even shallower as you popped his balls out to recapture his dick. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, lost in toe-curling pleasure as you lodged him in the back of your throat, your warm mouth swallowing around the base of his shaft like a suction. It was his turn to fidget in place, his fingers digging into your scalp as ecstasy loomed ever closer. "Baby I'm gon' come," he whined.

You moaned at his warning, the vibrations shuddering around his length. Your eyes locked with his as he started to fall apart. With a loud groan, he held your head still and gasped helplessly with each spurt of his cum gushing down your throat, his hips bucking from the force of his release. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt you swallow, drinking your fill, your tongue lapping up whatever you spilled. You pulled him out and gulped air back into your lungs, then glanced back up at him with those mischievous pretty eyes, pursing your pouty lips against his blunt head and making his cock twitch in your grasp.

"How the fuck am I still hard?" he half-laughed, half-choked, earning a proud grin from you.

"I got that magic mouth, baby," you declared haughtily, twisting your hand around him in gentle soothing strokes, "And you got this magic dick. You gonna put it on me, Santa Daddy? I know you want to."

"Damn right." He got off the chair and spun you around, bending you over the kitchen table. The tabletop remained cold against your bare, chocolate-streaked skin, and you shivered in response. It was only seconds before he guided your hands to grip the edges of the table in front of you. You moaned softly as he nudged your legs wider apart, hiking your ass slightly higher to press himself up against you.

"Ay, Alexa, turn that shit off, I wanna hear my girl scream for me," he growled at the air, and you burst out laughing when the kitchen fell into an abrupt silence.

His hard dick throbbed between your ass cheeks. He ran the thick head up and down the slit of your pussy lips. When he pushed the first few inches in, you whined pitifully. Your velvety womanhood pulled him in, eking a groan from the Tribal Chief as his big hands roamed your back and ass. His thrusts were slow at first, savoring the feel of your tight, wet pussy tugging at him with each languid stroke. You responded by bucking up against him, luring him even deeper into your body. You moaned together in mutual pleasure.

"God, so tight, so wet...bomb ass pussy," he grunted, smacking your ass and squeezing on the soft juicy flesh, knowing it would make you that much wetter as he stretched you open with that good dick. Your keening moans were nothing but fuel for him; he knew you loved it when he fucked you deep and hard and a little rough, ticking all your little sexual boxes that no one but him knew about. His rhythm was steady yet heavy, keeping you on edge with deep strokes right up on your g-spot. Leaning over you, he swept your hair out of your face to kiss your cheek, a hushed moan slipping from his throat when you squirmed against him, pressing your ass closer to his hips every time he pushed into you.

With the table pressing into your belly and his body trapping you against it, you felt his dick swell inside you, girthier and harder with every thrust. Your body was so sensitized from your previous orgasm that you felt another one build in record time. You wanted your second nut so bad, and you rolled your ass against him, hoping to put enough pressure on your clit to bring it on.

"Unnh yeah, throw that sexy ass back at me," Roman grunted with another hard smack to your ass which jiggled from the impact of his big hand. Said hand then made its way into your hair, the other gripping your waist as he grinded against you and you against him. He loved it; loved you, loved the feel of your bodies moving together, your juices dripping all over his dick, loved the fact that you couldn't seem to control the noises you were making as the kitchen echoed with the erotic sound of them.

"Oh, baby, I'm fuckin' close," you whimpered through your moans.

"How close?" he asked, his lips brushing soft kisses between your shoulder blades and trailing them down your back. His warm breath and his soft beard tickled your skin, and too aroused to answer, you merely whimpered again and bounced your ass more impatiently on his dick. The tension was there in your belly, swirling around so close to explosion, and you needed it like you needed air.

Roman's grip on your hair strengthened, anchoring himself to you. "Don't move. Lemme get that pussy." He was like a Ferrari engine, accelerating with harder pummeling thrusts that filled you to the brim. He was now balanced on just the balls of his feet in an effort to drive deeper into you, pounding you out until you were leaking down your thighs and all over his dick and balls. It felt so good. Too good.

"Yes, Daddy, beat that shit up...unnhhh, my god, I'm coming," you moaned long and loud as you unraveled like flimsy wrapping paper. Stars sparked behind your eyelids as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably from its intensity.

"Mmm, there you go sweetheart, soak my dick, come all over it," he snickered proudly, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. "Was that nut good, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy, so good," you grinded out, lightheaded, your eyes glazed over and unfocused, even more so as you felt his hand spread over the back of your neck and hold you down to the countertop, his hips winding against your ass as he stayed burying his long, girthy dick in your warm, snug depths.

"Good, cuz I'm 'bout to nut too...shit, baby girl, this pussy amazing...You gon' make me put a kid in you..."

The thought of him breeding you with his seed had your pussy clenching around his cock, the suckling sensation reducing his husky taunts into yet another helpless moan. You could tell from his breathing that he was indeed close, his frenzied thrusts becoming sloppier as white-hot pleasure surged through both of your bodies in incredible waves.

"Oh shit, Y/N," Roman grunted, squeezing your hips for dear life as something snapped inside him. Slamming his dick into you one last time, he went completely rigid with a shout as he came hard for you. The warm wet spurts of cum emptying inside you caused your body to shiver against his as you milked his dick dry. His heavy weight kept you pressed into the hard marble table, both of you so limp that it didn't seem to matter that you couldn't breathe. Somehow, you managed to stand back upright, making him do the same behind you. As he wrapped you up in a hug, he was still inside you, and you tilted your head up to gently bite his bottom lip before licking at his tongue. It made him smile, and you couldn't help but smile back as he shared a long, greedy kiss with you before finally pulling out with a groan, slapping your backside one more time as he stepped away.

"Save some of that chocolate stuff for us," he said, grinning when you shot him a questioning look. "I want you to use 'em on me again later tonight."

You picked up the two sets of pajamas off the floor. "Hmm, you won't be too tired from dinner and all that?"

"Too tired to fuck you? Never, my baby girl."

"Then I'll make sure to bring a jar of each." You laughed as his Adams apple and his cock bobbed simultaneously, his imagination running wild with all the nasty things you would do to him.

"Good idea. Nah, scratch that, great idea," he corrected himself with a chuckle, lifting you into his arms bridal-style and carrying you out of the kitchen. "Right now, we both need a shower."

"Why do I got a feeling this 'shower' is gonna keep our guests waiting?"

He laughed with you and ascended the stairs. "You know me so well."

It was two p.m. by the time he was through with you. When you determined that your legs could function properly again, you dragged yourself out of his bed, changed into another set of pajamas and made your way back downstairs to put the finishing touches on the food and the rest of the house. You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when this man came up behind you and ran his hands all over your body. His dick was hard.

"Again?" you breathed, biting back a gasp when he started undoing the strings of your pants. The guests would be arriving anytime soon.

"Just one more," he groaned huskily in your ear, grabbing a jar of chocolate sauce, "I've missed you so much, baby, I need to taste you one more time..."

About half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Jey and his wife Larissa were your first guests. When the front door opened, they took one good look at you and Roman; disheveled clothing, hair out of place, the smear of sauce over your left breast and on the corner of Roman's lips, and put two and two together.

"Y'all nasty," Larissa giggled and entered the house, with Jey merely shaking his head behind her.

🎄THE END🎄

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This is definitely my final story for the year. I'm so proud of how many I was able to churn out and EXTREMELY happy and proud of how much you all like it. Thank you all, I appreciate all your support and feedback more than you'll ever know! 🥺

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illyrian-dreamer · 8 months

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Dance with the devil – Part 1

Rhysand x fem!reader series

Summary: You attempt to rob the High Lord of the Night Court.

Words: 3.3k

TW: Violence, death

Notes: Morally grey Rhysand below the cuff 😈😈😈

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

Tick, tick, tick.

That stern voice nagged in your mind, laced with forewarning and impatience that only frustrated you further.

You had just minutes to find the scroll and get out.

With gritted teeth, you leaned closer, drowning out that voice - likely your mothers - as well as the drumming of your heart, waiting for that final click.

You were versed in charming locks, picking them when you had to, just as you did now. And what waited on the other side of this door was worth every swallow of bile, every rise and swell of panic that begged you to think of the consequence - of what would happen if you were caught.

It was only a half-moon prior that you had snuck into the infamous libraries of the Day Court while the city slept, hunting concealed maps and etchings of Helion’s castle. You studied the corridors and winding staircases of the impressive home, squinting through the flickering glow of the small fae light you had allowed yourself to cast, anxious eyes lifting reluctantly every so often, humouring the phantom furl of a page or shiver down your spine.

So you pressed those routes to memory – sewers, plumbing, hidden passageways marked in some maps and not others. They were your only true salvage if things went wrong.

Weapons were now strapped to every part of your leathers that would allow, layers of magic shielding your scent and sound so strong it made your joints ache, as if buckling under their weight.

Easy in, easy out, quick on your feet and don't look back.

That mantra was your only comfort as you silently slipped into the lavish guest suite, a breath of relief that its layout matched your efforts of breaking into the libraries. Because although night never found this court, there was only a small window in which the High Lords were away from their suites, and time was a persistent foe.

It was incredibly risky to break into the guest quarters of the High Lord of the Night Court, especially after Hellion had declared his home a neutral grounds for the High Lord’s meeting. But what Rhysand possessed was invaluable – that scroll of ancient tongue, the only one of it’s kind. It was worth the risk of your own life, of certain death if you were caught.

Careful, gloved fingers sifted through the papers on the desk, making sure not to leave anything out of place.

The details you had gained on the High Lord were valuable – he was neat, more than neat, really – his room immaculate and organised. A paper left rippled, a chair at a slight angle, even a stray hair on the sprawling marble floor – all were things he would surely notice.

But you could tread lightly, could play to that game of fine detail. Nimble as a mouse – that’s how your father had always described you, affection warming his face as he compared you to your boisterous brother.

With a clench of your heart, you forced the memory out. Once you had that scroll – soon. You would be together again soon.

As you crouched low to sift through the chestnut draws, mahogany carved with the kind of finery that made you sick, a hint of gold gleamed from the corner of the room, the light catching your eye.

Padding with quiet creaks from your boots, you allowed yourself only a moment to admire the array of scrolls that lay in the wooden chest – it’s lid tipped open, beckoning to be explored. In the centre perched the most exotic of the artefacts. Boring rings of gold, it winked at you, a true diamond in the rough.

With gentle inspection, you traced the characters etched in it’s casing, a cryptic ode of ancient tongue.

A whisper of magic kissed your face, stray hairs dancing as goosebumps prickling beneath your leathers. It was waft of excitement, danger, magic aged by civilisations – this was a powerful scroll indeed.

With a hand on each end of the casing, you gently lifted the scroll into your satchel, careful not to knock it or disturb the casing. You would return it after all, once traced.

There was a shift in the air then, and a sinking feeling rippled through your abdomen, like a stone dropped into still water.

Get out – that voice urged.

You had spent too long here already.

Swallowing the fastening hammer of your heart, you raised from your knees, eyeing the unsuspecting cupboard – behind it a hidden door, and behind that a winding pathway would lead you clear to the gardens.

You almost scoffed – this was easier than you had thought.

How could the High Lord be so reckless to leave something of this value lying about?

The pit of your stomach deepened.

Too easy – much, much too easy.

An open, gaping well.

Oh gods, this was a–

And then darkness – everywhere.

You gasped, catching glimpses of red and blue as you staggered back. Your back hit something solid – no, someone. Strong arms gripped yours wrists, pinning them behind you. You tried to yell, but your breath hitched as violet eyes glowered amongst the tendrils of midnight smog, choking any sound that whined in your throat.

“Well well, what do we have here?” a sultry voice purred, a refined silhouette emerging from the darkness, tall and broad.

A gleam of teeth pulled with a feline smile, the figure prowling closer. Dangerous, lethal, ever knowing with a hint of cockiness.

And as tendrils of night magic cleared around their master, the High Lord of the Night Court was revealed.

Rhysand’s eyes danced with amusement as he watched realisation set in – your own features taut with horror.

“Hello, Y/N darling.”

You were dead meat.

A heavy, intrusive sensation caused a shiver to rack through you as phantom claws tore through your useless shields, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of your own fear.

Rhysand’s pretty grin only grew.

In a hopeless attempt to flee, you barely moved an inch as you tugged against the impossible grip on your arms.

He was closing in, coldness seeping from him as his magic curling in on itself, devouring any hints of warmth from the room, from your own veins.

And then he stopped, just one agonising pace shy from your heaving chest.

Here he was – High Lord of the Night Court. Wickedly cruel, arrogant and unnervingly calm, a cat who toyed with its food. The legendary villain of whispered rumours and horror stories exchanged amongst children of your village in the court of Dawn, parents so tired from their youngens loss of sleep that he was a banished name from many households.

Your eyes danced with a panic as instincts forced you to look for any chance of survival. Dressed with finery, but not a weapon on him – that was good.

But as the shadows began to clear, another male was revealed perching patiently against the wall behind, blue siphons flickering as he stood with wide legs, arms crossed and face stoic. Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster, waited patiently for your attempt of escape, his own shadows at the ready.

Fuck.

That meant the male that bound you was Cassian – Warlord and Chief General of the Illyrian armies.

You were as good as dead.

Your breathing stuttered as you swallowed the plea for mercy begging at your lips. They were going to kill you, that was certain. You could only hope they would do it quickly.

“My my, Y/N,” Rhysand drawled, his voice playful and sensual. “We weren't certain if you were going to take the bait.”

Placing hands on knees, he lowered himself to your level, those violet eyes captivating you, their depth incomprehensible. You tried to break Rhys’s gaze, but you rendered helpless, realising the cruel use of his magic.

“But I’m so glad this is how we get to meet.”

He was expecting you?

You glared back, your breaths quickening at the dangerous proximity.

If not at his mercy, you would have spat at his condescending manner. But instead you fought aimlessly against Cassian’s hold, the male pulling you back against his chest with a jarring tug, his grip tightening until you felt your pulse in your wrists.

Your mind was scattering with each second, frantic eyes dancing at the High Lord before you. You hadn't expected him to be so… handsome.

“Why, thank you,” Rhys cocked an eyebrow at you, that cat like grin exchanged for a lob-sided one.

Had he just–? You scowled, cursing him silently. His abilities as a deamanti also deeming true.

Rhysand chuckled at your foul words, his laugh unexpectedly soft. “Such a feisty thing you are,” he commented, raking his purple eyes down your body. You suddenly felt incredibly exposed, despite the layers of leathers and weaponry you wore.

“Let me go,” you spat hoarsely, heaving against the General once more.

“You’re not in any position to make that request,” Cassian huffed, pulling back on the little distance you had gained. His voice was gruff as it hummed through your back.

You turned your head to look at the Warlord for the first time. He too, like the other males in the room, was noticeably handsome. His long hair fell into his face as he looked down at you, his eyes almost as amused as his High Lord.

Were you just a joke to them?

“Oh, sweet Y/N, you’re not a joke at all. We’re actually quiet impressed by you,” Rhysand toyed, his eyebrows raised with a mocking tone. “We know you’ve been trailing us for months, Azriel here picked up on your movements in our court a whole quarter year ago.”

You flicked your eyes to the Spymaster, his position and face unmoving at his mention. You couldn't help your scowl at the male who was responsible to securing your death.

“What we didn't expect, was for you to make it this far,” Rhysand continued with a chuckle, his head shaking in playful dismay.

Great – now on top of everything else, you were completely insulted.

“That’s why we set this trap for you. So we could finally meet.”

You frowned at Rhysand. You had been so careful, so stealthy about all your work in spying on the High Lord, slaving over maps and reports until you could no longer keep your eyes open, using the little money you had to buy off secrecy, and always covering your tracks. But it still hadn't been enough.

“Don’t look so disheartened, little mouse,” Rhysand purred, before he picked a piece of lint off his fitted black jacket. “The fact that you were able to break into my quarters alone is incredibly impressive.”

It had in fact, taken a lot of work. To sneak into Hellion’s home had taken three disenchantment spells, and compromised a suite of his guards who were yet to rise from their enchanted slumber. The locks and spells on Rhysand’s chamber were another thing in itself.

“What will you do with me?” you gritted, glaring between the males in front of you, desperate to know your fate.

Rhysand dipped his head back and laughed, his posture too calm, too casual.

“What will we do with you, hmm?” he repeated, and a shrinking instinct finding you, one that you hadn't felt since you were a child.

“Perhaps the question is, what would you like us to do with you?” It was a lovers voice, sensual and suggestive.

You couldn't help the thunder of your heart as his scent filled your nose, crudely laced with arousal as it found you with a phantom wind.

Rhysand was on you then, his face inches from your own as swirls of night filled your vision, his violet eyes the only light you could see.

You gasped at the sight before you – it was beautiful, but so, so deadly.

“I don’t like having my things taken from me, Y/N.” Rhysand growled, his voice now cold, unforgiving. Those same claws that tore your shields now traced the outskirts if your mind, talons sinking slightly in warning.

Despite the little pain, it was instinct to scream.

You tried to make quick peace at the thought of his violet eyes being the last thing you would ever see.

Open your eyes, he commanded mind to mind.

Without realising you had closed them, you found yourself unable to disobey.

Rhysand withdrew as quickly as he had pounced, his darkness disappearing with him as he slid his hands into his pockets, rocking on fine shoes. His behaviour was erratic, such a contrast to the moment before.

“Of course, it would be such a waste of good talent.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t toyed with your very consciousness just moments before.

You watched him pace, your eyes flicking to the spymaster once more, before noting the exits of the room you knew well.

“You don't stand a chance,” Azriel spoke plainly, his hand fingering one of many blades strapped to his strong frame. A warning, from one spy to another.

Rhysand grinned between you two, running a smooth hand through his black-blue hair.

Was he entertained by the idea that you were willing to give a fight?

You felt a low rumble from Cassian’s chest, all three males daring you to challenge them in their own way.

Azriel was right – it was suicide to try.

Rhysand hummed with pleasure, reading your submission as your body sagged every so slightly.

“I’ll tell you what, Y/N. I’ll make you a deal.”

A bargain, a promise, and perhaps a riddle from Prythian’s deadliest High Lord.

“I’d rather you kill me,” you said tightly.

Rhysand laughed again, and you felt the movements of Cassian’s chuckle from behind.

“Oh, sweetheart. Surely there’s a tad more fight in you than that?”

You scowled in return.

Rhysand approached you again, now holding the scroll of ancient tongue.

“What do you know of this scroll?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

You winced. “I don't know anything.”

Rhysand tutted. “Little liar,” he grinned at you, his violet eyes sparkling with challenge. “I’ll ask one more time,” he sang.

You felt them again, and it took all you had to not crumble at Cassian’s boots at the flooding pain as Rhysand dragged a singular, scraping talon across your mind and back.

“Resurrection!” you yelped – a half breath, half scream escaping you as your legs gave out. Cassian held you up, your body rigid as Rhysand’s talon pierced your mind further. The pain was blinding, eliciting a howl from you as your vision flashed with white.

Yet Rhysand’s icy threat cut through. “I have a lot of enemies, Y/N. I don't suppose you are hoping to fetch a pretty penny for anyone who might seek to bring back the rightfully dead?”

“No, n-no!” you gasped, your body spasming and contorting as he continued to toy with you. “Please, it’s for m-my family!”

Rhysand left your mind as quickly as he had entered it. You sagged in relief, Cassian gently setting you down as your crumpled to the floor, your body shaking and twitching.

You had just enough energy to raise your eyes and meet the High Lord’s stare. Gone was his expression of cruel amusement, it was now replaced with a frown of serious, deep thought.

He had seen them – your family, their smiles and laughter as your memory flashed at their mention. That meant he had also seen their deaths, their limp bodies piled for you to find in your own home.

“You wish to resurrect them?” Rhys asked softly.

All you could do was nod. You were sure you weren't noting a sense of sympathy from the male.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes closing. “If it were that easy Y/N, I’d have the missing kin to my own family here today.”

You looked up at the High Lord through heavy lids, exhaustion overcoming your body with an occasional twitch.

“I have to try,” was all you could offer, your voice small and unsure.

Rhysand stared down at you with furrowed brows, serious yet unreadable. After a few moments, he blinked, a few stars returning to his eyes as he raised them to Cassian with a quick nod.

Strong hands unfurled from your arms, and Cassian stepped back, providing you some space on the marbled tiles as you shook.

Death then, at last. May the Mother have mercy, let it be quick, you prayed silently.

A gentle pull of your hand from your face, and your fingers were forced to close around a ovoidal object.

Rhysand was crouched in front of you, his face unreadable as his cold hand kept your fingers pressed to the scroll

“I’ll tell you what Y/N. You find a way to decipher this scroll and bring back your family. And when you do, you share that information with me, so that I may do the same.”

You pulled your hand back, eyes darting between his violet ones as if you read the trick that undoubtedly hid beneath his offer.

“And why in Mother’s name would I trust you?”

He smirked humourlessly. “Unless you prefer the alternative –“ Rhysand’s eyes blackened instantly, and your heart skipped a beat at the promise of death that beheld them. “– I don’t believe you have a choice.”

Make a bargain with the High Lord, or die. Not in a thousand lifetimes could you have predicted an ultimatum so soulless.

“Do we have a deal?” Rhysand offered his large hand as he still crouched before you, his eyebrows raising with a hint of impatience.

You flicked your gaze between Azriel and Cassian. Both of them watched patiently, their stances neutral, obedient of their High Lord’s business. It bothered you – how were both of them so complicit to his evil?

Looking back at Rhysand – you ignored the voice inside you that screamed at you not to trust him.

Letting out a short breath, you lifted yourself to your knees and clasped your hand in his. “It’s a deal.”

A gasp escaped you as a stinging heat spread across the hand held in his, and etched it’s way up your forearm. With wide eyes, you watched the burn and itch of a ink-like pattern forming on your skin. Swirls now covered your once naked arm, the picture of one hand shaking another stark on the inside of your palm. It was your hand in Rhysand’s – a symbol of the bargain you had just agreed to. For eternity, or until you deciphered this scroll you realised, with no lack of nausea.

Rhysand grinned, marvelling the matching tattoo that now tainted his skin. “I’ll be checking in on your progress frequently, Y/N darling.”

Unable to find the right words for you distaste, you snatched your hand away and pressed against your stomach, willing your self not to be sick.

You were now indebted to this hellish, sinister being.

Rhysand appeared as unfazed. “Perhaps you would consider a job in my court with Azriel?” he mused, flexing his fingers as he continued to take in the impressive detail of your bargain. “Again, we were quite impressed with your work.”

He was teasing of course, and Azriel’s hazel eyes winced with humour as all three males watched for your reaction.

You scowled at Rhysand, glaring up at him again. “I prefer my freedom, actually,” you snarled.

Rhysand laughed in his sensual way, before grinning a wicked smile down at you. “Or what’s left of it.

He straightened then, his wig men moving to his sides with grace – a practiced dance for all three.

“I suggest you excuse yourself from my quarters the moment we’re gone Y/N, I’ll know otherwise.”

With a clasp to his shoulders from Azriel and Cassian, the three males were gone in a ripple of odourless night.

Until then, little spy, Rhysand’s voice echoed in your mind.

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

AN: Ok new series let's gooooo!! Welcome to DWTD! Hello morally grey mosthandsomehighlordofthenightcourt 💞😈 I am so so excited to explore this series with y'all. Pleeeeease let me know what you think of part 1, I wrote this over so many months lol I hope it tied together. General tag list is tagged, but if you'd like to join a tag list for this series (DWTD), comment below! La la love you guys, hope you're all safe and doing ok 💞

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years

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Can Bruce read his gremlins a bedtime story?

Once upon a time—

Ugh, no. Go back and try again.

Jason, let the man read.

Not when it sounds like that. It's Sleeping Beauty. A fucking five-year-old can do it.

Alright, starting over. Once upon a time, there lived a princess in a castle.

Where else would she live?

I get what you're saying. Where was I? Right. When she was born—

Can we go back for a second? What kind of castle are we talking about?

Not again.

A good story has detail, Cass. Now give me the layout. Is it more mid-century or a little earlier? What fortifications do they have? Do the floor plans allow for guards to covertly sneak around? Are they prioritizing enemy intimidation or civilian—

Mid-to-late-century, reinforced walls with hidden cannons and watchtowers, they have underground tunnels, and civilian trust because their only enemy is Maleficent. As I was saying—

What's their contingency plan?

Tim!

The story is the contingency plan, you wet sack of hamburger meat.

Wow, spoiler alert.

Someone called?

I thought you went home?

And miss this trainwreck? As if. Too bad Tumblr doesn't have more colors because Duke would love this.

Huh?

It's a fourth wall thing. Don't worry, I've been working on my impression of him.

Let's see it.

Please don't.

"My name is Duke. I cry at Lord of the Rings."

In his defense, Frodo and Sam have a beautiful friendship.

Back to the story. When she was born, her parents threw a grand jubilee where all the kingdom and its fairies was invited. The fairies all arrived with presents—

You think they would have a baby shower before the baby is born, right? What, the first few days they're just going without diapers?

This was the Middle Ages. They believed in leeching the humors out for a common cold.

Also, you can throw showers after the kid arrives. Our own dad did it.

At least you weren't the guinea pig. Try explaining to a bunch of important rich people who brought gifts that actually, there is no baby, it's me and I don't need diapers or footie pajamas.

Says the guy wearing a Kid Flash onesie.

Says the one in a Superboy shirt and conspiracy theory pants. Pick a side.

I have two hands and I'm not ashamed.

Okay, there's a lot to unpack there—

Jason married Roy!

What?!?

It's for tax benefits. Not all of us can own a multi-billion-dollar corporation.

Your name's on the will.

Yeah but I'm never gonna get it 'cause Bruce isn't gonna die long enough for me to use it.

What do you mean?

He's talking about the retcons. You should ask Duke, he can see into other dimensions.

Ooh.

Ahem, I believe Father was telling us a story. I speed-read it so I know they all die at the end, but I'd like to hear your delivery.

Damian, you're reading this morning's obituaries.

Same thing.

Truelove'skissbrokethespellandtheylivedhappilyeveraftertheend. Terrible job everyone, now lights out.

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frodo-with-glasses · 3 months

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COMMISSIONS OPEN!!

Heya! Wanna throw money at me to make me draw something?? Well, for just $20 an hour, now you can!

Read below for price estimates and FAQs, and if you’re interested, please email me at [email protected] to get started!

PRICING INFO

Because I’m too lazy to come up with complicated price structures, I’ll just be charging a flat rate of $20/hour for any work I do on the art piece. The clock starts when I pick up the pencil or digital stylus and ends when I put it down.

This does mean that prices will vary, depending on how time-consuming each art piece is, but I can give you some rough estimates.

Upper Body Sketch: Approx. 30 min = $10 for one

It takes me about half an hour to draw a bust or upper body sketch. This time can be shortened if I’m already familiar with the character design, or lengthened if I’m drawing an unfamiliar character or doing some weird perspective stuff.

Every additional figure would probably take another half an hour, adding about $10 each.

Full-Body Sketch: Approx. 1 hour = $20 for one

Drawing an entire figure is a little harder than just drawing the upper body, so this one might take longer. Again, this time can be shortened or lengthened depending on my familiarity with the character, how complex the design is, and whether I’m doing any complicated posing or perspective.

Adding additional figures can take anywhere from 30 minutes to 1 hour, adding $10-$20 each.

Animals: Approx. 1.5 hrs = $30 for one

Animals are not my strong suit, though I have gotten better at drawing them over time! However, the extra time studying reference photos and trying to get the anatomy correct can stack up quickly, so you’ll want to be aware of that if you’re commissioning something with an animal involved.

Posters: Minumum 3 hrs = approx. $60

Posters take a little extra time—and usually some trial and error—to plan the layout in a dynamic way. They also take up an entire sketchbook page and tend to include multiple people and some extreme perspective to add visual appeal. You can expect a poster to take about three hours minimum to complete.

Multi-Panel Comics: Minimum 4 hrs a page = $80

Drawing a comic big enough to cover an entire sketchbook page can take me anywhere from 4 to 6 hours of work. If drawing a long-form comic, I will probably divide the work over several days. Brainstorming will happen on the first day, when I’ll plan out how many panels I’ll need for the comic, and then I’ll get in contact with you to tell you an estimated price before I proceed.

Digital Coloring: Minimum 1.5 hrs = add approx. $30

Coloring things digitally takes about double the time it would to sketch; I’ve noticed it takes around two hours to color a simple image, with another hour added for each figure involved. This first image took me about an hour and a half to outline and color, while the second took about five hours.

Add to Redbubble Shop: Subject to Redbubble Pricing

If your commissioned artwork is Lord of the Rings-related, I can put it into my Redbubble shop, where you can have it printed on stickers, t-shirts, journals, mugs, and lots of other products! I won’t charge any extra fee, but you will have to pay whatever price Redbubble asks. Full disclosure: I receive only 10% of the profit from Redbubble sales; the rest goes to the website to cover manufacturing and shipping costs.

FAQ

No NSFW

No nudity or sexual content

Canon ships only

Will draw gore/injuries

Will draw OCs (please provide references)

Will draw for other fandoms (please provide references)

The artist reserves the right to reject any commission without disclosing the reason

The artist will give price and progress updates over the course of the process

You, the commissioner, have the right to terminate the project at any time and for any reason

If the project is terminated halfway, you will be charged for the artist’s time, but the artist might give a discount for incomplete work

Payment will be calculated at the end of the project and rendered using PayPal

Once again, if you’re interested, please email me at [email protected]!

#art commissions #commissions open #my art #HEY GUYS WANNA HELP ME RECOVER FROM A $700 MECHANIC BILL I HAD LAST MONTH?? 8-D #oh and also i wanna get back into art lol #gotta get the ball rolling somehow #love y’all; thanks for your patience on my hiatus 💚

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cherubshert · 10 months

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Rouge

Eunseok X fem reader

Genre: angst

Warning: arranged marriage, two ppl who r in love not being able to be together, I'm pretending to be a good writer and failing lol, kind of a period piece , maybe some errors in grammar. idk how to do layouts oh my goshgg.

a/n: Lowkey kinda vague, but i had so many ideas for this, but it came to mind when i was going to bed so...

"beautiful night isn't it." you turn, clutching your gloves tighter. "eunseok..." he makes his way over to where you stood, a distinct smile plastered on his face, his skin flushed from the cold of the snow.

"you look so wonderful tonight, like a beautiful bride." his hands reach out for yours, his fingers rubbing your knuckles. it's a bit comforting, a comforting reminder of something you could have but is being torn away from you. "lord park is a good man, loyal, well mannered, wealthy." he dragged on, his voice light.

"so, i've heard." its peaceful. the way his finger grazed over the ring on your finger, the way his hand made its way up your sleeve till it settled on your cheek. "He'll treat you right." his finger presses again your lip.

rouge stained his finger when he pulled away, pressing it to his lips with a dazed smirk. a cold wind flows past, as your eyes meet. the next second is a blur, one last kiss is shared under the moon.

your name is called out, worry laced in wonbin's voice as he searched through the maze like garden for you. and with out a glance you are gone. leaving him standing in the midst of beautifully dull flowers, with a rouge stain in his heart.

#riize x reader #idk either bro don't look at me #cherubshert diary.#kpop fanfic #kpop x black reader #kpop x poc reader #riize drabbles #riize imagines #riize angst #eunseok x reader

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emelinstriker · 3 months

Note

(English is not my language so I'm sorry if there are mistakes🥲)

Hello^^ I have a question about the palace from ESAU

what does he look like approximately?

For example, it might look like a castle from Harry Potter?

Or as a fortress in the Lord of the Rings

Do you have something in mind? (if you have already answered such a question, don't bother answering it. Thanks in advance for the answer)

I'm still not sure about the palace's details since I'm not really set on anything all too specific. I merely just know about the rough layout of it and the fact that it's surrounded by that dark forest.

I have already shown a small snippet of part of the layout in a previous doodle tho:

#eternal servants au #esau qna #art

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marlowethelibrarian · 2 months

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Writerly Questionaire tag!

@saturnine-saturneight, @the-golden-comet and @fortunatetragedy all tagged me for this questionaire! Also thanks to @davycoquette for the original meme!

About You

When did you start writing?

I remember writing a story for a first grade assignment when I was 4-5 and really enjoying it. They gave us little booklets that were just like construction paper cut into shapes with lined paper inside to write on. I didn't really start writing as a hobby until I was about 10, writing naruto fanfic.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I tend to write what I like to read! I like nonfiction on occasion which I definitely can write, I just don't do it very often.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

No one has ever compared me to an author ever, lmfao, but there are some writers here on writeblr that I've got an eye on, with prose that fucking slaps. I haven't actually sat down and read their stuff yet for the most part, because my life has been crazy but from the excerpts I see on tumblr I'm like. Yes. That. That's great. How do they do that. shout out to @cowboybrunch, @fortunatetragedy and @davycoquette!

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)?

90% of the time I write in my messy ass bed my fitted sheet refuses to stay on. The other 10% I'm wandering to other places in the house.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Write or die sometimes brute forces it out of me. Otherwise, brainstorming with a sounding board, answering some asks or tag games, or rereading my old stuff can all help me out here.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

I mean. Probably! I definitely do that thing where I'll picture the layout of a building as a building I'm familiar with. I've written a lot of apartments that look suspiciously like my grandparent's old house.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Yeah almost definitely lmfao. I keep noticing patterns after the fact. I have been circling the idea of dead worlds for one, and what it takes to survive there a couple times now. It's less obvious in project Cannibalism, but it's honestly still there.

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

My current obsession is definitely Ravi, who is a dnd character, a larp character, and the main character of my Summer League OCT rounds. They started off as a gnome alchemist who is like just a back alley drug dealer when they got stuck in Barovia in a Curse of Strahd campaign. (Currently the only member of the original party still alive and aiming to keep it that way) I changed them to be a halfling when writing them for the OCT on a whim because it feels like a more grounded fantasy race to draw from without having to explain too much thanks to Lord of the Rings and its enduring cultural legacy. I've been greatly enjoying the process of writing, essentially, an incredibly traumatized character embark on a life or death venture among people who have no idea what the stakes are for them, exploring how badly adapted some of those defense mechanisms are for a regular ass place and how other people would view them, and how they would get there in the first place. I'd put them in my mouth and chew on them

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

I can be a pretty sensitive person who prefers straightforward communication and positivity, so every single one of my horrible little prickly assholes is out. And that's a category I really enjoy writing so that's almost all of them lmfaoooo. I'd probably be friends with Wakma though. Wakma's cool.

Which characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

I wouldn't be able to stand Mala. She's consistently unpleasant and horrible to the people around her and I would not be able to let it roll off or just hit back like Rakani does.

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters?

I like to develop characters in response to aspects I find interesting about the worldbuilding, or around a concept I want to explore. Sometimes they come about because there's a role in a story I need to fill. Wakma, for example, mostly came about because I knew Rakani absolutely needed a friend who didn't come from the Suyan hierarchy, and I already had this really cool idea about nomadic airship traders so I made him a diplomat from that culture, and then developed more of his character as I wrote him and decided what was important to the story.

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

Traumatized little goblins, people who aren't acceptable victims, who lash out and behave in unacceptable ways.

How do you picture your characters?

I do draw, so I do have pictures of what characters look like sometimes, but sometimes they're just blobs and I decide along the way what they look like. I do try to be deliberate about it though, because diversity in race and body types rarely just happens to me. It's something I work towards and am purposefully deliberate about.

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I wanna and no one's stopped me yet.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

i love it when someone points at something I did specifically about what about it they vibed with or excited them.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work?

Just don't look at me and expect my characters please.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Clarity.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Well I think people have cried about my writing a lot, so it's quite emotional. I'm always very pleased when someone says I've hit on a level of some emotional realism.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I have great, creative ideas, but the execution could use a little work. I think my writing is pretty plain and worksmanlike, and that's like fine.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

This does absolutely open up a whole ass can of worms. jamie's right, how am i surviving here, if im subsidence farming I don't think I'd have the time and energy for writing. But like, I don't think I would if I knew I'd never have an audience. Even a small audience of one would be reason enough to write but if it's just me I might not.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy?

I don't care what other people want when I'm writing. I only care when I'm editing lmfao.

i have not kept track of who has answered this or not so I'm just going to leave this open to anyone who wants this!!

#tag game #writerly questionaire

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bengiyo · 8 months

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Ossan's Love Returns Ep 5 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Maki had to leave for a work trip right as his dad was home alone with back pain. Haruta stepped in to take care of his father-in-law, but Maki's dad was not feeling it. We also learned the sordid details about Izumi's dead lover who was Haruta's doppelganger, and they Izumi is determined to avenge him. We also know that Kiku is in love with Izumi. Izumi offered some insights about Maki's dad via chess that allowed Haruta the honor of being allowed to wipe his father-in-law's butt. Kiku also came clean about their law enforcement role to Kurosawa, figuring he'd just be a problem if he wasn't told. Takekawa went on a bachelor show and was summarily rejected. Also, the chief had a fall and scared us all.

Kurosawa won the vacation voucher!

Kurosawa's apartment layout looks similar to Aoyanagi Hajime's.

OOF. Kurosawa is struggling with loneliness.

Yes, let's follow-up on the butt-wiping and Takegawa getting rejected.

These enormous ongiri are throwing me off every episode.

Wow this handstand is very impressive.

Choko is now the Gay Whisperer, and she has new reasons to despise Haruta;

Oh lord these people are still spying on Izumi and Kuki.

Yes! Everyone go to Atami!

I'm so ready for the hijinks!!!

Episode 5: Take Me to Atami

Atami is very beautiful! Good work on the tourism front.

I will never stop thanking this show for how physically affectionate Haruta and Maki are.

Kurosawa almost falling on the stairs twice would be funnier for me if I wasn't worried about his health.

Maki lost his ring!!!

Guys, do not put the waiter through this!

Poor Maki. This is not what her had in mind at all.

Why is Kurosawa still fanning??

I appreciate that Kiku also has strong feelings about honoring Akito's memory.

Oh shit, I didn't expect Kiku to actually admit it.

Oh, Kurosawa. I'm glad he hugged Kiku as a fellow loser in love.

Now how the hell did both Maki and Izumi fall here.

Chief, you gotta stop putting hands on that man!!

This sloppy brawl is everything I hoped for. Chief and Maki fighting and tearing shit up. Kiku stumbling in drunk. Unexpected wrestling and double pinning of Haruta, opening up a whole can of worms about how Izumi and Kiku probably wanted to fuck Akito. Dragging Haruta for being indecisive. Sloppy crying. Kurosawa had a fan the entire time.

Oh, Haruta. I love how hard you love your husband.

"Make sure to reflect on that." I'm so glad Kurosawa had a good time.

Izumi...bro...

This trip was so much fun. I loved seeing them blend with the neighbors, and I loved seeing Kurosawa get to be as extra as he wanted. He was ready to fight Maki the entire time and he did! I can't believe Maki smashed a fake rock over Chief's back. Incredible. I just know the staff was pissed about them in the morning. Let me not forget Choko, because she is right to be annoyed that Haruta always seems to be at the center of gay drama around here. I'm also so worried about Takegawa.

#Ben watches #ossan's love returns #ossan's love #Japanese BL #bl series

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life-of-liminality · 1 month

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Our therapist gave us a task to make a map of our inner world and show what it looks like. As an exercise to help build communication and such.

Well we make a PowerPoint showing the layout of our inner world. Pictures that (as closely as possible) show what each area looks like. And we ask, as we often do, if she has any follow up questions.

You know what she says??

No, it's actually a lot like I imagined it would be. Slight differences, but largely the same. Also you would love lord of rings. Same vibe.

For some reason we are offended

#inner world #therapist read us like a book #system things #did system #did osdd

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brokehorrorfan · 10 months

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Seven's original soundtrack is available on vinyl for $40 via Waxwork Records. Shipping in January, the score is composed by Howard Shore (The Lord of the Rings, The Silence of the Lambs, The Fly).

The 2xLP album is pressed on 150-gram "Lust & Sloth" colored vinyl. It's housed in a gatefold jacket with matte satin coating featuring a layout by Steve Reeves and an 11x11 insert.

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theladyofbloodshed · 11 months

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Chapter 10 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

It's Cauldron Time!!

Spring swept in with bunches of blooming flowers and bursts of sunshine scattered with showers. Despite the warmth that the season brought with it, Nesta was cold. She felt as if she was constantly wading through icy water. Each breath sawed at her lungs.

It had been four nights since the queens had been in the lounge. Four nights of their damnation ringing in her ears.

They would all die.

Elain had taken solace in Graysen’s arms. From the guilty expression when Nesta had pressed her, Elain confessed that she had shared the details with Graysen about their meetings with the queens and she had mentioned faeries. It was another layer of panic that threatened to drown her.

‘And if his father finds out? If we’re labelled fae sympathisers?’

Elain wouldn’t hear of it. ‘We can stay on his estate. We will be safer there.’

‘Do you think iron walls can keep out the fae?’ Nesta’s body was clenched so tightly, it was miraculous that she hadn’t shattered into a thousand pieces. Her words came out gritted and harsh. ‘It does not matter how high we build our walls, faeries have wings. They will slaughter us all.’

Elain fled from the room crying and Nesta immediately felt guilty for throwing the truth at her.

The first two nights after their meeting had been agony. Nesta had not slept at all. It had brought on such a headache that her head pulsed with every breath. She knew she couldn’t continue this way.

By the fourth night, Nesta eased out a pained breath. Her body had been drawn so tightly for days, waiting for a plunge that hadn’t come. Noon and night, a faerie had appeared in their home expecting the answer to change. Nesta wished she could leave. The manor felt like the walls were closing in. I want safety, she wanted to say. Take me where I will be safe. Elain would not go. Her life was bound to Graysen’s. And so, Nesta would stay too.

No doors had been torn down. No windows smashed. No fence stampeded.

Nesta could afford one night of sleep without pacing or vomiting or worrying. Her body was desperate for a sleep that wasn’t punctuated with panic. She needed rest. Needed to sleep before she snapped again at Elain.

But a sleep, uninterrupted, allowed complacency.

Complacency led to regrets.

***

It was madness. Brilliant, but madness.

With the mating bond to Feyre still new, Rhys was at his most lethal and there couldn’t be a better time to try and catch Hybern unaware. It was risky. But at that moment, risk was all they had to try and stop an all-out war.

Feyre stepped forwards to kiss Rhys, to reassure him they’d all be fine.

Cassian bowed. ‘With my life, High Lord. I’ll protect her with my life.’

Next, Rhys’ violet gaze was on him. Azriel nodded then bowed his head. ‘With both of our lives.’

A spectre of the darkness, Azriel flew low over the dark water aiming for the wall of bone-white cliffs that rose ahead of them. Their tops were flat and grassy, leading to sloping, barren hills. An overwhelming sense of nothingness. Hybern was a bleak place. It always had been. Its land was watered with the blood of slaves who were not granted their freedom.

‘That’s his castle ahead,’ came Cassian’s rough voice, tightened by focus.

Around a bend in the coast, built into the cliffs and perched above the sea was a lean, crumbling castle of white stone. Spires clawed at the night sky. A few lights flickered in the windows and balconies. No patrols because they had timed their movements to the guard shifts. Azriel had spent every waking moment here rather than the mortal manner at Rhys’ behest. He had harvested as much intel as he could to prevent a war from spilling the blood of the sisters.

They landed at the open door where Mor stood in her own leathers. Her face was as white as the stone she stood beside. He swept past her to silently prowl into the hall ahead. Azriel knew the layout. Knew what he’d find. Mor had always hated this part of him; the soldier that could shut off his feelings and end lives like cutting threads. He cut down three guards before they had even noticed him. Shadows swarmed the others, blanketing their view until Truth-Teller was driven into their chests.

He emerged, blood staining the blade.

‘Guards are down.’

They penetrated deeper into the bowels of the castle, he and Cassian swinging like a pendulum as they took it in turns to lead the way and hack down any guards so the blood could soak both of their consciences. They would be the two who fell first. Mor had her orders – get Feyre out.

There it sat. The Cauldron.

It did not speak or sing, but it throbbed like a pulse, leaking magic.

Feyre placed her hands on it, speaking to it through her mind. Both portions of the book were placed beside it as she attempted to nullify its powers. Her legs were buckling beneath its power and Mor was ready to yank her away, winnow her back to Velaris.

‘Give her a moment,’ grunted Cassian, hazel eyes fixed on Feyre.

Too long. Too long she had spent stuck to the Cauldron. It would take and take until there was nothing left.

Noise sounded from the doorway as soldiers began to spill in.

Azriel tugged her away. She was gasping from the effects of the Cauldron. Blood trickled from Feyre’s nose.

Azriel shoved her behind him then lifted his bloodied blade ready to carve through soldiers like wheat.

Steps grew louder and a man swaggered down the steps. A human. A human who should have died five hundred years ago.

‘Stupid fool,’ he said softly.

‘Jurian.’

***

It only took one bang for Nesta to lurch out of sleep. She sucked in a breath, head whirling. Her pulse rang out in her ears as she fumbled for the lamp beside the bed.

Another bang.

Fuck the lamp.

Nesta bolted from the bed. Since finding comfort in Graysen’s arms, Elain had taken to sleeping in her own bed again, wanting distance from Nesta. She skidded out of her bedroom and yanked back the door.

Faeries were dead in the hallway. All bore the brown skin and tattoos that reminded her of Cassian and Azriel.

Five enormous men blocked the hallway. Not men, faeries. Their pointed ears were evidence of their kind. That, and the black eyes that promised cruelty.

Nesta shrieked.

They moved, stepping on corpses without a care. The one at the back had Elain gagged and pinned to his chest with one arm. In the other hand, he held a sword.

The one closest said, ‘Keep screaming like that and you will wake the whole village. We will bleed it dry if we must.’

Swords were trained on her.

This was a nightmare. The nightmare that had been haunting her since Feyre returned to their lives. And Nesta had imagined a thousand different outcomes. There were no soldiers coming to save them. No wings and shadows there to rescue her. She was a fool for hoping.

They would die.

***

Rhys had come, exchanged insults with Juran, but when they had tried to winnow, they found it impossible. Azriel felt as if he was stuck in tar. Even his shadows were sluggish, unable to pull themselves loose.

‘I was sent to distract you. – while he worked his spell.’ Jurian’s smile was sycophantic. ‘You won’t leave this castle unless he allows you to. Or in pieces.’

Azriel bent into a fighting stance, ready to move the second that Rhys’ magic gave the signal. But it didn’t come.

‘Then there’s that,’ Jurian said. ‘Didn’t you remember? Perhaps you forgot. It was a good thing I was there, awake for every moment, Rhysand. She stole his book of spells – to take your powers.’

This hadn’t been an ambush at all. It had all been a fucking trap.

Shoulder-length black hair, ruddy skin, and practical clothing met them at the top of a set of stairs. The King of Hybern’s black eyes burnt with hatred.

‘The trap was so easy, I’m honestly a bit disappointed you didn’t see it coming.’

They had to get out now. Had to fortify Velaris, spread a message to every court and get the-

Azriel’s blood ran cold. The mortal sisters.

They had left them entirely exposed. Rhys would pull back to Velaris and strengthen its walls. He’d not risk them going beyond the Wall to retrieve them now. A blind panic sluiced in Azriel’s lungs. He thought of Nesta Archeron with her quiet worry that she tended to alone, the rare soft smile that he had been blessed to witness.

It was fast. Too fast.

An ash bolt fired from a crossbow.

It hit Azriel squarely in the chest.

***

Like she was being pushed through a space that was too small, Nesta was gripped by a faerie and they moved through nothing. One moment, she was sobbing in the hallway as rough hands bound her wrists and then they were in a cold, stone castle.

Through her tears, she caught sight of Elain already magically transported to this place.

Four women stood in the room they were in.

‘Right on cue,’ the golden queen said. A pointed look to the guards, ‘Take them.’

They were exchanged from faeries to men, the grip remaining as brutal. Nesta would be bruised from it. She had been too numb, too afraid to even fight. Had just let them gag her and bind her while Elain hung limply in a man’s arms.

The gag chafed at her mouth and made her want to vomit. She could barely breathe through it. But that would be the least of their worries. If they were on the Continent with the queens, retribution would be had.

A wide door opened revealing another room. The four queens entered first, proud and tall.

Nesta could smell blood. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She bucked against the man who was holding her, the fear curdling in her stomach.

‘You will find, Feyre Archeron, that it is in your best interest to behave.’

They were dragged into the room in their nightgowns. It was filled with soldiers all wearing black leather. There were more that she did not know. A large, blond fae male stood with a red-haired fae with a brutal scar slashing down his face. There was a king of sorts wearing a silver crown on his black hair. A man too, with empty eyes. Her sister was there with the faeries she recognised.

Her eyes slid to Azriel, gripping his blade, propped up by his brothers’ arms as an arrow protruded from his chest. It was as thick as Nesta’s wrist, draining all colour from his brown cheeks. The shadows she had grown to enjoy were sluggish and slumped to the floor around his boots. It was his blood she could smell. His blood staining the floor.

Power, white and unending and hideous barrelled across the room.

Nesta screamed through her gag. Rhysand covered Feyre’s body. His shout of pain rang out. Cassian had thrown himself in front of Azriel who was already weakened. The former’s wings had flared open, taking the brunt of the power. They were shredded. Both males collapsed in a broken heap, ruined by magic.

‘Please refrain from getting any stupid ideas, Rhysand. If any of you interfere, the shadowsinger dies.’

Amidst the chaos, the king said, ‘Put the prettier one in first.’

Nesta started thrashing as Elain was hauled forwards towards the strange stone bowl in the centre of the room. Her cries were drowned out from the chaos in the room.

Why hadn’t they gone to Velaris?

Nobody was coming to save them.

Nesta writhed and bucked like a beast. She couldn’t let this happen to Elain.

Elain’s foot hit the water and she screamed through her gag.

Nesta would rip out her own heart before she let Elain be hurt. Her powerlessness made her burn with a fury that would tear through the universe.

Her sister was shoved into the water.

She did not come up.

Only Nesta’s howling filled the stunned silence. She was a broken animal. They had stolen two sisters from her.

‘Behold.’

The Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. Elain was thrown by a wave from it and landed face-down on the stone.

Her limbs were longer, skin ethereally pale. The queens pushed forwards, craning their necks to view her. Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown sheer. She rose from the ground, eyes catching Feyre’s. Pointed ears burst through her dark hair.

Horror blinded Nesta.

What had they done to her?

‘The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind,’ the king said.

Elain shivered on the floor. The scarred man broke free of the magic chaining him. ‘Don’t just leave her on the damned floor.’

Nesta was being forced to move. Her bare heels were skidding across the polished floor. Each struggle and resistance had her nightgown twisting and flashing more skin. But Nesta would not go easily. Not when she knew what a monster she would become.

They forced her into the water, as deep as her shoulders. She bucked even as the water sprayed, bound hands clawing at jerkins and faces, desperate to find purchase and haul herself out.

‘Put her under,’ hissed the king.

Too many hands were on her body, touching, pushing, forcing her down, down to her death.

#nezriel

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