#nera writes

[rainpebble3]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @thequeenofthewinter and for sharing your beautiful writing with us again 💖

Tagging: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @paraparadigm @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @blossom-adventures @frankensonnet @tallmatcha @gilgamish @snippetsrus @changelingsandothernonsense @rose-like-the-phoenix@archangelsunited @friend-of-giants @thelightofmorning and anyone else who wants to join in!

Here is my hastily typed offering :D fresh off the press and still to be edited/tidied!

Chapter 11

She made her way towards a bench beneath an opening. It was like a window but there was no glass, but strangely enough there was no wind coming through the opening, instead she had a perfect view of the statue of Azura. She stood high on the mountains, the clouds draping over her arms and the rising sun cast a comforting golden glow over her. Nera studied Azura, utterly transfixed.

“The Goddess of Dawn and Dusk,” someone muttered behind her. They sounded old and weary.

Nera whirled around with a gasp and met the exhausted eyes of another Dunmer. He wore different robes to anyone she had seen around the college, but they had just arrived the night before.

“I’m sorry?” she finally said.

The Dunmer pointed out of the glassless window. “The Lady Azura, she watches over the land.”

“Yes, she does,” Nera mumbled, following his finger. “Although she has her back to us.”

“Perhaps an intentional move?” the Dunmer asked with a smirk. “Or perhaps she moves when no one is watching.”

Nera, feeling oddly at ease with this stranger, laughed. “In that case there would be no way to prove if she is watching.”

“Isn’t that part of the whole wonderous joy of faith?” His voice took on a more sardonic note as he sat on a bench beneath the opening, with his own back to Azura. “You must be a new apprentice?”

Just like that, her ease vanished, and Nera tensed. “Um, yes, or at least I’m hoping to be.”

Something flashed across his eyes for a moment before he sat back, crossing his arms. “And what is your name?”

Nera nearly answered but she recalled Brelyna’s attitude towards Faralda. If she wanted to pass as her sister, she needed to be more like her. Despite wanting to back off, she crossed her own arms, meeting the Dunmer’s stare.

“And who are you?”

He grinned, showing shiny teeth that reflected the blue light of a nearby light fountain. “My apologies. We are meeting before I give my introductory lecture. You may address me as Master Aren, the Archmage of this college.”

Nera swallowed. She didn’t understand the structure of the college yet, but given his attitude, she assumed he was quite important. He continued to grin widely at her until she cleared her throat.

“I see. Well, Master Aren, I’m Nera Maryon, I came with my sister.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Maryon? Hmm, I thought they only had one daughter, Brelyna?”

[xbuster]

I will forever be an を = “o” in romaji truther. You will never catch me writing it as “wo.”

[episims]

Household: Knight

Uhh, so the last time... *soap opera tune plays*

Mel got contacted by the witches' council, who weren't happy over a certain scientist from Foxfire publishing a physics theory about magic. So Mel used her newly gained position as the editor of the local newspaper to expose the military funding behind Julian's theory, hoping that undermining his credibility is enough to get the council off her (and Julian's) back.

I can't emphasize enough how much losing Cloud's friendship over it hurts her, though. Cloud is pretty much the opposite of unforgiving but anything that threatens Julian (or Jonas) just might be where he draws the line.

Knowing none of the above, Luke chose a poor moment to get on Mel's nerves and got hexed for it. And then he got gaslighted to question the whole incident as that was one issue too much for Mel to handle at the moment.

Tbh I don't like Luke living here and neither does Mel, but we both know very well that he doesn't have any other place to move in. Especially as he seems to be eternally stuck with his career, sigh.

[frznkingdom]

[I need a thread where something bad happens to Gale so I can just write Nera being absolutely furious/distraught. I'm sorry but the urge for angst is strong again.]

[crowandmoonwriting]

WIP Intro

If I can't have love...

…I want power

☽✥♛✥☾ Genres ☽✥♛✥☾

high fantasy, LGBTQ+, adult

☽✥♛✥☾ Themes ☽✥♛✥☾

love, femininity, beauty, betrayal, revenge, gender expression, transgender experience in a medieval society (it works out well actually!), sexuality, motherhood, autonomy, political intrigue, family

☽✥♛✥☾ Synopsis ☽✥♛✥☾

Nera was never a princess, but she will become a Queen. 

In the lush countryside of the Heledd, Nera was an innocent. But soon the deadly games of Heledd’s great noble families bring her into darkness. She is trapped by her marriage to a handsome but wild nobleman, and party to his schemes. She is at the mercy of her mad and beautiful son, who would do anything to seize the crown. But behind closed doors, her battle for power, for independence, for freedom, and the love of a knight with a great secret, goes on, even as the fires of war threaten to consume her and all she loves.

☽✥♛✥☾ Setting and Playlist☽✥♛✥☾

The country of Heledd:

They say the South is the province of bastards, a nest of debauchery. But the South is the cradle of Men, and of all the lands of Men, Heledd is the most verdant, the most rich. Any Northerner who means to tarnish the face of Heledd will find that it is not so easy to tarnish gold. 

Here passes the common knowledge of the region: that Heledd is wealthy, that it is abundant in all manner of verdure, especially flowers and fruits, in precious metals and stones, in the most beautiful women and men in the Lands. Heledd is the birthplace of luxury.

Playlist featuring Karliene, Ramin Djawadi, Ensemble Galilei, Sonya Beloousova, Adrian Von Ziegler, Celestial Aeon Project and more!

☽✥♛✥☾ Main Playlist ☽✥♛✥☾

Love is a monstrous thing. And beauty is its sign and seal, stamped on his face as on her own, the mother of all her woes.

Featuring Halsey, Fleurie, Ruelle, Paris Paloma, Florence + The Machine, and more!

Tag list: ask to be added!

[tarnera-blog]

Writing has many phases.

There is the Honeymoon phase, where you are walking along minding your own business, and the idea for a story hits you like a bolt from the blue, and you think, "Ah! What a delightful concept for a short story. This won't take much time to write at all!"

(this phase rarely lasts long.)

There is the Spite phase, where you have decided that no one else's opinion matters, you are writing this story for yourself and people are lucky you even want to share it at all, but it is getting written come hell or high water, and if you have to fistfight every single one of the gods along the way, so be it, at least that will make this Wednesday interesting.

There is the phase where you sit at your desk, cackling over how you are a writing DEITY and your readers will adore and worship you. There is also the phase where you sit in your bed under a blanket eating junk food in the dark, seriously considering never writing another word and also wondering if you can somehow just destroy everything you ever published anywhere. These phases often happen on the same day, at differing intensities, in no particular order, sometimes in rapid succession.

There are phases where ideas and words flow like water bursting from a dam and it's all you can do to write them down before they vanish out of your reach. There are phases where you must sift through the dross to find hidden gems that will reveal the world you're trying to describe in the glints of light reflecting off their surfaces.

There's the phase where you want to write anything but your story (case in point). There's the phase where you want to write nothing but your story. These often happen simultaneously.

Sometimes you say, "I don't know what I'm doing!", either before or after you exclaim, "Aha! I have it!"

Writing a story is a process of going through these phases again and again, hoping that the end result is worth all the pain and effort.

Anyway, I'm currently in this phase:

[bateauivree]

Nicola Lagioia tomorrow at the public library doing a seminar called "La letteratura e il male" I'm gonna go and ask him why did he steal the title from my good friend George Bataille??? has he no imagination of his own (he probably doesn't)

[felineamphibian]

Kink Blot

(reposting for various reasons)

So I decided to write a whole fanfiction about my oc Rosie having sex with Phantom blot for first time. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope someone will appreciate it!

Words count: 7 203

Waking up in unknown room should be pretty scary. Especially when you know, that there is no reason, for you to wake up in any other place than your own bedroom. But when Rosie wake up, in unfamiliar room, she was calm. Probably because she noticed the man sitting in armchair nearby the bed she was in. With his long face and thin mustache, there is no way she would confuse him for anyone else. - Okay, why did you kidnap me this time? - She asked while yawning. The man’s attention was now focused on her getting up from bed. - You see – he made a dramatic pause. - I had to put an end to your evil deeds. - Rosie giggled, a little bit confused. - What? What crimes did I commit? - It was ridiculous to hear him accuse her of any wrongdoings. After all, he was the famous criminal mastermind, known as “The Phantom Blot”. He rose from his place to stand in front of Rosie, towering over her. He put his hand on her face to gently caress her white like snow cheek. - The abominable crime of hurting my dear Rose. You have been overworking yourself for the last two weeks! But you ignored all my letters, that were supposed to remind you to take care of yourself. That’s why I had to put matters in my own hands. - Oh, that’s why. - She softly jiggled, still a bit sleepy. - You know that I was fi- - No. No you weren’t, don’t lie to me. - He tiled her head to look her into her red eyes. - I know how much you care about your job, but that’s no excuse for neglecting your needs like that. Tell me, when was the last time you slept for 7 hours? - … Today actually! I think I even slept for more! - He rolled his eyes. - Yes but before that, you would go on mere 3 hours of sleep. And you know that’s not healthy, right? - He started to caress her hair, which make her relax a bit more. - Yeah, you right. I really did treated myself badly… I’m sorry. - I’m glad you understand. - He gave her a forehead kiss. - I will go make you breakfast, you can get dressed if you want to. -Thank you, but really, kidnapping is kinda an overkill, you know? - You should already know that doing things that are over the top is my specialty, dear. - And with that, he left her the bedroom.

After they had breakfast, the day was spent of making sure that Rosie was resting. She used that free time to do things like take a nice, long relaxing bath or stroll through the garden.

Turns out the place she was brought to was Blot’s home, which he used anytime he wasn’t scheming his evil plans. It was a very elegant mansion, not extraordinary big, but it still fit in Blot’s large collection of books and artworks. Rosie really liked it here and was pretty happy that he decided to bring her there. She felt like he was really opening up to her, sharing every part of him and not only his curated persona.

After a bit of exploration, they had lunch together and cuddled together on the sofa in the living room. Rosie was laying on top of Blot while he was caressing her pink, dyed hair.

- So… How long do you plan to keep me there? - She asked, while drawing circles on his chest.

- If I could I would keep here forever. But, I think a week should be enough for you to rest and back to your job.

- A week… Wow, we are going to have this whole week to only ourselves?! - They had knew each other for quite some time, but because of Phantom blot being a criminal and Rosie being a police intern, they couldn’t spent a lot of time together. Usually they would see each other a few times in a month – during either a secret date, or police confronting the Blot. They of course made every moment spent together count, but with a whole week, that meant they could whatever they wanted.

Seeing how enthusiastic was his beloved about this upcoming week, Blot smiled and replied

- Yes, we can do whatever you dreamed of, my little Rose.

- Anything, you say? - She gave it a thought. Even when they were cuddling right at this moment, she knew that she will want much, much more of his affection. And it struck her. There was something, she wanted to do with him, for a long time, but it couldn’t be done during their limited rendezvous. Her face turned red only thinking about it though. Can she really ask him for that?

Blot’s interest was visibly piqued, seeing his usually chatty lover go silent and red.

- What is it my dear? You seem like you have something on your mind. - She looked away, gathering up courage to share her idea.

- Well, the thing is. - She started, but then realized, it’s not something she can ask while laying. So she moved herself to be sitting on Blot’s lap, whose also has risen up into a sitting position.

- So. Em. We are lovers, right? - They both noticed, how awkward of a starter that was, but he didn’t commented on that and just nodded in reply.

- And we have been with each other for like, two years? So, I think that we could maybe consider, I mean, I want you to consider… Would like to make love to me? - She finally said the big question, after some trouble. Blot was visibly surprised by this question coming from his Rosie, but quickly his expression was changed into a tender smile.

- Of course, I wanted to hold you for long time… I wouldn’t expect you asking me for that. - Usually he was the one initiating physical affections of this kind.

- Well, I mean, I thought about it for some time, but I wanted to ask for that, when we will able to try that without any rush. And now, with us being here, at your home, when no one will bother us… Well, that seems like good opportunity to finally cross that line. - She sounded a little bit as she was rationalizing her request. Blot took a notice of that and stroked her head, to help her calm down.

- I see. Well, I agree, this is a perfect moment for it. - Rosie eased into his touch, snuggling up to his hand.

- So, can we try that tomorrow? I want to prepare myself… Mentally, before that happens.

- Of course, my little Rose. And I will do anything in my power, to make it the night of your dreams. - And he sealed that promise with a gentle kiss on the lips.

The day has come. Or rather the evening – during the day the lovers spend the time similarly to how they did yesterday, with an emphasis on rest for Rosie. But the atmosphere was definitely different that day. They touches longed just a bit more than usual and they both seemed to space out a little. Well, both of them were thinking about was their plans. It was making them excited, yet a bit nervous.

Rosie came out of the en suite bathroom, wearing a dark red off shoulder dress. It contrasted beautifully against her white fur. Her body smelled of roses and vanilla, thanks to cosmetics she used. While she was cleaning, and preparing herself, the bedroom was transformed into the most romantic place she ever seen. The tables were adorned with bouquets of fresh roses, the light was dim, but not too dark, and Blot was standing next to his record player, that was playing a familiar tune. He was wearing a black robe, which not only looked very good on him, but also seemed like a pretty practical choice of clothing, for what they were about to do. When he noticed her, coming out of the bathroom, he only thing he could do was just to stare at her with awe. She was so beautiful…

- That melody… I think I know it? - She commented, approaching both him and the player.

- You don’t remember? It’s the song to which we danced to at that charity ball.

- It was the same ball at which we kissed for the first time, right? - Rosie answered after a short pause, with a faint blush on her cheeks.

- The very same, my dear. - He extended his hand to her.

- Would you like to dance with me?

- O-oh, of course! - She answered, a bit flustered and put her hand in his.

Even with their height difference, the way they dances was graceful. Blot really outdid himself with preparations for this night. The way he was courting her was always very romantic, but today it made her feel a bit more emotional than usual. No one made her feel as special as he did. That’s why she wanted to have sex with him. She loved him, truly, and wanted to became as close to him, as she possibly could.

At some point of the dance, Blot dips Rosie and looks her, deep into her eyes.

- I love you. I love you so much, my little Rose.

- I love you too.

And with that, they lips connected in a kiss. It was gentle, but both of them felt the passion boiling in their veins. They both wanted it so badly, but Blot doesn’t want to rush it, for his beloved’s sake. After that kiss he brought her back up and went for an another one, this time at the corner of her mouth. He slowly moved his mouth, adoring her face, then neck, collarbone, and finishing with a kiss on her shoulder.

- I like this dress. It suits your greatly.

- Thank you, I’m glad you like it. - This was Rosie turn to kiss him, on forehead.

- Would you be okay if we moved to bed? I want to get you comfortable… - His voice got a bit quieter and much lower, which made Rosie feel butterflies in her stomach.

- Y-yeah, we can do that! - Blot lead her to the edge of the bed, where he sat down.

- Turn around. - Without any second thought, she did what he told her to do, and when she did, he pulled her into her lap.

- Are you comfortable? - He whispered, right into her ear, which twitched in response. Slowly Rosie’s face was becoming as red as her dress.

- Y-yes.

- Good. Remember, if you don’t like what I do, just tell me. - He reminded her and place a kiss on nape of her neck. His hands in meanwhile, which were still on her hips, were fondling her soft body. Just these touches made her let out a quiet whimper. He seemed like he was very experienced, when it came to pleasuring. She felt his hands move higher, closer to her chest. She was pretty endowed, up there, which usually was source of her problems, but in this situation… She felt glad that her breasts were on bigger side and she was hoping that he will like them. Blot’s hand moved higher, but stopped before touching her chest.

- May I- But before he finished his question, Rosie interrupted him by saying:

- Yes! Please, touch them. - Which immediately resulted in her embarrassment. Her lover chuckled at that reaction and as the same time he took her soft breasts into his hands he commented:

- I see you are very eager for my touch… That makes me very happy, my little Rose. - She moaned softly, probably as both reply for his words and his touch.

The way he caressed her was very gentle, but it still fueled her lust. When he saw that she was enjoying how he was touching her, he decided to proceed, by putting his hands into her dress, to touch her chest more directly. She squirmed in her place which resulted in her bottom brushing against Blot’s crotch. Her bashfulness and eagerness made her so alluring, like no other woman he had met. But he collected himself and concentrated to the matters that were literally in his hands. Even thought material of her bra, he felt her nipples hardening, which was a good sign. He put more emphasis on these hardened buds, which resulted in whimpers exacting from her mouth.

- Do you like it when I touch you like that? - He whispered into her ear.

- I-i think I do. It’s tickles a little, but in like a lewd way. - The rat girl answered, trying to explain what she was feeling. Being touched by someone, especially in that way, was something she wasn’t accustomed to. These sensations were foreign to her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it. It just made her nervous, but Blot knew how to keep his lover’s nerves at bay.

- Good. You are being so good for me. I’m so proud of you. - With every new word of praise that had fallen from his mouth, Rosie felt like she was melting more and more. She was turning into a putty in his hands. It seems like he succeed at easing her tension. He smiled to himself, proud for taking good care of her needs.

- How about we get you out of this dress? - He suggested, while his hands left her chest, to instead embrace her.

- Hm? Ah yes, that’s probably a good idea. - She replied after a short moment. Next she stood up and gathered her skirt, pull out her dress and took it off. Now she fully revealed her white as snow fur and lingerie she was wearing under. It was a red matching set with lace in a pattern of roses. It suited her perfectly in not only visual sense. Even with her bashful behavior, she looked very seductive right now. She looked behind her shoulder, to see Blot’s reaction to her undergarments. His eyes were intensively admiring the form before him, and lower half of his face was covered by his hand.

- Perfect. - He let out in a raspy voice. - You look perfect. - But before Rosie could react, maybe thank him for compliment, she felt his hand pulling her onto the bed. In mere seconds, she found herself laying under large frame of her lover’s body, who was looking at her like a hungry beast. It’s was scary… But also very arousing to her? But before she could think more about these contradictory feelings, their lips met again in a greedy kiss. It left her messy and out of breath. Only then Blot backed out a little, noticing that he lost his cool for a moment.

- I’m sorry my dear, I should be gentler with you… - He caressed her cheek, with back of his hand, staring at her with worry in his eyes.

- Aah… Ah, don’t be. I liked it. I like to see you lose control, you know? - She admitted, still trying to calm her breaths.

- I’m happy that underwear I picked out for today made you… Like this. - She added, with a small smile. That was all Blot needed.

- Yes… Usually you are the most beautiful woman in my life, but now… - He moved his hand from her cheek, down to her shoulder, to hook the bra strap with his finger.

- Your beauty is more akin… To a goddess. - This statement made Rosie’s face red.

- T-that a bit of overstatement, don’t you think? - She let out shyly.

- No. I truly it mean it when I say that, Rosie. - His gaze went up, to look her into her eyes.

Now his words really got to her. She didn’t knew how to react, to that kind of compliment, so she just looked to the side, covering her mouth with back of her hand. Blot smirked, proud that this time, she did not denied his compliment. His hand moved again, tracing her curves softly and it stopped on top of her mound. She shuddered a bit, feeling his touch oh so close to her sensitive parts. She looked up to him and their gaze met. This moment lasted for a few seconds, before his fingers dipped lower, into her covered front. Rosie let out a quiet gasp, but keep her eyes fixed on her lover. His fingers circled gently until he felt her clitoris thought the fabric. That earned him an another reaction in form of a squeak. She was really so, so sensitive… He fondled her earnestly but still tenderly. But then unexpectedly, he heard a plead, falling from her mouth.

- More. Touch me more. - It seemed that even with her being inexperienced and very shy, she still was very straightforward about her wants.

- As you wish, my dear. - He replied to her and then proceeded to slide off her panties with both of his hands.

Finally, her most precious part was fully revealed in all of it’s glory. Her vagina was small, or rather it looked small for Blot, who was almost twice as tall as his lover. It was covered with white fur, just like rest of her body, giving it a very cute, fluffy look. By just looking at it, he was able to tell, that Rosie was truly aroused, with her genitals swollen and glistening with moisture. He licked his lips. His instincts were screaming at him to take a good smell of her by burying his face down there. But he restrained himself – he knew that would be embarrassing or scary for her, if he did that. He did inhale deeply, taking in how deliciously she smelled. She doesn’t need to know the reason behind his deep breaths. He settled between her legs and his hand returned to pleasuring her cute little pussy.

- … Do you like it? - Rosie asked looking shyly at her lover. Blot gave her a puzzling look, not quite sure if he understood her question. Having explain herself definitely made her even more flustered, but she added:

- Do you like my vagina? Is it up your standards? - He couldn’t help himself and he chuckled at this question. His rat lover however took an offense to that, that’s why he replied to her, right away he stopped laughing.

- Of course, I love it Rosie. I adore every part of you. But I must admit it… That’s it’s really something else. - His gaze returned to her hole and he started to push one of his finger in, slowly.

- It looks so tiny… I need to prepare you plenty, before I can properly make love to you. - His finger fully sunk in inside of her, making her let out a quiet moan.

- So tight… - He groaned, feeling how snug and hot her insides were. If he wasn’t a patient man, he would just pull out his member and invade her right now. But he wasn’t going to do that, he wants to give her all of the pleasure she simply deserved to experience. That’s why he continued to penetrate her insides with his finger, gently stretching her out. She relaxed into his touch, clearly enjoying it. He also took notice of her caressing one of her breasts through the laced material of her bra. The view was simply divine. If he wasn’t already absolutely smitten with her, he would probably fall for her at this moment. With her taking his one finger so well, he decided it was time to add one more. This time it was harder for her to fit it, so he also started to touch her sensitive bud, to help her relax her tight entrance. When she finally managed to take both of his fingers in, he praised her in low voice.

- Good girl. You are taking me so well. - The only answer that Rosie gave him was a whine, but he knew that she enjoyed it. Especially judging by how desperately she tugged on her nipple, which was pretty to hard to do with her bra still on.

- Can you take it off? - He asked, seeing her struggle.

- I-i think I could. Give me a moment. But don’t stop, please. - And with that she rose to a sitting position, while Blot was still working on her pussy. She grabbed her bra from behind, unhooked it and finally took it off, letting her hefty breasts spill out. They were beautiful, just like the rest of her body and her lover wished that he could shower them in love right now, but he had much more important on his hands. He couldn’t put his hands on them, but Rosie could, and she did that right away, gently pinching her nipples and letting out a symphony of moans. Her eyes were all hazy with the pleasure she was experiencing, it looked like she could come undone in any second, but that didn’t put a stop to Blot’s actions. On the contrary, he added another finger in, stretching her insides even further. That made Rosie moan in a bit different way, however, she didn’t voiced any objections, so he continued on. His right hand was caressing her clitoris in circle pattern and his left hand was pumping his fingers inside of her, scissoring her open. His always furrowed brows were even more wrinkled up, he was solely concentrating on his lover and on her pleasure. Nothing else mattered in this moment. At some point, Rosie moans became more similar to cries and she let out in shaky voice.

- I-i’m close… - That made the dog man perk up.

- Do you want to come now?

- N-no! - And right away she said that, he put a stop to his maneuvers, but still left his fingers inside of her. After a short pause, in which Rosie did her best to collect her thoughts, she added:

- I want to come when you are inside me… Please.

- Of course. As you wish. - He answered and gave a tender kiss to her forehead. He pulled out his fingers from her inside, leaving her empty, but not for long.

- I’m glad you want to come like that. I believe it was hard for you to resist the temptation of reaching orgasm right away.

- Yeah, very hard, I would say. - Her gaze lowered, noticing a certain outline on Blot’s robe.

- You have been taking care of me since the beginning. It’s my turn now. - And with that she reached her hand, to caress him though the black silky cloth. It made Blot let out a low groan, which aroused her even more.

- It’s a pleasure to take a care of you, my little Rose. But I won’t deny you. I’m all yours. - And after he said that, he took off his robe, showing off his naked form. His body was lean, but slightly muscular and his chest and arms were adorned with black hair. But definitely the part of his anatomy that stood out the most, at least in Rosie’s eyes, at that moment what his member. It was large and dark red in color. But most importantly – he had a knot. Which was to be expected, as he was a dog, but Rosie totally forgot, about this fact. She swallowed noticeably and rose to sitting position, so she could get close to his erected manhood.

- Y-you are pretty big. - She commented and took him in her hand, getting used to this new sensation.

- Actually, I’m medium sized, but I’m aware that I might seem large compared to you. - He was observing her, getting used to his member with curious gaze.

- Are you scared? - He asked.

- … A bit. I never had a lover with a knot. - While she answered that, she started to pump his length.

- If I remember well, when a dog have sex, it will result in knotting, right? So you will put all of it inside of me... - She bit her lower lip.

- Yes and after I reach orgasm, my knot will swell up in a way that I won’t be able to pull out. It can last from twenty minutes, to even a half of hour… Rosie, listen, we don’t have to do it today, I can just pull out before I come.

- No! - She suddenly exclaimed, but then lowered her voice and explained herself.

- No, I want you to knot me. I know that it might be uncomfortable… But I really want to feel truly connected to you. - She looked up to him with her large eyes. How could he say no, to these beautiful crimson eyes. He just furrowed his brows and let out a sign.

- I see. Well, I can’t deny your wishes, especially when you look at me like that. - He put his hand on her cheek, caressing it gently. She snuggled up to him, still with her hand on his member.

- Eheh, thank you. - She released his length from her embrace and lied on her back.

- Let me ask you that again. My dearest Phantom blot, could you do this honour and make love to me? - And after she said that, she reached her arms to him, invitingly. After a short pause, during which he was looking at her, speechless, he let out a menacing chuckle.

- With pleasure. - And with that, he grabbed her waist, to line her entrance with his erect manhood. That of course made his small lover let out a squeak, surprised by that sudden movement, but then her expression changed, looking intensely at their genitals, touching together. “It’s like he’s kissing my entrance, with his penis...” She thought to herself, while Blot grabbed his member to aim it directly at her hole. And then he pushed, slowly but steady. He might be “medium sized” like he pointed out earlier, but compared to Rosie’s tiny pussy, he seemed gigantic. But despise that, she doing a very good job at taking him. At some point, she squinted her eyes, feeling a sting of pain. This wasn’t overlooked by her lover, so immediately put his hand at her clitoris and started to gently rub it, pleasure soon overtaking the pain. She let out a relief sigh, signaling that his actions were not in vain.

- Almost there… - A whisper was heard, falling from Blot’s mouth. Soon after that his length was fully inside. He let out a low groan, feeling how tight and hot it was inside. If he doesn’t want to finish too early, he got to focus.

- Is it all in? - Rosie asked, with a breathy voice. Her expression seemed like she was uncomfortable, but one look into her eyes was enough to notice her lust burning within.

- Yes. - He answered and then reached to caress her cheek. - You did great my little Rose. I’m so proud of how well you are taking me in. - Her eyes flattered shut and her body relaxed after hearing these praises. Blot really knew what words to pick to make her melt.

- Thank you… It hurts a little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Please, touch me again, it makes me feel so good! - That last bit sounded a bit needy, but that made it even more arousing for Blot. To see his lover being so overwhelmed with pleasure, so out of her element, that it reduced her to this whiny and needy mess. Is there a more beautiful sight than this? He didn’t think so.

- Good girl. I will give you all of the pleasure that you yearn for. You earned it. - He got back to pleasuring outside of her genitals, just like she so nicely asked him too. Just a bit of touch was enough to get her to moan and spread her legs even wider.

- I will move now, alright? - He asked and she only replied by nodding her head. It was hard for her to think, left alone talking. Only after making sure, that she was okay with that, he started to pull out his length slowly. She was so tight, that it would be difficult to pull out it any faster, if he wanted to. Her grip was so strong, like her pussy didn’t wanted to let him go. So cute. After he withdrew almost his member fully, he started to again, push it in, this time going much more smoother. His moves were slow, gentle but very deep. It seemed like Rosie was steadily getting used to the size of his member, judging on her expressions and sounds. Her brows stopped being furrowed and she became much more vocal, letting out long whines, every time he moved inside.

- You are enjoying, aren’t you? - A silence between them was broken by this rhetorical question. It didn’t sounded like he was reassuring her, oh no, his tone was mocking.

- You are such a dirty little girl. You lay there, brain empty because of what I’m doing to your body. Just a bit of touching and all your reason seem to leave your head. Pathetic! … But that’s what it makes so enjoyable to fuck you my dear. Yes, there’s no other sight more beautiful than you destroyed by me! - And with that he picked up the pace, filling room with sounds of their bodies slapping together.

Rosie was taken aback by this dirty talk, but like Blot pointed out – her mind was too hazy to care or react, so she just took that in, maybe enjoying this degradation a little. She was ready to surrender all of herself to the pleasure, her hands returned to her breasts to tease her nipples. Her peak was rebuilding herself, but this time it felt different. Was it because her inside were filled to a brim with a hot member inside of fingers? Or was it because she denied herself that orgasm, prolonging her pleasure? It be even something else, that wasn’t important now. Now the thing that matter to Rosie the most was to reach orgasm while her lover was thoroughly making love to her.

- G-gosh, ah! I think I-i’m close… - She managed to get out with a shaky voice. A dangerous glint appeared in Blot’s eyes.

- Oh, are you now? - And he reached his hand to grab her by her jaw.

- If you want to come, you have to work for it. Beg for it and I, your master, will make that happened. - Again, that made Rosie strangely more aroused, even when she was a bit startled. It seemed like, everytime Blot showed his sadistic side, it scared her, but also fascinated. Her hobbies might have something to do with that thought… At first she didn’t knew what to do and was staring at him, like a deer in headlights. That annoyed him and he showed that annoyance by stopping pleasuring her with his hand. That made her understood the gravity of this situation.

- Please! I beg you, my master, don’t stop! I need it so bad, please make me come! - Dog man smirked sadistically, very pleased with her pleads.

- Good girl. - And with that, not only he returned his hand to her needy pussy, he also picked up the pace, slamming into her with all his strength. The sudden rush of pleasure overtook Rosie, making her tilt her head backwards and let out a scream. It was unbelievable how good all of theses stimuli felt. She was feeling the orgasm coming, with her whole body tensing up and her mind going blank.

- Thankyouthankyou, THANK YOU! Aaah! I’m coming!! - These were the last words she let out before she felt the peak engulf her body. She arched her back and then collapsed back on the bed. She never had come this hard before. Even Blot looked taken aback by her reactions, but also found it incredible difficult to concentrate, with her tight hole convulsing around him. He ceased his movement, to not overstimulate her any further. But her lack showing lack of any signs of being conscious made him worry. He moved his hand, from her jaw to cup her cheek.

- … Are you alright, my dear? - He asked with a concern in his voice. It took Rosie a moment, to register what was happening, she reached for his hand that was caressing her face and gave it a weak squeeze.

- Y-yes. I’m- She let out a squeak, still feeling the waves of pleasure from her orgasm. - I-i’m okay. It felt really, really good. - Hearing that from her made him smile a little, relieved.

- That’s good to hear. I hope you will forgive me for my remarks during the deed. It was difficult to control my urges, seeing how alluring you can be. - Rosie let out a small, embarrassed chuckle hearing Blot’s flattery. He was such a flirt sometimes… Or rather, most of the times, when he was with her.

- Actually… I don’t mind it? I don’t know what it is about me, but hearing you say such things was really a turn on for me. - He looked surprised by this answer, but then quickly his expression turned into a smug grin.

- Oh, I think I know why you might feel this way… But let’s discuss that another time. Now, excuse my impatience, but I don’t think I can stay like this any longer. Can I proceed? - Oh right, Rosie was so far the only one to reach her peak. She was still collecting herself from that experience, but felt like she was ready to take in more pounding – if it meant that her lover can also reach his peak. She nodded her head and answered.

- Yes, I can handle it. - She reassured.

- Of course you can. Such a good girl you are, my little Rose. - He grabbed her face with both of his hands and gave her a forehead kiss. Then he embraced her to raise them both to a position in which Rosie was straddling him. It was an even more intimate position, compared to the one they were just in – she felt so loved and safe in this embrace. She snuggled up to his chest, while he put his hands on her hips. He ever so gently bounced her on his member.

It was evident that he was being extra careful with her, after she orgasmed. She said she was fine, but he had his doubts about it. Rosie sometimes would avoid expressing her concerns to him, perhaps because she was used to being told that she is overeating or that she shouldn’t be upset in first place. That’s why he put so much effort into taking care of her – afraid that if he wouldn’t do it, no one will.

-How are you feeling now? - Blot asked after some time of very tender and slow love making.

- Mmmm, good. - She murmured out while still snuggling up to him, while looking absolutely relaxed. He chuckled at her answer and run his hand through her hair.

- I’m glad. Are you ready for me to pick up the pace? - When asking that, he lowered his voice a little, but that went unnoticed by Rosie.

- Yeah sure, go ahead. - And he did.

In blink of an eye, he flipped her over back to laying, but this time he positioned them in such way, that he was towering over her and her legs were lifted, giving him a better access to her hole. This turn of events made her let out a squeak, but soon the only noise that was let out from her mouth were pants and moans. After her lover received consent to go a bit harder, he decided to use all of his strength to pound her in this mating press position. She felt him reaching so deep into her, like no one ever did. Blot meanwhile was very much enjoying himself, which could be easily seen in his pleased expression.

- Ahhh… Your hole is simply delightful my dear. So tight, but still you can take me so well. Such a good, yet naughty girl. - He praised her between his own pants. He reached his hands to grab Rosie’s ankles, keeping her legs up. And then he let out a truly carnal groan.

-I’m going to come, you better be ready, because when I start, there’s no stopping me. - That really sounded like a threat. His pounding got even harder and that was then she felt it. Something large entering inside her already overcrowded pussy. It was finally happening. He put his knot inside of her and was about to fill her with seed.

- Y-yesh, please, come inside! - She managed to let out, with many moans interrupting her.

And that pushed him straight to the edge, making him reach his peak with an another groan. Insides of a petite rat girl were beginning to fill with his seed and his enlarged member plugged her hole, so that none of his seed would spill out. They stayed like this for a moment, quiet, except from their heavy breaths. Rosie felt him letting go of her legs, to instead embrace her. He yet again picked her up, but this time he laid on his back, letting her rest on his chest. It was definitely a much more comfortable position to stay in, especially if they were really going to stay connected like that for half an hour.

- I hope that wasn’t too much for you, my dear. - Blot said, while caressing her head. Ah, the duality of this man. One second he was a full on sadist, pounding at her like there was no tomorrow and then next second he’s the most tender gentleman she ever met. But Rosie did kinda like this about him.

- I don’t think so? I got a bit spooked when you flipped me, but it felt good when you pounded me so hard. Thought, I think I might be sore after it. - He let out a chuckle hearing that feedback from her and replied:

- I’m glad that you liked it after all. And don’t worry, I will prepare a bath for you and I have ointments you can use to help with your your pain.

-Wow, you really prepared yourself for this. - This was her turn to let out a giggle.

- Of course. It was my priority to make this as pleasurable and comfortable for you.

- But you also enjoyed it, right? - It might be a silly question, but it was typical of her to second guess matters like this. She had so many doubts about her being “good enough” or being a “bother”.

- I thought me losing my composure made it clear that I greatly enjoyed making love to you.

- … I guess you have a point there. - She let out a nervous giggle. But was still thankful, that he still confirmed that. She knows that people can get annoyed when someone seeks validation often, like she does, but Blot was very patient with her, comforting her anytime she expressed the need for it.

After that exchange, they reminded quiet. It was comfortable silence thought. They could just relish in the feeling of being so close to one another – there’s no getting closer than being literally bounded by their genitals, laying naked chest to chest. Even the tempo of their breathing synchronized, making them feel like they truly became one. And that made both of them feel so happy, that they could be together.

After that first time came many more, Rosie’s libido wasn’t usually very high, but something switched with her after that. During that week they had a long session of exploring how to pleasure each other with their mouths – Blot taking great pleasure in licking and smelling his beloved genitals and Rosie found out that with her having no gag reflex, it was possible for her to fit his whole member inside. They also did other things, not only the lewd acts – watched movies, cooked together. So neither of them was looking forward to that week ending. Yet a rat girl couldn’t stay in this paradise of the place forever. But when she was returned to her apartment, she found out what was happening at her work place during her absence.

Turns out that when Phantom blot kidnapped Rosie, he sent a ransom demand letter to police station, stating that he will release their intern only after they pay him a very high price. The only response he got back was “We won’t negotiate with terrorist!”. One of policeman pointed out thought “Wait, does this rule include kidnappers?”, to which Detective Casey clarified that this response was part of negotiation. “You lost me there” replied the constable, writing the response letter.

But even with Police doing nothing with that case, Rosie was released with her kidnapper claiming that someone else paid the ransom. “It looks like someone cared about the safety of this innocent girl, more than the whole police station did.” he pointed out in a letter that was sent right after the rat intern was released.

Everyone was relieved that she was safe after all, but were a bit concerned about how well she seemed to be doing. It looked like she was in better state of both mind and body, compared to how she was before the kidnapping.

“I was treated very well by my abductor!” She claimed, when someone pointed that out.

“That’s that Swedish decease I saw in kidnapped people many times!” Chief O’Hara let out in revelation.

“… You mean Stockholm syndrome?” Rosie corrected, cringing a little bit at calling this psychological phenomenon a “decease”.

“Yes, I remember it being called like that! What I’m trying to say here Rosie is that I think you should take a break. How about you take a week off and talk with psychologist about your abduction?” The irony of her boss only now deciding to grant her vacation, after she was kidnapped because she was being overworked. She thought about saying something, explaining yourself, but decided to sigh and answer him with:

“Thank you Chief, and I will.”

[saviorfoxowlis]

N:Era: Where We Lie Part 3: Bio Met Tricks

Special Thanks to @KIERAL for assisting with the Pet Names and translation of Sausage.

Special Thanks to Reality TV for helping people believe in lie detectors to the present day. You're sure spreading some reality alright.

Part 3: Bio Met Tricks

The four scavenged up one of the lie detectors they bought and hooked Cyras with cables and wires, like a meatball in spaghetti. Rosod administered the test.

"Lie detecting magic is usually very unstable because the truth is not measurable or quantifiable. If I am correct, when he said biometrics, these tests account for heartbeats and sweat as measures of truth. Since you're a borderline psychopath, I'm sure you'll cheat this easily. I will ask you a question and you must tell the truth.

"I have no idea what a Psychopath is, but okay." She figured that must be something positive.

Rosod said, "Is your name Cyras?"

"Yes."

Rosod nodded. "For this next one, you should lie. The color of the sky is..."

"Purple," Cyras said.

"The graphs remain the same."

They attempted again, except with Ahmond. "Being a more nervous test subject, I suppose you'll be a bit different. So Ahmond, tell me the truth, what color is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Now tell me, while lying, the color of your house."

"Yellow."

Slight spikes in the graph.

"Now, Ahmond, tell me if any of the stories you've about Owlis threatening you are true."

"Yes."

"Huh, says this is true."

Lilu said, "Now we know that machine is fake because obviously Ahmond was making that entire story up! I doubt Owlis has enough time in her day she can make marketable plush figures and beat them on a regular basis."

Ahmond pouted. "I'm telling the truth."

Each one went in a row. Rosod performed meditation, which beat the results because she kept her heart rate at a natural rhythm. Lilu didn't even touch the machine at all, and finally, Cyras went one more time.

"Okay, Cyras," Rosod said, "Tell me your last name."

"Sumhyr."

A yellow and black coywolf walked into the shop. Vanos. Cyras' pupils narrowed while she fixated on the slender figure as a faint beeping went off.

"The lie detector test determined that was a lie," Rosod said, raising a brow. "And also a major spike in amounts of sweat and heart rate."

Ahmond jealously growled.

Cyras said, "Oh I didn't know you would be here, Vanos."

"And caught lying again," Rosod said as she got the readings.

Vanos explained, "I'm afraid I can't be here for my shift, so Ahmond, I'll need you to handle the lunch rush. The ice cream delivery got snowed in. Emergency situation."

"Ironic that ice cream is getting snowed in," Cyras said. "Tell me more."

Vanos said, "Um... Such as?"

"Such as Cyras will be coming with me." Ahmond bit the fox by the nape and dragged her away behind the counter.

Lilu said, "No matter what you hear, Lie Detectors are bogus. We just tested them."

"I sincerely doubt a few girls testing in the privacy of an ice cream shop is a perfect indictment," Vanos said, rolling his eyes before patting her on the head. "Listen, at the police prisons and everything, they have great testing, you simply must use the machine accurately."

Vanos walked off. "Make sure you handle yourself well, sosisochka."

"Now you know why I was never attracted to him," Lilu said.

"Yeah, that's one reason." Rosod put the machine back in the box.

"What's sosisochka?" Cyras asked.

"Sausage," Ahmond said.

Lilu exploded with laughter, her bellowing humor fit disturbing the other girls. "Seriously, I thought that was some way of saying 'sister’, but he was always calling you a little sausage this entire time!?"

Ahmond folded her ears against her head.

Cyras glared at Lilu, before getting back to the important matters. "We should prevent these from spreading any further and cut down on their influence."

Rosod said, "Good luck with that. They're already being implemented in our facilities, and by now, every ordinary citizen is investing in one."

"We'll spread the word at the source," Cyras said. "Part of the reason they believe in them might be because I approved of them. People could get hurt."

Lilu said, "My mom is ordering them in every prison in Sandrun. We'll convince her first. Both of you, with me, N:Era mission: Stop the liars."

With that arrangement, Team N:Era set out so they could yell at people.

Rosod sat alone. "Yeah, I'll just sit here and watch your shop Ahmond." She mimicked the Coywolf's breathy and mumbly voice. "'Oh no, Rosod, I'd rather you leave because you actually have a life’.''Oh really, but who will look after your shop Ahmond?''I think I will since that's my job which I am ditching because I can't think for myself.'

"I gotta say that Ahmond is such a nice girl, I should bail her out. My parents are wealthy. I'll tell them I need a little bit of money for a school field trip, that way they'll give me money, and I can give that money to Ahmond. And if she doesn't pay me back, then I get to hold her prisoner."

Rosod saw a camera and realized she was caught talking with herself on film.

***

Cyras shouted at random passers-by: "Stop believing in lie detectors."

As always, everyone parted way from the screaming woman. One Crimson woman even pulled away at her child and told him, "No Petun, she probably bites."

"Good going, Cyras," Lilu said, as they got further towards the palace.

Cyras was still impressed by sandstone, millions of grains of sand compacted together. In a way, this structure was more clever than Owlis'.

They made their way through the palace halls, however, Cyras noticed one guard was giving her a glare. "Who's that?" she muttered.

Cyras flashed back to the first time she entered the palace, when she chained a guard outside in between stones, even trapping his muzzle. Lilu later told her how desert nights were stunningly freezing.

"His name is Karv," Lilu said, "He did not forget you."

Ahmond said, "Yet you wonder how Owlis can hold a grudge against me."

"Yeah," Lilu admitted. "I'm still upset you called me fat." They turned a corner towards the eastern wing of the palace, past white and gold tapestries.

"You laughed at Sosiska."

"Well pudgy puppy," Lilu said, "maybe when Owlis smacks you, the paddle will just bounce off."

"Not funny!" Ahmond whined.

As they reached the throne room, the sound of a screaming middle-aged woman filled the chamber. "I don't want my guests thinking we don't care about proper order here, so when I look around, there are no mints on pillows, I get so angry. Everyone will think we're a set of uncivilized, uncouth, Wilders-Oh, Cyras."

Cyras gave a half-lidded look.

Lilu said, "Mom, lie detectors aren't good, and we all tested them out. They're highly inaccurate."

Jazmyn narrowed her eyes. "I find that fascinating. So you wouldn't care if you took a test and I asked you a few questions."

"Actually, I do care."

"I don't see what the problem is or what you're gonna hide from me unless you have something you don't want me knowing about."

"I do."

"Is this something like 'I plan on usurping my mother for the throne'?" Jazmyn asked with a faint smile, her eyebrows lowered.

"No."

She giggled, her smile trying to be convincing, but the skin was so taut and stressed she was clearly being aggressive and dominant. "Then I don't see why you can't tell me."

Lilu froze, glanced at Cyras, off-put. Assuring her, the apparent troublemaker at the helm said, "I'll test them first, then Lilu can test them."

"Fair enough."

A few minutes later, Cyras was in the dungeon, hooked up.

Jazmyn said, "Here's my first question, how about you tell me what my daughter talks about when I'm not with her."

Cyras glared and said, "My next sentence is true. My last sentence was false."

The machine blew up.

Jazmyn hacked in the smoke as Lilu guided them towards a door. Inside, was a hallway within the walls.

Ahmond said, "I've never been here before."

Lilu said, "This is the servant's hallways. There are all these secret corridors so they can move around without Mom ever having to see them."

Ahmond muttered, "This is how she sees the lower class." Most of the walls were carpeted instead of being brick, that way Jazmyn couldn't hear anyone either.

Cyras said, "Great, Jazmyn and Vanos are stubborn and under the spell, and for all we know, so is Owlis."

"No, she'll listen," Ahmond said. "I was picked as the first member of Team N:Era for a reason, and if she hears this from me, she'll trust me."

Cyras stared into her eyes. "I'll protect you, please, believe me."

As Ahmond stared into Cyras' blue eyes, the coywolf's brows flickered. "Okay."

***

At Lavandar, the capital of Wysdom, they came upon the garden of the Empress. This time, Cyras took a potato.

"Owlis pronounces these Poh-Tah-toe, but I call them Poh-Tay-Toe because I like that better," Cyras said. In the Wilds, she didn't see many vegetables, much less poh-tay-toes and care-rots.

"I thought the name was Poh-tuh-toe," Ahmond admitted, earning a weird look from Lilu. "We didn't have them on Ralax Islands, and I only found out when I moved out here."

Lilu said, "Please tell me what you think fries are made out of."

They went in through the back door, walked up the stairs, up towards the balcony. Acrophobic Ahmond clung by the shoulder of Cyras, as they went towards Owlis' room.

Lilu knocked three times gently. As Owlis opened the door, Cyras pounced at the Empress, who returned the gesture by flipping Cyras over onto her tailbone.

The sequence repeated, with Cyras dropping on her back and bucking at Owlis, but Owlis slapped her feet, then headbutted her punch. Finally, Cyras charged again, but Owlis scooped her arm underneath the shoulder and arm dragged her to the floor.

"This is not working in your favor," Owlis told her, shaking her head.

"I can be way faster than you and you know that," she told the older fox.

"Lightning beats fire in speed, so I highly doubt that," Owlis said. "I do grant you're getting almost slightly better." She kissed Cyras on the forehead. "Oh, may I ask why the company?"

Lilu said, "We have some news Your Imperial Majesty, turns out Lie detectors are totally whack."

Owlis narrowed her eyes.

Ahmond told her, "Miss Imperial Highness Owlis, we tested them ourselves and know for sure they are garbage."

With a flick of her tail, the Empress said, "I've had my suspicions, and over my 6000 years I've never met a device quite like them, nor do I believe in them. My vulnerable yet dependable subject, I trust you."

"So you can shut them down?" Cyras asked.

"Oh Celestial Heavens no. If someone is planning on selling snake oil and others are buying this up thinking this will cure their cancer, that's not anything I can really influence, outside of introducing new laws, and that's really a process. If I was able to stop everyone here from doing stupid things, we wouldn't have annexed Sandrun."

Cyras' face fell. "I thought you had absolute power. I thought you were the Alpha!"

"You're the only one who says Alpha actually."

"People are getting scammed," Cyras said.

"I can only make sure that people aren't employing the product in the judicial systems but if this is advertised as a toy for fun then there's nothing I can do. You'll need some hard evidence."

"I'll get information from Rosod," Ahmond said.

"Will you also get money?" Owlis asked.

No response. Lilu and Cyras sighed at the sudden void where Ahmond was.

***

Rosod sat at her desk, one with only a lone light, the drapes pulled in, the television on in the background. She sat upright, cracked her knuckles on one fist with her thumb.

With a phone against her shoulder, she said, "Hey, Scarla, lemme tell you something. Those lie detectors are total shams."

As she did this, she dipped a feather in some ink and began writing on a blank piece of paper. Another slip sat beside, a field trip permission form she kept but she never attended the event because of... personal reasons. Regardless, this reference served her while she duplicated the letters.

"I think this should serve as a perfect replicate."

A news anchor Crimson came on her television. "And in today's news, we've heard about how one company has used the lie detector to figure out about snitches and spies. In fact, popular mascot for Pengin's Pizza Chain, a Twayt named Pengin, was found out as a spy. So the owner of the company had her tarred, feathered, and beheaded."

The news program showed several employees forcibly ripping the costume's head off of a dire wolf before they began throwing tar on the costume. And then they threw the costume's own feathers on top.

Rosod said, "Oh, that's not great."

[thyln4gf]

Light me up

✞ You, a well known rockstar. Your boyfriend, the golden boy of F1. Its a constant "battle" of "who's gonna have more of their fans turn to the 'other side?'"

✞ I have synesthesia! Here's 5 songs that I associate with this fic: "Light me up" - The Pretty Reckless, "Scarlet cross" - Black Veil Brides, "Scars" - Papa Roach, "honey (are u coming?)" & "baby said" - Måneskin.

✞ Warnings: Suggestive comments and pictures, fluffy relationship shite, cursing, google translate (italian). SMAU.

✞ Charles x rockstar!reader

✞ Face Claim - Taylor Momsen (The Pretty Reckless)

theprettyreckless

liked by yourusername, markdamonbass, charles_leclerc and others !

theprettyreckless: AND THAT'S A WRAP! Thank you, Montreal, for being so welcoming. Three cheers for this sweet, sweet tour. And to many more in the future. À la prochaine, mes chéris.

tagged; yourusername, markdamonbass, oneguitartorulethemall, cptncvmn

yourusername: LETSFUCKINGGOOOO

yourbsf1: you were crying about this to me on facetime for half an hour. Then while picking the photos for the post. Then writing the caption.

yourusername: exposing me? Just like that? Bro... :(

yourbsf1: L

yourbsf2: #exposingy/nera

username1: I CAN SEE MY HAND!!! #famousera

username2: y/n's mic stand wasn't the only thing whose straightness has been broken tonight (liked by yourusername)

username3: yo... leclerc in the likes👀

username4: holy shit??? You're right

username6: calm down, y/n is friends with Damiano. Charles probably just likes her band too!

username5: who the hell is leclerc???

username7: what rock have all of you been living under? They have been together for years.

damianodavid: onorato che tu ci abbia portato in tour con te! Un sacco d'amore❤️(liked by yourusername, theprettyreckless, maneskinofficial)

yourusername: Grazie🫶

carlossainz55: 🖤 (liked by yourusername)

username8: ariana... what are you doing here??

username9: what the fuck

username10: Charles got too nervous and asked Carlos to comment something methinks (liked by carlossainz55, yourusername)

yourusername

liked by yourbsf1, danielricciardo, vicdeangelis and others !

yourusername: life recently: post tour edition. The depression is hitting HARD. #noonetalktomeimturningemo

yourbsf2: mommy?? (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: not here, kitten whiskers...

yourbsf2: but...☹️

yourbsf1: get a ROOM. Jesus....

charles_leclerc: right? I agree. (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: 😇

yourbsf2: i saw her take that shirt off, and y'all did not🧚

charles_leclerc: @/yourusername ???

yourusername: uhhh.... 🏃‍♀️💨

username11: you just made eggs look tasty

username12: FUUUUCK them eggs. Have you seen the last slide??

username13: THE LAST PHOTO??? MOTHER.

username14: I don't know what to be jealous of first - her tits, the food, or the fact that she got some good dick IN the car... (liked by yourusername)

username15: im fine!! This is fine!!!

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, pierregasly and others !

charles_leclerc: sk8er boiii

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: B) im so cool bro

charles_leclerc: you cried when the cat decided to leave your lap.

yourusername: :,( bro...

yourbsf1: yeah bro!!!

charles_leclerc: I'm not sorry.

charles_leclerc: waitwaitwait @/yourusername WHY IS SHE CALLING ME.

yourusername: 😇

charles_leclerc: Y/N L/N

yourusername: neither of us is a punk OR does ballet tho... (liked by charles_leclerc)

username16: emo Charles era when?? (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: @/charles_leclerc !!!

username16: OHMYGODJDJDJ???

scuderiaferrari: 😎 (liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername)

yourusername uploaded a story:

(Caption: 🖤)

yourusername uploaded a story:

(caption1: 👀👀) (caption2: oops.)

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, mariabrinkofficial and others !

yourusername: datenightdatenightdatenightdatenightdateni-

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: couldn't you have taken any longer?🙄 (liked by yourusername)

yourusername: darling... you fell asleep.

charles_leclerc: i was resting my eyes!

yourusername: you snored. I have a picture of you drooling. (liked by yourbsf1, yourbsf2, landonorris)

landonorris: can confirm

charles_leclerc: Y/N??

vicdeangelis: bellissima! (liked by yourusername, damianodavid)

yourusername: fermare! Sto arrossendo🫠

charles_leclerc: sono d'accordo. (liked by yourusername, vicdeangelis)

yourbsf2: @/charles_leclerc I'll have you know that y/n is currently dying. Send her exactly what you just typed out, just in the form of a voice message, to save her. Quick! (liked by yourusername)

lewishamilton: this is empowering and all, but there are children on this app. (Lando) (liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo)

landonorris: right. Smh, mother. Do better🙄 (liked by yourusername, danielricciardo)

username17: AYO???

username18: im not okay. Im not fine. WHAT????

username19: the handprints were def made by charles... lucky bastard. (liked by yourusername)

username20: the last slide... does that mean exactly what i think it does?

username21: oh it definitely does.

username22: the sexual tension between me, the fork, and the toaster right now...

username23: the final boss WAG

username24: i'd call y/n the best wag ever, but she's kinda the main character here...

yourusername uploaded a story:

[rainpebble3]

Sharing Sunday?

I've been in a major funk lately so I'm smashing it by sharing a new chapter for Layers of Snow and Ash called Into the Midden, or unofficially called Nera's first kill!

A wee snippet for you if you have been following the story!

“Come now! Or I’ll leave you to fend for yourself down here!” Calmlinde called, snapping her out of her daze.

Nera gasped and sped up, running forward now, trying to find Calmlinde. She didn’t want to end up stuck down here. The Midden was already creeping her out. She was too distracted and soon her feet caught a slimy patch of moss or mud. Nera skidded forward, falling onto her face.

“Ow,” she hissed softly, sitting back up. Her beige robes had blackened and were coated with vile sludge. It stained her hands and seeped under her nails.

Above her, Calmlinde chuckled as she stepped out of a shadowy alcove. “Now Miss Maryon, are you simply clumsy or seeking camouflage?”

“I tripped,” Nera muttered, scrambling to her feet. “This place is… different to what I expected.”

“Indeed, we’ll be passing under the cliffs soon.”

Nera frowned. “How is that possible?”

Calmlinde stared past Nera, looking deeper into the Midden. “No one in Winterhold recalls the Great Collapse. Even the Mer here who are old enough were nowhere near this once great city when it happened… Everyone believes the destruction came from the sea, which to an extent is true, but no one remembers that there was a force rivalling that of the sea which came from the mountains. Landslides flattened the city, driving it to the sea and burying it entirely underground, while the crashing waves reshaped the land.”

“How do you know?”

Calmlinde smirked. “I watched it happen.”

[margowritesthings]

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm. 

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds. 

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk? 

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?” 

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.” 

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection. 

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day. 

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet. 

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known. 

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to. 

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp. 

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees. 

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception. 

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man. 

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit. 

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder. 

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one. 

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers. 

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon. 

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.” 

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly. 

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down. 

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you. 

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him. 

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-” 

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them. 

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” 

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen. 

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.” 

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there. 

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways. 

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger. 

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt. 

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will. 

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over. 

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear. 

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted. 

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

[lagolagomorph]

Things DQ characters would get you for your birthday- a thread

Alef: a yellow flower

Gwelyn: a nice tart she baked herself

Middenhall: a nice card

Cannock: a sticky hand

Moonbrooke: a webkinz

Erdrik: exactly what you asked for

Solo: a flower bracelet

Sofia: a flower crown

Alena: weights/protein powder

Borya: a book. (Not a good one)

Kiryl: a locket with Alena's picture in it

Meena: a charm

Maya: a lil kiss

Torneko: he would share his lunch and invite you to his home to meet his family

Ragnar: one of those tin whistles

Psaro: a stone he found

Rose: a braided bracelet

Madason/Five: a hand carved sabrecat

Bianca: a tasty pie

Nera: she would probably write a song for you but be too embarrassed to sing it

Deborah: her presence.

Parry: a cool rock

Madchen: a pretty rock

Sancho: a hearty meal

Reck/Six: a handmade headband

Carver: a well made chair

Milly: a palm reading with tea

Ash: a makeover

Nevan: he doesn't really celebrate but maybe a rosary?

Terry: a small slime Statue (secretly)

Amos: he would take you out for a drink

Arus/Seven: a fish sandwich

Maribelle: a carefully made pastry

Kiefer: he would forget, but Lisette would help him make you a whetstone.

Gabo/Ruff: one of his loose teeth

Aishe: dancing lessons

Mervyn/Melvin: an old sword

Eight: some cheese he made

Yangus: a beer and a pat on the back

Jessica: a embroidered handkerchief

Angelo: himself.

Morrie: also himself (probably in a giant cake)

Red: nothing (but she might give you something for a trade)

Nine: they would just want you to be happy

Eleven: the sword you always wanted

Erik: a trinket he stole

Veronica: a friendship bracelet to match with Serena and you

Serena: again, friendship bracelet

Sylv: they would plan the party and make sure everything in it was your favorite thing

Jade: sparring lessons

Rab: a peek at his *collection*

Hendrik: he would like to spar please

[frznkingdom]

[You want verses? I got verses. And I will GLADLY make more ^-^]

[weavewithshadow]

Raise your hand if you saw a Certain Combat Ability in the recent combat trailer and felt physically compelled to write something sad about it.

It's me. I did.

This is only like 25% done, but please: enjoy pain, lmao.

Lucanis/Rook, 169 words, rated....... a very light T.

Lucanis’s arm weighs heavy ‘cross her ribs. Not for the first time, Nera’s thumb traces the curve of corded muscle and runs over more than one scar on the journey.

She could almost map him in the dark, by now. She has the time, while he sleeps.

He snores. He swears he doesn’t. He refutes anyone who says otherwise—loudly, and sometimes forgetting not to wave emphatically while he’s still holding the knife he meant to sharpen.

He dreams, sometimes. He said quietly, once, that he wished he wouldn’t. Wished, past tense, because it had long since proven futile. No regimen nor potion—not even a frankly inhumane amount of coffee—could keep the Fade from him, nor he from it, for long.

It’s why she’s here, now. Not to sleep—not yet—but to stay close. Run her thumb over the curve of his arm. Smooth his hair from his brow, especially nearer morning, when it’s weighed heavy with sweat.

And kill him, if it comes to it.

She promised, because he asked.

[adragonsfriend]

Ryloth Social, Historical, Cultural, Ideas

Writing a story using mythology is really cool because it makes me expand on the available cannon data about the culture of any character whose perspective I write from. Writing a story using mythology is also really hard because it makes me expand on the available cannon data about the culture of any character whose perspective I write from. (Most of this is about Ryloth and requires no knowledge of fialleril's Amavikka stuff, it's just present in the beginning)

The latest was Syndulla, and therefore, Ryloth:

Hikka Redsun/Syndulla's Family

I've said that his family, aside from one of his grandparents, come from Rhovari, a city on Ryloth which canonically exists but which there's hardly any information about. I've placed it on the northern continent (same as Lessu, the capital), but toward the south, bordering the massive forest that rings the equator.

Hikka Redsun is Syndulla's grandmother on his mother's side. She escaped slavery on Tatooine as a teenager and traveled to Ryloth, settling in the city of Rhovari, where she had a rough time at first. She gave birth to the child she was already carrying (one of the reasons she took the risk of escaping), a daughter I haven't named as of yet. She eventually married another Twi'lek she met there, by the name of Jennah Enullah. Syndulla's other grandparents are Rhovari as far back as anyone can remember, idk they weren't important to what I was writing. Redsun is an analogue to Whitesun, eg Beru Whitesun. As Skywalker is to Ekkreth, Redsun is to Dereia, so in Amatakka, Hikka would be Hikka Dereia.

Over the course of her lifetime, Hikka blended Amavikka storytelling traditions with those of her new home, which resulted in the story I wrote for Tales of Ryloth. That story was one of only a few Ekkreth stories she told to any members of her family. She was only a teenager when she left, and in her first few years, she wasn't focused on remembering lots of stories, so by the time she reached a point where she realized she wanted to hang onto them, she was already fuzzy on quite a few details. Her family on Ryloth were all freeborn, and didn't necessarily have a need for Ekkreth stories from her own. Those she did tell them were ones she altered or created to tell her own life story.

The story from Tales is her artistic interpretation of leaving Tatooine and her first few rough years in Rhovari. It uses Ryloth's animals and plants, and the single-day structure of lots of Rhovari stories, but places Ekkreth alongside them. It has a bit of a different structure and feel to most Amavikkan stories I've written, hopefully reflecting the influence it takes from Rhovari tradition.

Now, onto everything else this made me learn/create:

Mythology

Symbolism

Specifically for the Rhovari Twi'lek people:

Reliable, trustworthy things: rock, ground, mountains, betnek trees, the sun

Treacherous, scary things: any animal or plant (except betnek trees), darkness, rain,

Good things/good signs: light and warmth underground

Bad things/bad signs: cold, dark, mud, too much rain, too little rain

Format

Chants, songs, I mention war songs, idk

Many traditional myth-stories from Rhovari have events all told in the course of single day, usually starting in the morning and going into the night.

Homes

Tunnel vs Shallow Homes

Some communities have shallow homes like we see in Nabat in Clone Wars (Nera's home that waxer and boil visit is in Nabat), and other communities live in fully underground tunnel systems (the community I describe Syndulla's family living in is one of these). There's probably some deep prejudices over which way of living is better, especially between warring clans. These prejudices are probably less present in places like Lessu, which combine the two.

Also, by the time of the clone wars, I imagine there's a small but significant group who advocates for abandoning underground homes and living entirely above ground, assimilating to be like more of the rest of the galaxy. Orn Free Ta is one of these, and he probably works to defund programs which help preserve traditional homes in between doing other heinous crap.

Cave-hearths

Cave-hearths are the lowest rooms in tunnel homes, which are also the warmest because they are made closer to underground magma flows. These are community gathering places, just like a campfire would be. There are probably old traditional roles surrounding finding good places to dig for these.

Lessu

Ancient city

Lessu is a very old city, there have been Twi'leks living in the mountain as far back as there's written and archeological history.

Interestingly, the visible buildings in Clone Wars Lessu are a different color from the surrounding stone (white vs light brown). I'm aware that the actual reason for this is probably that it's easier to animate and see if they're different colors, but we're extrapolating right now, shhh. This means the stone for the buildings has to have been mined and brought from somewhere else, and then somehow transported onto a literal island. All that instead of using the naturally available rock all around.

Outer wall

The outer wall surrounding the city is classified as a historical site, and has legal protections surrounding how it can be modified (alas, no turbo lifts can be installed). For Twi'lek's from some communities (not Rhovari), the wall itself is a pilgimage site. The Separatists using it as a military defense (which was its original use, but hasn't been relevant in several centuries) would've been highly unpopular. The walls aren't as old as Lessu itself, but the first versions of it date back to some of the earliest known clan wars.

Landscape

Thought the city has been disconnected from the main landscape as far back as written history goes, there are oral traditions and mythology which have been passed down which indicate that there was once a land connection. The stories talk about the land bridge falling as a result of moral decline of some kind, and for a long time it was considered to be just that that, a story. That is until geological research (which happened quite a long time ago as of star wars present day) showed that there was a land bridge there which lasted long after the surrounding rock eroded away, due to some unique rock deposits there (or something, I'm not a geologist). The confirmation of the land bridge dates these oral traditions to originating much earlier than previously thought. (I stole this idea from real life. The specific occurrence that inspired this was tree species and aboriginal Australian traditions, but considering indigenous stories as one source of information to guide archeology is a developing field.)

Water

Lessu has probably, at various times, been surrounded by water. The canyon behind it is significantly larger and deeper than the rift in front of it, and has probably been wearing down for millions of years (still not a geologist, guess based on the grand canyon in the US). At the points when this canyon was full of water, maybe there were Twi'leks who accessed Lessu by boat. Also, at times when the canyon was only partly full, there could've been tunnels which had entrances down at the water level, but which became flooded when the water rose, or inaccessible when it fell.

Bridges

Various bridges have been built and destroyed in the time since the land bridge eroded.

Religion

I don't have any detailed thoughts on this, but I think there's probably a bigger religion common in Lessu that is much less connected to the land than Rhovari traditions. It's more mainstream, and it's what most people not from Ryloth would think of as "Twi'lek religion."

Slavery

Indigenous slavery

With frequent clan wars, prisoners are war were common, and for many clans, slavery of this form was an accepted part of their culture, especially before Ryloth had contact with the wider galaxy.

Hutt slavery and general capitalistic forces

When Ryloth fell under hutt (or zygerian?) control, a fully chattel slavery system developed, but it would likely have started with clans on Ryloth selling the slaves they already had off planet.

Transport of enslaved Twi'leks off planet is probably a big part of why Twi'leks are so common across the galaxy.

Family Names

Because of Rythoth's complicated history with slavery, there is some controversy about family names. Traditions vary across clans, but most follow a matrilineal tradition. This is controversial for some because it originates from slave owners wanting to keep track of who is an isn't enslaved under Hutt, chattel systems (Before paternity tests, the only parent people could be absolutely sure of was the mother, so tracking lineage by the maternal side makes for more stable societal lines between free/enslaved people. Also other, arguably worse effects I won't get into here).

After joining the Republic and getting some protection from the Hutts, the matrilineal tradition remained, and came to include marriage as well, for many clans.

This origin makes maternal family names controversial for some, who instead choose patralineal or completely alternate naming traditions. This is present in Tales with Hikka's daughter noted as taking her husband's name, Syndulla.

Gender

We see some pretty clear gender roles on Ryloth in the Clone Wars episodes I've watched, and we see there are differences in how men and women dress. Twi'leks are noted as being similar enough to humans to produce fertile offspring together, so I figure that cultural and biological whatever are pretty similar about gender, eg the range of binary, queer, intersex, etc are all present in Twi'leks. Whether queer twi'leks are openly accepted probably varies clan to clan.

Male twi'leks are seen as fighters--all of the rebels who invaded Ryloth were male.

Female twi'leks are very much present in the Rebellion, seeming to take on support roles.

It's pretty boring trad gender role stuff, honestly just human writers projecting their ideas directly. Pretty meh.

I think Hera Syndulla gets a kind of cultural pass to be a fighter based on Cham Syndulla being her father, like the hollywood "my father was the great scientist blah blah and I must be as great as him" woman scientist trope. I also think Hera's pissed off about this being the only reason many people are okay with her fighting.

Language

I think Ryl/Twi'leki is a gendered language with a masculine bias, like the romance languages have.

In conclusion,

I gave myself a sandbox with Tales of Ryloth and really expected myself not to play in it. You'd think I would learn at some point.