#once its returned to mytho

[fate-defiant]

Honestly what with him being stuck in one unaging, unchanging state with his only remaining connection to his former self being this vague notion that he must fight and protect and sacrifice with no regard for his own well-being - there really is something of The Ghost Knight in Mytho.

[goodgirlofglory]

A successful trial run/ One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 9,2k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, smut, making out, nipple-play, dry-humping, coming in pants hehe, me making up a lot of unconvincing sciency talk about tech and engineering and whatnot.

Summary: As a newly recruited scientist in the royal technical institute of Wakanda, your first task involves a certain Winter Soldier fresh out of cryostasis and in need of a new arm. Intrigued by his mysterious figure since forever, you’re brimming with fascination over the subject. Little did you anticipate capturing his eye in return. 

Note: This takes place somewhere between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers Infinity War. Kinda wanted to write something from the time Bucky spent in Wakanda. I enjoyed writing this one, hope you enjoy reading it😘 Likes, replies and reblogs are amazing. Luv you guys, you are the best, i am always so grateful and excited to receive all your feedback💕💕🦋

The first time the Winter Soldier entered the lab, he was flanked by the entire Dora Milaje and led by the king himself. Apart from the usual ceremony of greeting the king and his guest of honor, no one seemed jittered nor particularly preoccupied with the new project - or its primary subject. The engineers, scientists and technicians of the royal technical institute and Wakandan Design group were used to making much more extravagant and complicated designs than a prosthetic arm. 

It was a regular Tuesday for everyone - except you, that was. Extraordinarily gifted from a young age, you had quickly advanced and surpassed your peers and even superiors in your studies at the university of the capitol. Subsequently, you were the youngest person in the lab - apart from princess Shuri herself. 

And you were almost jumping out of your skin with excitement at having the Winter Soldier as your very first test subject. Or rather, you were on the team that was to build his next vibranium arm. You’d read all about him and watched all the news over the years, but you had started working in the lab after he’d been brought to Wakanda and put in cryostasis, so you’d never actually seen him in the flesh. Now he was out of cryo for rehabilitation and with that came the need for a new arm. Shuri had picked the team herself, and to your utter surprise, chosen you as a part of it. 

Your task was fairly simple: organize and execute the fitting of the prosthetic prototypes with the subject himself, take notes and report to the team whatever adjustments the soldier would prefer. The others would do most of the engineering, creative modeling and building - the more prestigious work. You didn’t really care that your tasks were relatively simple and low level though - it was an amazing learning experience for a newbie like you. Plus, it meant you were the primary contact person for the soldier himself, which had you flushing hot for both professional and decidedly less professional reasons. 

The soldier was an enigma; lethal chaos and extreme discipline spliced inside the body of what was once a regular American. His mythos was both intriguingly detailed and all at once a mystery - a sort of dangerous puzzle you couldn’t help but be drawn to like a moth to a flame. Everything he had lived and experienced and represented was so very very far from your own safe and mundane world. It wasn’t that growing up in Wakanda had been boring per se, but everything was just so… perfect, and despite yourself, you were drawn to the Winter Soldier and the extraordinary case of his unusual life. And from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, you knew you were out of your depth. 

He was beautiful - in a rugged, unpolished sort of way; raw and hauntingly real, he only seemed to move when it served the explicit purpose of his visit. Otherwise, he stood still as a statue. He had an air of mystery to him, but despite his huge, menacing and burly form, he wasn’t scary. His eyes were soft, the babiest of blue, his stubble revealed tiny streaks of silver, and his hair, though washed and groomed, had a consistently shaggy look to it that made him seem…human. Just another regular white guy to everyone else in the lab - the most intriguing person in Wakanda to you. 

Along with the king, the soldier had silently shaken the hand of everyone on the team, looking them in the eyes with a polite, though quite stoic expression that betrayed nothing of what was happening on the inside. You’d stared at him as he'd made his way down the line, scrutinized every inch of his face, trying to gauge the tiniest twitch of muscle, any indication or hint of emotion - to your utter astonishment, you could see nothing. Then he'd reached where you stood at the end of the line of team members, and your heart'd kicked into a sprint at the way he suddenly loomed before you in all his muscled, mystical and deadly glory. Holy shit, he was huge, surely a foot taller than you, with the most obscenely broad shoulders and thighs that bulged in a way that had your mouth going dry.

Get yourself together! Stop ogling the subject!, you had admonished yourself harshly.

By the time you got back in contact with your body and reached a hand out to him, your palms were sweaty and your face hot. And then, as he engulfed your hand in his pale, calloused one, hot like a multilayered sonic solar panel during july, you thought you saw a muscle near his eye twitch, catching your gaze the same way his eyes did a moment later when they glinted with something suspiciously alike curiosity, a flashing moment of undivided interest that had you flushing even hotter. 

Oh yeah, you were in big, big trouble. 

§

Three months later you no longer broke out in panicked sweating whenever Barnes came in for a fitting (most of the time). You’d had a total of four meetings so far, all of which had been professional, short and silent. Barnes hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you in all your time together in the lab, and none of them of much importance.

("Here?" he'd asked that first fitting when you’d asked him to take a seat on the surgical bench. 

"No" he'd said when you asked if the new fastenings at his shoulder were uncomfortable.

"Yes", he'd said when you’d asked if the first prototype arm was lighter than what he was used to.

Other than that, the winter soldier mostly communicated in grunts, nods and shakes of his head.)

The hiss of the sliding door alerted you to his arrival as you were readying the newest prototype for the fitting, and just like always, the door was the only sound even hinting at his presence. He was impossibly silent for a guy his size. 

“Sit down, please, I’ll be ready in a moment,” you threw over your shoulder, keeping your eyes on the clasps you would try on the shoulder today. 

When he didn’t answer and you could hear no sound of the shifting padding on the surgical bench, you threw a look over your shoulder and froze. 

Barnes stood by the bench, his one flesh arm raised high, fingers adjusting something on the…bun on the back of his head. His…bun of…gorgeous, thick locks of shaggy brown hair. You gulped, a tingling sensation of adrenaline starting to well up in your chest. He hadn’t worn his hair like that before, at least not around you, and man were you a sucker for a nice hair do on a man. Combined with this man it seemed to be suddenly and quite effectively lethal. His locks were collected and pulled away from his face, revealing high, chiseled cheekbones and a jawline that could cut diamonds and -

A screw fell out of your hand as your mind worked overtime to process the image before you, and then, so quickly you didn’t even see him move, the soldier was there, crouching at your feet, catching the screw before it could clink onto the floor. 

It felt like an eternity went by as you stared at his bent form slowly straighten up up up to his full height, the screw looking more like a grain of sand in his big, calloused and rough hand, his body so close you swore you could feel the warmth radiating off him. The lulling scent of fresh earth and spices filled your nose, taking you to luscious lands far away. 

You heard the hitch in your tiny, involuntary intake of air like a siren in a dead silent night, and your face blazed to a million fucking degrees, your heart galloping in your chest. Swallowing thickly, you looked up into his pale eyes - eyes that betrayed nothing in an equally neutral face. 

Fuckfuckfuck, he’s so close. Fuck, his eyes are so blue, shit, he smells good, is that freckles on his cheek bones - 

He held the screw out expectantly, and you mentally shook yourself for being so fucking slow. Stop ogling him! Take the screw! With fingers you were relieved to see didn’t tremble, you reached out and plucked it from his light grasp, furiously not hyperfocusing on where your skin grazed his. 

“Um,” you started, and painfully cleared your throat before trying again, cheeks burning, “t-thanks. Please, sit.”

He stayed unmoving for half a second longer than was strictly necessary, and then he turned and moved to sit on the surgical bench. 

Turning back to your table of tools, you took a few calming breaths, breathing as softly as you could in case the soldier could hear you (which he probably could quite well considering what you’d read about his enhanced body and senses.)

You turned back to find him watching you from a seated position on the bench, eyes following your movement as you walked up towards him, pulling your table behind you. You plastered on your best carefree smile and picked up the prototype vibranium arm, sleek black with silver accents, and like you always did, held it up so he could inspect it if he chose to. Like always, he didn’t seem remotely interested in the design. Only, he didn’t stare ahead out into the room like he usually did during these parts of the fittings. Instead his eyes remained on you, his form so fucking unmoving he could be a statue. You swallowed thickly, absurdly nervous. His scent still lingered in your mind. 

He’d removed his shirt, revealing the new shoulder prosthesis in the same black as the arm, fitted to mold over his scarred tissue and make a clean transition from steel to skin. Your eyes caught on the tiny sliver of golden, muscled skin peeking out from where his white t-shirt had been cut above the shoulder, and you quickly averted your gaze even as your mind started conjuring images of wide expanses of soft, golden skin under the tips of your fingers as you explored under rays of soft, morning sunlight. 

Why did he have to look so god damned good, with his stupid hair up in a stupid bun and stupid t-shirt that dared show even a square centimeter of his stupid skin, you thought perturbed as you started fitting the arm to the shoulder, hands working on autopilot while your mind frayed at the edges. 

All through the fitting, you felt his eyes linger on you, not staring per se, just…observing. Three times you peeked up from your work to catch his eyes on yours, and three times you hastily averted your gaze back, your cheeks heating anew, your heart picking up speed. He’d never done that before. He’d always just stared at the floor or the wall during his fittings, eyes vacant, seemingly far far away. He’d never been fully present, never watched you, very rarely met your eyes. It was what had kept your own visceral reactions to such a minimum you could easily manage them. But now, under his weighty gaze, your body started tingling all over, sweat gathering on your brow, your breathing going just slightly too fast. You didn’t know if it was excitement or some instinctive fight or flight-reflex kicking into gear. Why was he looking at you like that?

“There,” you said just a little too hastily when at last the final screw was in place. You retreated to the other side of the room under the guise of organizing your tools back into their rightful place on the wall. “Please test it out, feel how it fits, tell me how it feels,” you said with your back to him, reciting the instructions you always gave him during this part of the fitting. Usually, you observed him closely as he walked around the room, lifting the arm, flexing the fingers and grabbing at random objects to test grip and reactivity. Now it was all you could do to not flee the room all together due to how embarrassingly flustered you were. The fittings in themselves weren’t really necessary from an engineering perspective - the royal technical institute all but guaranteed the highest mark of quality and a near zero percent chance of faults. The fittings were more beneficial from a psychological point of view - to give the subject a smooth transitional introduction to their new limb. 

You heard him shuffling about for some time while you randomly moved tools and screws around your table while trying to collect and promptly ban all the inappropriate thoughts running wild in your head. It was so unprofessional to be affected like this! Sure, he was handsome (wildly so) but you couldn’t call yourself a proper scientist if you acted like this! It was disgraceful! Even as you scolded yourself for being this way around the poor, innocent hunk - SUBJECT - your mind flooded with the thoughts you tried so hard to keep at bay. What did his hair feel like sliding through your fingers? Did he always gaze so intently? What would those eyes look like in dark rooms surrounded by soft sheets? What would that new metal hand look like wrapped around your - 

The sound of a throat clearing had you yelping - for fuck’s sake, girl - and whipping around to find him right behind you, looking down at you with that expression that betrayed nothing. 

You stared up at him for a moment, heart thumping in your chest, stunned to silence by his clear initiation of contact, and then abruptly found your sense. 

“Does it feel right? Is anything uncomfortable or -”

Your words died out as he extended the vibranium hand between you. He let it hover there, hand straight, expectant. You stared for a moment, and then praised yourself for daring to reach your own hand out to clasp his, a bit unused to the flip to using your left hand to shake his, hoping to God this was what he was getting at and that you didn’t just make a fool of yourself. 

Your interpretation was correct, and the smooth, slightly cold metal closed around you, dwarfing your hand. The soldier squeezed your fingers and then shook your hand a bit stiffly a couple of times before stilling. You gulped, acutely aware of your heartbeat running a gallop in your chest, the silence around you so severe you could hear your own breathing like a wind tunnel. The feel of the vibranium, so alive in this form and shape, squeezing your fingers in a firm, unyielding grip had new, strange sensations slowly trickling south, and you fought the instinct to clench your thighs as unwelcome heat pooled in your lower stomach. Mortified by your own, inappropriate and decidedly unprofessional reaction, you hoped to all the dead kings and Bast herself that the soldier didn’t notice. Disturbingly, there came no sound from the soldier, not even from his breathing. 

After a moment of nothing happening, the both of you just standing there, clasping hands, you dared a peek up at his face. He was watching you again, but instead of pale, dead eyes, the blue of his irises simmered with something…something hot and wicked and - 

You abruptly pulled your hand out of his grasp, and gave him a far too fake gleeful smile. “Good grip,” you jipped, voice coming out far too strained and shrill to be casual. Barnes looked at you with those captivating eyes for a moment longer before looking down at his vibranium hand, flexing the fingers a little. 

“It’s perfect,” he said. 

It took you a moment to register the words, and then elation swept through you. You smiled and clapped your hands together and spun to go note his comment down.  “How wonderful, I’m so glad,” you said, not able to keep the excitement out of your voice.  A happy subject meant you’d fulfilled your task! The project could move onto its final stages of rendering and documentation. Happy progress!  You scribbled down some fast notes on the screws and fastenings, how he’d tested grip by shaking your hands and his own feedback, putting his exact words down as a quote. 

“The team will be so happy to learn you’re satisfied, they talked so much about the latest updates on the interface between sensory input and mechanical automobility - they wouldn’t shut up about it for days, I swear to Bast,” you said, the words falling out of your mouth in your excitement, and then you turned back towards him and again fell silent. 

He was staring at you, and for the first time, you could actually detect emotions on his face. He looked…dumbfounded, or something akin to that, watching you with avid eyes, mouth slightly open and brows for once out of their trademark downturned frown. You were stunned yourself for a moment seeing him so out of character, and then you promptly lowered your gaze. 

Oh great, first you’re fumbling and awkward and then you start rambling like a lunatic. What is wrong with you?, you asked yourself silently.  You cleared your throat and motioned for him to sit back on the bench. He obliged, and you found yourself slightly disappointed to see him schooling away his emotion behind the stoic mask. 

“So, I’ll have to take the arm off so it can be finalized, and then you’ll just have to have it fastened a final time, and then you’ll have your arm, Mr. Barnes,” you said as you got to work unscrewing and removing the prosthetic limb. He nodded, eyes glued to you like before. He didn’t seem happy, or if he was, he didn’t show it. You hoped he’d feel elated like you did, but considered how the whole metal arm thing might still be a little complicated for him. You wondered if he was going to a therapist, or a support group or anything. You didn’t dare ask, though. “I imagine the finalizing process won’t take much more than two weeks. I’ll send you a suggestion for the next appointment once it’s clear, and you can confirm using your compad like before. Sound good?” you asked, thankful you could keep a clear head through this part at least. 

“Yes,” he said, still watching your eyes as you removed the arm and returned it to the table. You nodded to him, and managed to stay upright until the door hissed shut behind him as he left. Then you curled into a mortified little ball and hid your flaming face in your hands. 

§

Fucking. Great. 

Your heart had been hammering harder for every mile that passed as your cruiser made its way into the heart of the Wakandan landscape. The prosthetic arm had been finalized within a couple of days and your superiors thought the best course of action was sending you out to fasten it instead of demanding Barnes make his way into the capitol on such short notice. Which meant you were on your way to his home, to be completely alone with him…in his home.   

Part of you was insatiably curious to see how he lived, to peer into such a private, revealing place. Everyone knew seeing how a person lived was like seeing a reflection of their soul. Your apartment for instance, was a hot fucking mess, but one you could navigate perfectly. You hadn’t allowed yourself to picture Barnes’s home, though, or make any assumptions. How he lived was of no scientific interest, and therefore no interest to you! Or so you told yourself, at least…

It’s fine. Everything is fine, you chanted in your head as the cruiser arrived at its destination, the small hut Barnes had been gifted as his indefinite residence. It was a beautiful place to keep a residence, right by the river, the surrounding trees providing plenty of shade from the hot sun and a gorgeous view over the plains. It only made you more curious about Barnes, and subsequently, more furious with yourself. 

Everything is fine. 

As you shut the motor down and climbed out of the vehicle, his large, burly figure emerged from the hut, and a spike of energy went off inside you as you locked eyes with Barnes. He was as stoic as ever, but he walked up to meet you right away and surprised you when he reached to grab the case with the arm in it to carry it for you. 

“Hi,” you said, and quickly added, “um, thanks for being available at such a short notice.” 

You’d felt kinda foolish for giving such a roomy deadline prognosis at his last fitting only for it to take a few days, and were sweating with the hope it hadn’t inconvenienced him in any way. There was a whole delicate, psychological process involved in getting a new limb - a process one shouldn’t meddle too much in - especially when there was significant trauma involved in losing the original limb. Fuck, you were so nervous.

He looked a bit puzzled for a moment, brows drawn down in consideration. 

“No. Thank you for coming all this way,” he said a bit haltingly, and to your astonishment, he sounded almost as unsure of himself as you felt. Uncomfortable warmth spread in your chest. That must have been the longest sentence he’d ever spoken to you. His voice was low and gruff, a smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate through the ground, across to you and straight into your chest. Fuuck, how were you supposed to survive that voice, and with him being uncharacteristically timid and polite?

Suddenly you felt like laughing. Here you were, both of you so awkward and unsure, and what for? This was a joyous occasion, for Bast's sake, and you were being silly! Forcing your nerves down, you leveled him with a smile. 

“Not at all. Let’s get that arm on, shall we?” you said, letting your actual excitement for the happening fill you instead. You were after all, genuinely excited to finally give Barnes his new prosthetic limb, and see him back to full mobility. 

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes fluttering around your face, and then abruptly stepped aside and gestured for you to proceed him into the hut. You obliged, holding your spirits high as you dared venture past the curtain and inside the hut. 

Barnes’s home was sparsely furnished but…surprisingly cozy. Brightly coloured pillows, blankets and tapestries lay everywhere, a window to the right letting in the bright, midday sun, casting a glowing light on everything. You recognised the patterns and color scheme from your own parents and grandparents houses, it was a traditional home in all senses of the words. You’d think Barnes would stick out like a sore thumb here, but really, he seemed to fit in well. There was a low table to the left with stacks of books and a mug on it, surrounded by more pillows and blankets. Your eyes caught on and swiftly ignored the cot at the back of the hut, made perfectly with a mountain of pillows. 

That’s where he sleeps. That’s where he rests. That’s where he’s most vulnerable. That’s where you would lay if he - NO!

Barnes squeezed around you where you stood just inside the entrance studying the space, and you quite viscerally realized how small the hut was for the two of you, how small it was for him alone really. This was gonna be way more tight and intimate than the lab, you thought with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Barnes put the case down by the low table and proceeded to start clearing the table of books and pens and the mug. He looked down into the mug and then over at you. 

“Coffee?” he asked, and taken aback by the unexpected question, you shook your head quickly before immediately regretting it. It would’ve been more polite to accept, and you did feel a bit strung out by your morning so far. 

Barnes nodded in response, and then seemed at a loss, turning the mug in his hand. Was he…fidgeting? 

“Where do you -?” he started, and you cut him off. 

“Right there is fine. We can sit on the floor, no problem,” you said reassuringly, giving him another smile, suddenly filled with sweetness for this big hulk of a man and his nervous fidgeting. He nodded and proceeded to plump down where you assumed he normally sat. You quelled a smile at how normalcy seemed to bleed through even this exceedingly awkward situation, and was kind of enamored by the way Barnes seemed to relax once he was seated in his usual spot. It gave you the impression that this space was a comfort to him, which you were glad to see. 

You neared and sat down on your knees at his side, opening the case and swiftly taking out everything you needed as he took off his shirt to reveal the same t-shirt he used to wear underneath, sleeveless on the left side. Without further ado, you started the process of permanently fastening the arm. You slipped into a calm concentration as you worked, the familiarity and comfort of your skills calming you, a comfortable silence descending upon you both, only interrupted by the sounds of your electric screwdriver. The whole thing took no longer than ten minutes, and then you sat back and looked upon Barnes in silence as he took in his new arm, knowing it was finally, and wholly, his. 

He stared down at it for a long while, and then the hut was filled with sounds of gentle, almost silent whirring as he started flexing mechanical muscles, then fingers, then the whole arm, lifting it to examine and compare to his other arm, running them both through his loose hair and picking up different items on his table and tossing them lightly from hand to hand. He seemed completely engrossed, and for long minutes it seemed almost like he’d forgotten you were even there as he explored his new arm. 

It was awe-inspiring to see, to be allowed to observe such a vulnerable moment, to witness him seemingly letting himself really connect to this new possibility of having two arms and two hands again, in a way he hadn’t even seemed to entertain while in the fittings. It touched something deep inside you, witnessing with honor what you hoped might be a moment of healing, and tears pricked the back of your eyes. It felt so incredibly moving to be part of a team that could give something like this to a person who’d been through so much hardship, and the feeling filled you, making you feel all warm. This was why you’d gotten into this field, this was why you wanted to be a scientist. To be able to help people recover precious things lost. 

Your heart swelled with emotion, and then Barnes looked at you, his own astonished joy blasted clear across his face, completely unencumbered, letting you see it without any pretense or facades. Your breath caught in your throat at the sheer volume of his joy, and how intimate him sharing it so openly with you was. You were stunned. 

And then you kissed him. 

One moment you were looking at his broad smile full of slightly crooked, white teeth, and then you’d leaned across your own knees and half across his and unceremoniously pressed your lips to his. It was closed-mouthed and a bit off-center, your bottom lip caught awkwardly on his top one. But sparks crackled through your body all the same as you felt how soft his lips were, how warm his skin was, the slightly surprised gust of warm, gentle air from his nostrils. 

And then your senses kicked in, mortification hot on their heels, and you broke the kiss abruptly, all but ready to flee the hut. You didn’t get the chance to move away though, before cool metal fingers slid up the sensitive skin of your throat and back to cup your neck, gently, but firmly pulling you right back into the kiss.

A fire caught in your loins, sizzling hot sparks shooting up your body and you drew in a shaky breath through your nose only for the air to be caught in your throat, making a small, needy, desperately embarrassing sound. The metal fingers on your neck tightened at the sound. 

You felt completely blown off your center. Nothing had felt this good before, nothing in your whole, perfect life full of joys and pleasures and fulfillment had felt so sensationally good as James Buchanan Barnes's lips on yours while his brand new prosthetic hand cradled your neck.

The surge of desire that welled from that feeling propelled you to buck forward and crawl into his laps, straddling him with even more clumsy frenzy as you kissed him again. He answered in kind, his flesh hand landing tentatively on your hip before moving up your back to pull you tighter against him once he seemingly caught on to the fact that you were there in his lap of your own fruition. 

You kissed again and again, hungry, exploring, closed-mouthed but growing more desperate, more daring. You opened your mouth to catch your breath and was met by the shy swipe of his tongue just inside your mouth, and your whole body shuddered at the sensation before you wrapped your arms around his neck and swiped your own tongue to meet his. 

A growl came out of nowhere and exploded in Barnes’s chest as you tongue-kissed him with everything you had, and then the world was spinning, and your back hit the brightly earth-coloured rug. Barnes followed you closely, and laid down on top of you, pinning you down with his huge, burly body, claiming your mouth in an honest-to-Bast breath-taking kiss. 

It was explosively good, this gorgeous, muscled beast of a man pinning you to the ground, broad shoulders shielding you from everything above, leaning on his elbows while his hands cradled your face, holding you perfectly still as his mouth descended upon yours again and again, growing hungrier with every kiss. Your mind whirled with images of his metal arm wrapping around your throat, pinning you down, tearing your clothes to shreds and holding you put exactly where he wanted while the soldier ravished you, and it became even harder to pull air into your flaming lungs. You heard yourself whimpering into the kisses, your own desperation growing like a galloping crescendo inside you. You were suddenly, unexpectedly, and totally irrationally ready for him to tear your clothes off and take you right there on the floor of his hut, heat flaming in your lower stomach, a molten ache starting to let itself be known between your legs, everything else in the world be damned and forgotten if you could just feel him ins - 

A small beeping sound cut through the fog of desire overtaking you, and it took you a moment for your melting brain to recognise it as your pager. You wrenched out of the kiss and put your hands on Barnes’s broad, warm chest, feeling his strong heartbeat jackhammer beneath the layers of clothes and flesh. His lips followed you for a split second, his eyes opening to slits in order to find you again. Then, as he realized you’d intentionally ended the kiss, he immediately let you push him half-way off you to fish the pager out of your pocket. It was your boss, they needed you back by lunch. 

Fuck

Fuck, what the fuck were you doing? It dawned on you the incredibly inappropriate situation you were in, had put yourself and Barnes in. This was reckless and rash and completely not who you were or had ever been. With anyone! No, no, no, this was bad, you were so fucking stupid. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes as you pushed him gently all the way off you to sit back on his haunches and swiftly extracted yourself from under him and got to your feet. 

You were mortified, absolutely mortified, shame and embarrassment and guilt washing over you in tidal waves, slamming into your chest. 

“I’m so sorry, that was so…um…I have to go, but er, enjoy your hand - ARM and hand,” you sputtered out as you began fleeing the hut all together. Then you remembered what you were supposed to say upon leaving, and turned while halfway out the door, “If you have any trouble or complications, don’t hesitate to contact the institute. On behalf of the technical institute and design group, we hope you will be pleased with the product. Um, bye!”

Barnes remained in the same seated position on the floor while you made your stumbling exit, and you missed the look of longing in his eyes as you left. 

§

A week passed while you marinated in your own embarrassment and guilt, trying and failing to get the whole incident in the hut out of your mind. Partly because it was the most unprofessional and out-of-control thing you’d ever done, and partly because you just couldn’t get the memory of Barnes’s lips out of your head. The warmth emanating from him like a furnace, the way his hands gripped you gently, but possessively, the thrill that had gone through you when he flipped you and pinned you to the floor like you were nothing more than a rag doll. Had he been as turned on as you? Had he enjoyed himself? Surely he’d enjoyed it a little bit with the way he’d reciprocated, but had he really wanted it?

You shook yourself out of your daydream for probably the dozenth time that day, not a single word written on the personal essay you were to turn in with your other documentation in a couple of days. Fuuuck, this was so bad, you had to be able to focus and put this from your mind! If you were lucky and if everything went as it should with the prosthetic, Barnes would have no reason to contact the institute and seek you out ever again, and you would never have to see him again after your blunder. 

The project would be over soon, you would move on to new ones and the one tether you had to Barnes would be severed. It was best for everyone if you just forgot the whole thing. 

Except, in your panicked flight from his home, you’d completely forgotten the case that had contained the prosthetic arm, along with some screws and your most beloved screwdriver. You hadn’t even noticed it was left behind until you were halfway back to the lab, and had been completely at a loss on what to do. You couldn’t go back after the way you’d left, but you couldn’t just leave it either. The equipment wasn’t of that much value and the lab had plenty more, so that wasn’t the greatest issue. But you loved that screwdriver, and felt it as an obligation to retrieve it. Plus, it wasn’t fair to just leave it there, in Barnes’s home, what use did he have of it? Still, you couldn’t bear the thought of going back after the way you’d left….

Your head thumped down onto the workbench at the back of your lab. You were spiraling down the rabbit hole of warring thoughts for the upteenth time that day and was about to hurl something at the wall when the clearing of a throat came out of nowhere. 

Whipping your head up, you practically leapt from your chair when you saw Barnes standing  in the middle of your lab, clad in light pants and a loose-fitting half-sleeved shirt, completely unexpected, looking exceedingly unsure of himself (...and obscenely gorgeous)

Your immediate thought went to his arm, but as far as you could see, it was still intact and working perfectly from the way he clenched and unclenched the vibranium hand at his side. Then your eyes slipped to his other hand, and saw the case he held in it. 

“I, um, hello, I thought you might like this back,” he said, looking down and holding out the hand with the case. You immediately walked up to him and took it. 

“Thank you! So much, you didn’t have to come all this way just for that,” you rushed to say, feeling sheepish and grateful at the same time. 

“Oh no, I, uh…I…I have some errands in the… uh, the city and whatnot,” he said, and you almost smiled a little at the way he suddenly fumbled for words. Was this even the same guy that had pinned you to the floor and ravished your mouth a week ago? The same guy that had walked into the lab that first day, all menacing silence and calculated movement.

“Oh, okay, well, this was really nice of you, thank you again. Um, what did you say to the guards to get in here?” you asked, suddenly remembering the levels of clearing he had to go through to get here. Did he tell the truth? Would your superiors know you forgot the case? That you’d made a fool of yourself and made the whole institute look chaotic and unprofessional?

“I told them I had some more questions about the arm, and that I wanted to speak with you since you’re so knowledgeable and good at your job,” Barnes said, waving his metal hand in the air a little as if to show you it was indeed made of vibranium. 

He’d protected you? Kept your secret? A warm sense of giddyness spread through you, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling to broadly. 

“God, you didn’t have to tell them all that,” you said, feeling warmth bloom on your cheeks from his compliments. 

“I meant it, though,” he said seriously, and then he took a step towards you, “And I wanted to, needed to apologize…for what happened at my house…last week.”

Your heart surged in your chest and you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Apologize? What could he have to apologize for? You were the one who’d acted out of line. Did he regret what’d happened? What if you’d overstepped his boundaries and added more to his trauma?

“No, no, please, I’m the one who should apologize here. It was completely unprofessional to do that when I was working on a project with you, and so inappropriate to force myself upon you like that, all in this emotional moment and without knowing if you’d enjoy it or -”

“I enjoyed it,” he interrupted, voice clear and strong.

You looked up to find him another step closer. So big, and strong, and handsome, your insatiable desire whispered to you as he gazed down into your eyes, only inches between you. You wanted to kiss him again suddenly, your lips tingled with it. 

“You did?” you asked, only half paying attention as you lost yourself in his heavenly baby blue eyes, framed by thick lashes paled by the sun. Your eyes flicked down to his full lips, and when they went back to his eyes, they glinted with a spark of that same ferociousness that’d awakened in him on that floor in his hut. A glint that had your lower stomach going all molten. 

He nodded, breathing a little laugh that surprised you. Your heart started soaring in your chest despite your best efforts to keep from getting ahead of yourself. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, swallowing and licking his lips, “a lot. I, uh, I was really sorry to see you leave so abruptly too  - before I could speak with you,” he said. 

Arousal welled up in your body, and you felt a little dizzy all of a sudden. He’d enjoyed it…

“Me too,” you whispered, not trusting your voice not to crack. 

He took a final, tiny step closer, too close for any kind of professionalism or even decency, really, so close you could almost sense the atoms sparking to life in the tiny space between your bodies. Just like that, you were back in his hut, the moment swelling to level with the heavy, sizzling churn of when he'd flipped you to the carpet and caged you in underneath him. He had such a presence, his body thrumming with life and power and fuck, you wanted it on top of you. Again. 

“I’m relieved to hear that. And,” he said, slowly reaching his flesh hand to tentatively cup your neck, hot and possessive in one, tender gesture, his calloused thumb coming up to stroke over your jaw, the intimate touch sending fireworks through your nervous system, ”though I don’t want to disrespect your work ethic, I’d like to point out that we’re not working on the same project anymore, so if you’d like to -”

The case hit the floor with a loud bang the moment you wrapped your arms around Barnes’s neck and threw yourself into his arms, your lips meeting in a sizzling kiss. Barnes caught you around the waist and hauled you up into his arms, your feet dangling off the ground as he crushed you to his chest, returning the kiss tenfold. 

His tongue was immediately in your mouth this time, licking hot and wet and dominatingly over your own, and you whimpered at the sheer intensity, the way it blazed to a fire in your loins.

You clung to him like your life depended on it, and moaned into his mouth as you felt him turn and lower you to the bench in the lab, not letting much space get in between you before he draped himself over you and continued putting his mouth to yours. Your hands found their agency and started moving, mapping out his shoulders, feeling the muscle ripple under your fingertips as you caressed down his chest and around his sides to stroke his long, chiseled back.

His loose cotton shirt rode up as he moved to step further in between your opening legs, pressing himself closer, and your hands were unable to resist the pull as your fingers met the hot flesh of his lower back, stroking over silky smooth skin up again under his shirt. 

His whole body shuddered against you, a small gasp emanating from him as he broke the kiss, and your excitement went through the roof. You opened your eyes and stared at his expression going lax, eyes closing and mouth hanging slightly open as you continued your caress up his back. You hooked your hands over his shoulder and pulled him down to you again, nibbling on his lip before kissing his open mouth, your fingertips dancing in swirling patterns down his back. 

His body shuddered again. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered a little breathlessly against your mouth, mostly to himself it seemed, and your discovery made you almost feverish with desire. 

He was sensitive, and probably more than a little touch-starved. 

You brought your hands forward and found the top button on his shirt, staring to undo it as you breathed into each other's mouths. You’d gotten to the third one when Barnes gave a (admittedly adorable) little huff of impatience and pulled free to wrench his shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted torso right out of your wettest dream. You had to take a moment just to stare at him, hard abs, flat stomach, pecs that stretched into rounded, muscled, obscenely broad shoulders. Tight, sculpted muscles that shone in the dimmed, bluish fluorescents of the ceiling lights, one muscled arm with prominent veins running down to a calloused hand, one arm reflecting the lights in shiny, sculpted, black vibranium.

His chest rose and fell with his labored breath, his abs flexing, the muscles of his torso and arms tensing and shifting as he stood before you and it was just so different from the statuesque, almost frugal way he’d moved before, when he only exerted energy at the utmost importance. This man was alive in a completely different way. And he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you. 

You’d barely raked your eyes up to his and caught the feral glint in his eyes before he was on you again, ripping your lab coat open and sliding his hands up and down your sides. His touch sent shivers of warmth through you and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you. That only seemed to spur him on. When his hands slid under the cotton sweater you wore, exploring the folds and dips of your abdomen, you shuddered. He was touching you like he hadn’t touched anyone before, all curious and explorative with just the hint of inexperienced clumsiness, fingers curious for such a mundane thing as the fold of skin over your ribcage as you lay there crouched beneath him. 

Bast, you needed more, his touch sending you into a frenzy. You wanted him, all of him. 

You started awkwardly extracting your arms from your lab coat, and when Barnes caught on, he was more than willing to help you shed it before his fingers went to the hem of your sweater. He paused then, and looked into your eyes for permission. You nodded, a bit eagerly perhaps, but whatever. 

He slowly slid the fabric of your sweater up your torso, and in a move more gentle than you’d anticipated from the way he removed his own clothes, he bent down and tentatively kissed your stomach - right on your tummy, soft kisses following the fabric up. It stole your breath away as you watched the movement avidly. 

He pushed the fabric all the way up over your bra, and reached with a curious hand to tug the cup down, revealing a hardened nipple. You were nearly shaking with want at this point, and shuddered embarrassingly hard when he took the nipple in his mouth and swiped his hot, wet tongue on it, nibbling gently and curiously with his teeth until you shuddered again.

You let your hands wander and found his hair, finally, finally getting to feel the soft, straight locks of hair sift through them, basking in the opportunity after having snuck peaks at it for months. It was even silkier than you’d imagined, despite its shaggy appearance. You combed your hands through his hair as he moved to suck on your other nipple, pulling the cup of your bra down to free your breast to the open air of the room. 

Scraping your nails over his scalp, you felt the way his form trembled atop you, and he almost purred, a deep, rumbling groan vibrating through you and into the very bench beneath you. You scraped over his scalp again and bit your lip as it elicited another rumble.

He let your nipple go, puffy and a shade darker than usual from his bullying, and you watched the string of saliva connect it to his lips with a blush burgeoning on your face. Oh, this might get filthy, you thought to yourself, almost embarrassed by how much you liked it when he closed the distance between you and licked into your mouth again, seemingly not caring about his spit getting everywhere, the kiss messy and wet. 

There was a tell-tale hard bulge pressing against the heated spot between your legs, and you rolled your hips down on it. Barnes gasped out of the kiss, looking almost shocked as he quickly looked down between your bodies to where he was pressed against you, and you wondered if he might’ve forgotten where all of these horny urges came from. You rolled your hips into him again, experimentally, and watched as realization hit him, as his eyelids drooped and a tiny groan escaped him. Then he rolled his hips to meet yours and it was your time to groan. 

“Just like that,” you whispered encouragingly, and met his gaze as he returned his eyes to yours, watching you intently as he rolled his hips again and again, grinding himself between your legs. 

He felt…big, to say the least, and he was grinding against your clothed clit in a way that you knew had you gushing into your panties. You could already feel the fabric getting soggy, sliding along your flesh as Barnes widened his step and grinded against you with more grounded precision. 

Fuck, it felt so good it was getting hard to think, and when his - oh god - vibranium hand slid down your side to grab your hip, effortlessly pinning you down into the bench so he could grind even harder against your core, the breath in your lungs fucking punched out of you. You knew just how much strength was packed into that metal arm. Knew there was a fine line between using too much strength and keeping you pinned firmly enough so you couldn’t move your hips an inch. Barnes traversed that line perfectly. 

Your pussy was on fire, the grinds of Bucky’s big, hard bulge against your clit too much while - simultaneously - the layers of clothes between you made it somehow not enough. It had been so long since you’d just frotted, clothed, like this, and you now wondered how you could’ve forgotten how fucking good it felt - or if it’d ever felt this good at all before. You seriously doubted it, for you couldn’t really believe it, but the rhythm and weight of Bucky's hips while his mouth lowered to mouth at your neck was somehow actually propelling you towards the edge. 

You tried to move your hips to grind back, to make him go faster, harder, but found yourself utterly - and deliciously - fully at his mercy as he nuzzled the crook of your neck and laved his tongue on your skin, tasting it in that fascinating curiosity of his. 

Fuck, it was right there, you could feel it, he was gonna make you come, you just needed a little more. 

Through the haze of your impending, building release, you could hear yourself start to whimper. Needy and a little embarrassing, the sounds escaping you despite you biting your lip and clutching at Barnes’s shoulders, barely holding on as he hurled you towards that precipice.

His face suddenly appeared from the crook of your neck, and it took you a second to realize he had a look of confused concern on his face as he looked down on you. 

To your utter distress, his hips slowed their steady, hard thrust against yours, and he gave you a once over you had a hard time understanding. Then it hit you that he must be concerned he’d done something wrong; that he’d mistaken your sounds of need for ones of pain or that you didn’t want it or something utterly ridiculous like that. Sweet, respectful, slightly confused and apparently wildly inexperienced man, you thought with an almost woeful endearment. You could feel yourself slipping further under the power of his spell as his eyes returned to your face, flitting about to try and decipher your expression.

That elusive orgasm you were dancing up to started to slip away as his hips grinded to a halt, and you reached out to cradle his face in near panic. 

“No, please, please, please don’t stop. It’s so good, please,” you practically whined, trying to move your own hips to get more of that sweet, intoxicating friction. You barely managed a little squiggle under the pinning strength of his hand on your hip and his body on top of yours.

A great gust of breath whooshed out of him, and he started up his rhythm again almost immediately, meeting your tiny writhing with thrusts of his own like he just couldn’t help it, and you threw your head back, biting your lip and nodding frantically as the pleasure built inside you again, picking up just behind where you’d left off. 

His hand, the one of flesh, slid up your torso to caress the exposed column of your neck, almost curiously, exploring, holding it in an almost tender grip as you moaned in delirium. His thrust grew harder, your moans louder and his hand gripped harder like he enjoyed the feeling of your moans being forced from you by his moving hips. 

You could tell the moment he started climbing his own precipice, how his movement grew more focused, more intent, leaving all exploration behind to chase a goal with an almost singular, feral possession. His breaths turned to gasps, which turned to grunts and then low growls. His movement turned frantic, almost feral in their one mindedness. He was losing himself to the pleasure and you whined, mind turning to slush under the onslaught of his ferocity. You were going dumb on his cock and he hadn’t even taken it out of his pants. Didn’t matter, you were done for. 

The wild, animalistic abandon with which he chased his own high was so blastingly hot it sent you tumbling over the edge almost entirely on its own. You gasped, your body tensing and then exploding under his as his grinding thrusts sent wave upon wave of searing, orgasmic bliss crashing into you, riding you so hard you nearly passed out. 

Your sight went blurry, blood roaring in your ears, but you heard the moment his breath caught in his throat, such a vulnerable sound, and then the bulge pressed to the sticky, clothed cunt between your legs started throbbing in an uneven, staccato rhythm, which you could feel against you even through the layers of clothing separating you. His grip turned to bruising steel and you gasped anew as the intensity of the pain mixed with your abating orgasm, making a shocking, intoxicating cocktail of sensation blast through you. 

He threw his head back, the thick column of his neck stretching taut, and growled like he was in pain, and it sent vibration straight through you down to the table beneath you. Fuck, he was like nothing you’d ever experienced - pure, raw power, lust, shocking honesty and a sense of almost ardent fascination - mixed together in this anomaly and mystery of a man.

It felt like several minutes passed as you tried to catch your breath and gather your mind from where it’d melted out of your ears to puddle on the bench around you. Bucky’s face had made its way into the crook of your neck, where he seemed just as slow and sluggish to come back down to earth. He was like a furnace on top of you, even hotter from his exertion, forehead damp and hot where it pressed to the sensitive skin of your neck. 

His weight on you was a comforting one though, making you feel safe and protected, covered and nestled into a cocoon of muscles and warmth and soft, puffing breaths. Taking a cheeky chance, you carded a hand through his hair, the brown strands soft, glinting in the fluorescents above as they shifted through your fingers. Bucky’s whole form shivered as you raked your fingernails along his scalp, and the bulge nestled tight between your thighs and his body throbbed once as he grunted softly, neck twisting to push his head into your hand, almost like a cat rubbing against your palm to get more scritches. 

A chuckle left your mouth as you kept carding your hand through Bucky’s hair. He looked up at you then, and the moment caught up with you. A blush had the audacity of spreading on your cheeks even after everything you’d just done. He looked into your eyes, silent but for your deep, still slightly labored breaths. You couldn’t help smiling. 

He looked a little dazzled for a moment, then a slow, beautiful smile spread on his own lips to answer yours.

"Um, it's been a long time, and I d-don't remember much, but I'm pretty sure this is not how you court a lady properly," he said a bit self-deprecatingly. You chuckled again, and he joined, his form vibrating with myrth. He made no move to get off you though. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I don't know, this doesn't feel too bad," you said, and you could practically feel the relief in Bucky as he let you keep him laying draped across you.

"Still. I'd like to take you out sometime. It was the real reason I came here, after all," he said.

You felt your smile turn wry.

"I thought you said you had errands...and whatnots," you said.

His gaze wavered for only a moment as he realized he'd revealed his own bluff. Then his smile grew sheepish, and so warm it sizzled.

[hamlets-ak]

seaside sanctuary ༊*·˚

༘♡ speak to me in the language of lovers

during your vocation on a greek island, you and timothée spend some time on a secluded beach. a conversation you have makes him seriously think of your future together

The magic of Milos had settled over you gently and clingingly with its volcanic rock formations and golden shores. Not even two weeks had passed since the day you and Timothée arrived on the island, and you had already become one with the locals; traveling in all its cryptic passages and discovering the heart of the town.

You had found happiness in simple and frugal things like walking along pebbled pathways and marble streets with your boyfriend’s palm inside yours, fingers conjoined and tangled, quick pecks on the cheek and forehead, small glances and furtive smiles, soft laughs, warm or cold hugs, his head balancing tiredly on your shoulder and yours burying on his chest listening to his steady heartbeat.

It was Timothée’s idea to invite your families since you had only a month at your disposal before returning back to work and it was an opportunity to spend some time with them. Besides, it was such a beautiful trip, you had to share this unrepeatable experience. 

Altogether you traveled with your sailboat around the island and stayed on secluded beaches, accessible only by the sea. Hours and hours had been spent under the sun; swimming, snorkeling, laying on the deck, enjoying the sunset at anchor. 

Blazing afternoon sunrays penetrated your skin and blinded your vision, as the briny breeze fanned your face, pulling back strands of salty hair, tangling them with the blowing fair wind. 

The Aegen was opening around you; a sapphire-colored sea that touched the line of the sky, extending to a wild yet quiet horizon. It was summer and the world was in a splendor. 

Your arms were leaning on the silver railings of the boat and your gaze was up in the bright blue veil, watching the seagulls fly high and dive at the water, then rising up again, squawking loudly to each other. 

A burst of familiar boisterous laughter led your eyes to the back at the cockpit. You couldn’t help but smile before even allowing your stare to pierce that dirty glass, only at the sound of his voice. Your head slowly fell to the side and stayed balanced on top of your shoulder. 

Timothée’s radiant smile made you unconsciously laugh a little. And he must've noticed because even through the thick glass and the heavy blanket of water and salt covering it, he stared back at you with an electrifying glint and grinned widely as he bent down to knock at the glass a few times and then waved at you. 

« Let’s go! », he told you. 

You pushed yourself off the railings. Hushed murmurs accompanied by melodious giggles forced you to change your gaze from scenic islets and coves to a small group of people. Barefoot and sun-dazed, their hearts still left in the old pirates’ hideout, Kleftiko, your parents and Pauline, were laying relaxed on the boat. Their swimsuits were on, bodies still wet from their previous dive, drying under shining sunrays. Green beer bottles with the word ‘Mythos’ written on their lebels were reflecting golden beams of light, as cigarettes burnt in the air alongside sprinkles of brine and rust.

« Pauline? », you called her name. She sat better at her elbows and raised her eyes that were covered with black shades. « You’re coming? »

« Nah, » she replied throwing her head back. « I’m tired. I’ll just stay here and take a nap. Have fun though. » You nodded at her words and moved slowly and steadily to the back, hands holding tightly the ropes of the boat.

« Hey, » Timothée grinned at you. 

« Hi, » you greeted him and the Captain. « Where are we right now? »

« We are at Sykia, » Timothée replied. He wrapped his arm around you, letting it fall loose on your shoulder as he held you.

« Yeah that’s right, » the Captain spoke with his heavy Greek voice that held a melodious tone only people from Cyclades had. « Once you pass that tunnel, you’ll end up in the cave, » he pointed in the direction you were already looking at. Timothée nodded in understandment, arms snaking in your lower spine, bringing you closer to his body. « And when you get inside, you'll notice that a part of the roof of the cave is missing. It was submerged years ago and now there is a kind of natural skylight. »

« Oh that’s cool, » you said turning to the scenery while Timothée’s nose was mindlessly circling your cheek and temple, tracing soft lines over your brow. Sun kissed your faces and drifted at the space between, giving away a sheen. 

« It is cool, » the Captain continued. « I mean, what are you even doing in Milos if you haven’t visited Sykia? » You both lightly laughed at his words as you took Timothée’s hand in yours and pressed a pair of soft lips on top of it before he lightly patted your cheek with his hand making you grin, melting at his warm touch, and hug him tight. 

You had anchored close to the cave, less than half of a nautical mile. Waves were luring the boat along with them giving it a soft waft. 

Timothée waited for you to approach the edge of the boat before jumping off the stern into a calm steady sea with a thunderous splash that sprinkled you from head to toe, and then paddled the water. Quickly he emerged, throwing his head back and pulling pieces of hair that were stuck on his forehead, out of his face. With cold water stinging your skin, you lightly stepped back gasping.

« Come in! », Timothée laughed and motioned his head to you.

« It’s cold! », you slouched your shoulders, arms wrapped around your stomach. You glanced back regretting your decision of not staying with Pauline to take a nap as well.

« Come in! », he said in a more demanding tone. You bit your lips and shook your head. « I’m going to splash you. »

“No, you wouldn’t.”

« You sure about that? », he asked tossing a small wave of water in your direction. 

« Timothée, it’s cold! »

« I’ll splash you. » You looked at him for a few seconds. « I’ll do it. »

« Fine, » you groaned making him smile, and without much thought jumped into the sea. 

A freezing feeling struck then gradually consumed your body. Nothing but the sea was surrounding you and you kicked your feet through bitter water, gasping for air. You fought for a moment breathlessly to come to the surface and then looked at Timothée who was already a bit ahead of you.

« Wait, wait, wait! », you shouted at him. He stopped and turned around to look at you, as you paddled along the blue to be closer to him. Timothée couldn’t help but laugh, watching you all puffed, your legs weightless kicking an uncharted abyss below. 

Together you glided the blue, reaching the tunnel Captain told you about. Your head moved up too distracted from watching the brown-greenish rocks above your head. Tim pulled your hand and pressed a wet kiss on your cheek.

« Let’s go, » he said, his voice echoing loud all around as if coming from speakers.

The cave had no roof just like the Captain described it. Sun rays were lighting the inside of the cave, creating amazing colorations that enchanted you. It was a unique miracle every visitor should see. 

On the inside was a small pebbled beach, with rocks and crystal clear waters. There was no one there. Just the two of you.

Like true children of the sun, you swam in the idyllic calm and then ran to the pebbled shore, free, repeating the gestures of athletes of Delos.

« Aren’t you afraid it’s going to fall and crush us down? », you told him as your hands cupped in the air the part of the cave that was still up. Your bodies were close to each other, so close you could hear the smile forming on his lips.

« It’s been like that for so many years, why does it have to fall now that we are here? », he asked. You rolled your eyes and chuckled. 

« I’m just saying, » you mumbled. He breathed out heavily which made you turn in question. « What? », you looked at him.

« Oh, nothing, » he laughed a little, pulling back his wet hair. You kept staring at him for a few seconds watching droplets watering the rocks below you. 

« I’ve never been happier. » He wore a dreamful smile. « And I wish every day could be like that. »

« Like what? », his eyebrow slightly raised. Your mouth curled up thinking of your response as your gaze turned back to the crystal pure tapestry of the sky.

« Waking up together… making love… having breakfast… going for a walk… swimming… making love again and then having a bath together. » Your words caused a boyish grin to appear on his face and you imitated his expression. « Eating together, listening to music, watching the sunset… you laughing and me laughing because you are laughing… telling you how much I love you… »

« Sounds good to me, » he said and leaned to kiss your shoulder. You pouted your lips and looked down. Timothée frowned and then turned to the side, balancing on his one elbow, to take a better look at you.

« You won’t tell me how much you love me back? », you bit your lips trying not to smile. His face flushed at your mincing manner and how you pronounced the world ‘love’. He looked away.

« Oh, of course, I’ll tell you, » he bent lower his head and you tented your neck to catch his lips, your hand holding back his hair as he moved on top of you, dripping water running on your body. He breathed out hot air on your face making your head fall back trying to get some oxygen inside before returning to him, your heads touching and lips almost stitched together. 

« Y/N, » he said voice deep echoing inside you. « I really need you to know this. »

« You don’t have to say anything. »

« No, I have to, » Tim gulped. « You walked by chance into my very messy life and from day to day, I started to breathe better. Before you, without you, I loved nothing. With you, I have accepted more things. I have learned to live. That's probably why I’ve always mixed my love for you with so much gratitude. » Your mouth slightly opened and eyes glanced away. « I mean every word. »

Without warning you kissed him on the lips. He let out a muffled sound from the force with which your mouth touched his. 

« I wouldn’t have loved you any less, if you didn’t say anything, » you told him. Your stare was fixed on his plum reddish lips that tasted like salt and apricots and cherries. « But now that you did, all I can do is love you more. »

He smiled. His forehead brushed against yours as he let you lick away his grin and kiss him. First slow, sweet, soft; then harder, fiery, urgent, like a poem of Odysseas Elytis.

It was a true sisyphean work watching the way the lurking glint of your eyes and your wolfish grin dig up his most shameful secrets, without ripping the animal from within and burying himself in your streams of love and delicate words.

The waft’s stroke maneuvered between you, warm like a teenage memory, spreading sprinkles of salt and rust to the air. Bodies entangled in summer thunders, as the gentle splash of water on your toes offered a kind of peace, privacy, and safety that you had both missed. 

You flapped and then stayed there in comfortable silence. But as you watched the horizon slowly bleed from the crevice of the tunnel, Timothée couldn't think of the swollen sun, honeycombs, and wasted old summers.

The only thing he had in mind was how much he loved you, how much you loved him - because he knew that - and how much he couldn't wait any longer for you to live together forever.

And as you laid together, eyes gazing at the moon and the starlit sky, bodies hugging one another, his lips lingering on your head and fingers gently storing your hair, he probably took one of the most important, life-changing decisions about your life.

He was going to ask you to marry him.

[arcana-xvi]

Fear Not

Biblically accurate(ish) Angel descends upon a survivor of the Rapture. Thought it would be a fun perversion of the Christian mythos with some good eldritch horror vibes to it. Monster x Reader (F)

CW: Non/Dubcon, Monster, Breeding

When was the last time you prayed? Actually, really, truly prayed? You couldn’t remember, and perhaps now, amidst all the chaos and hellfire, all you could think of was perhaps you should have prayed more. Maybe then when the earth started shaking and the sky opened up to rain fire and ash across those left behind, maybe then you wouldn’t have been here– wouldn’t have had to see the horror and carnage that remained in a world abandoned by God and his legion. Still, there was hope to be had, if the rumors were to be believed. Angels descending from the heavens, finding those worthy amidst the end of days and taking them to what could only be believed to be sanctuary: Paradise above. 

You stopped going to work, after all, what was the point now that a majority of the world’s population had vanished into thin air, and civilization had broken down to the point of riots and general panic? Instead, you stayed barricaded in your home to the best of your ability. Bookshelves and dressers, once containers for precious items and necessities, now turned into a blockade to keep your door shut against the hell that raged outside. You knew that soon you would run low on supplies, namely food and water, and would have to venture out into the kingdom of hell to restock…but that was a problem for later. For now, you were content to stay inside; keep to yourself; and, God willing, avoid drawing any attention from the desperate souls struggling to remain alive. 

Time stopped making sense, nights and days blending into an endless blur of half-light and overwhelming heat or unbearable cold. It was cold when you decided you should settle in for some sleep, piling blankets and clothes on top of you to help keep in the warmth. You still weren’t used to the awful noise from outside, but with as exhausted as you were, sleep would come eventually. 

When was the last time you prayed? Fuck that, when was the last time you spoke to another person; saw another person? You tried to remember the names and faces of your friends as you slowly began to drift off, something you had started doing every night to try and keep sane. It was your own form of counting sheep, and even though you caught yourself making mistakes here and there, it seemed to work well enough. 

Perhaps it was the noise that woke you, if not then it was certainly the light. So bright that burrowing under the mass of covers you had assembled did nothing to block it out, but it was better than looking at it, or anywhere else for that matter. The light was painful, and while it didn’t burn, it hurt in a way you had never felt before. Your brain seemed to ache from it, your mind fraying at the seams from the sheer intensity of its brightness.  

Fear not!

The words seared themselves into your mind. Silent and deafening at the same time. Seeming to drown out every other noise, yet keeping the still silence of your boarded up room intact. When your hearing finally returned and the ache in your brain subsided, you realized you had been screaming, your throat raw from the agony you expressed. 

Fear not! It repeated, again directly into your mind, though not as intensely as before. 

The light seemed to dim, at least to a level your eyes could handle, and you peeked beyond the hem of your cloth fortress. Before you, slipping into your room by passing through the wall as if it weren’t there, was a horrific beauty. A sphere of wheels, lined with countless eyes, shining with such intensity it could surely not have come from this world. No, you doubted that it even came from this universe, especially as it seemed to pass through solid matter without a trace. The golden wheels seemed to spin and rotate independently of one another without being connected to anything at all. Every eye rolled around in a random direction, seeing everything and nothing all at once. Flames that gave off no heat danced along the wheels, taking the shape of large feathered wings that curled and encased the entirety of the thing like a cocoon…or perhaps the wings simply had the appearance of dancing flames. It was impossible to tell, and the longer you stare the more it seemed like both were possible as much as they were impossible. 

Within the center of the revolving, rotating, and spinning wheels was a mass. An undulating culmination of the impossible burning feathers. From within the mass peered out eyes of various sizes at seemingly random intervals. Though it never seemed to look directly at you, there was this unmistakable feeling that its entire focus was fixated on you, as if this being was devoted entirely to your existence alone. The pain in your head eased and gave way to a worrying placidity, as if your fear and fragmented thoughts had been smothered with a thick, warm blanket. 

Fear not! O’ that same gloria rang out in deafening silence. What reason was there to be afraid of such a beautiful thing? A herald of creation, one of the chariots that pulled along God’s throne itself. Yes, fear not, because this was salvation manifest. The shining light of redemption sent down to you, and you alone. To be taken up to the eternal kingdom and know peace and love and life everlasting. 

As you pulled yourself from your cathedral of rags and bed sheets, the eyes began to turn. Some slowly, some quickly, and still some lolling around before coming to land fixated on you. For the first time since its arrival it looked upon you directly, and from the mass of feathered flames that made up its core a single eye, larger than the others emerged. In its abyssal pupil you could see your reflection, marveled as you approached it slowly, reaching out a hand towards it. 

Fear not, and come to know me. Fear not, and come unto eternity. Fear not, and know I am your end.

The thing let out a strange keening sound. You clasped your hands over your ears, but still it found its way inside. You felt your very bones trembling as the foundations of your world fell away. The ground dropped from beneath your feet and the walls torn away with the howling of divine wind. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to block out the maddening sight of the material world being reduced to abstract concepts, though too late. You had already seen it– already felt the way the physical world betrayed you and left you alone amidst nothing with this…this thing. 

When the noise finally subsided and the sensation of everything you had ever known to be solid and true being torn away in a single breath had finally ceased, you felt yourself floating. Suspended in neutral nothing; neither warm nor cold. You dared to open your eyes and lower your hands from your ears. 

It was there, as you knew it would always be. Its eyes upon you as it spread its wings wide, flaming feathers shining lightlessly into the nothingness. A permanent fixture in this empty world, and its attention was solely on you. The incomprehensible mass of feathers and eyes that made up its core shifted as it moved closer– or was it you being pulled close to it? It was impossible to tell in such a shapeless void, still, the distance between you and it began to close. The wheels began to rotate in such a way that you passed through them, coming close to the thing’s core. Its wings folded around itself in impossible ways, the flaming feathers collapsing inwards and wrapping both itself and you in a warm, plush prison of feathers and heatless flames. 

Close now, you reached out your hand, moving felt like being underwater, but you were determined to touch it, to feel it. You only managed to brush against its feathers for the briefest of moments before your hands were wrenched away, pushed above your head, wrists held together by some unknown and intangible force. Dragging you upwards, the creature held you suspended in front of it by your bound wrists, like dangling a piece of meat for some beast to snatch up. 

The keening noise rose again, blossoming from the center of its feathery mass, and you shut your eyes against it, though could no longer cover your ears. The sound washed through you, reverberating in every bone, muscle, and cavity that made up your mortal coil. It was uncomfortable at first, but then…strangely soothing– as if the soundless screech was being tuned just for you, adjusting its pitch and frequency to match you specifically. After a few moments fear began to melt away and it was…pleasing, almost pleasurable in a way. As it continued you somehow knew that this strange noise, this hymn, was meant for you. Specifically for you, as if your very name and soul were woven together in a single gloria. 

Your muscles began to relax, and as you stared into its large central eye, you felt something shift. Movement from the corner of your eye, yet nothing was there except the eternal void which was now your home. Still, in your periphery you could see the movement, like a hand reaching towards you. 

Be honored, child, to be chosen, to be so blessed by our touch. Fear not, for it is decided that your body will be Eden reborn. 

You tried to interpret its words, so oddly cryptic was it when it spoke, but your thoughts were interrupted by a touch along your cheek. A hand– its hand, unseen but very clearly felt, stroked against your skin with such a delicate touch. It traced down your cheek and lightly danced along your jawline, moving under towards your chin where it lifted your face upwards. Unable to fight the unseen hand, you found yourself gazing into the abyss above, as you felt it gran your jaw with a strong, demanding grip. Tilting your head from side to side you could feel the gaze of legion burning into your skin, as if it were examining you. 

Another touch, this one lower, tracing along the neck of your shirt. You knew that if you looked down you would see nothing, still you could feel it all the same. It gripped the fabric of your shirt and with a sudden, forceful motion pulled away the cloth as though it were simply paper. 

You let out a gasp, shocked by the sudden forceful exposure only to have the grip on your jaw and wrists tighten, as if in warning as well as a show of its strength. Before you had time to speak another touch along your waist caused you to falter. It grabbed the waistline and, just as with your shirt, tore away the clothing with remarkable ease. There were four distinct places where you could feel its touch. Squeezing your wrists, holding your jaw, dancing along your collarbone, and now gripping your waist with what you could only assume was a hand, though the size and amount of fingers made you glad it remained invisible to you. 

Panic began to set in. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but as you tried to struggle, to pull your hands away and kick your legs, you felt more grip you– grabbing at your ankles, your thighs, your waist, your throat, your shoulders…so many monstrous hands holding you still, making you endure the examination. A scream built in your throat as you fought against it, struggling to pull free any part of yourself, but before the sound could pierce the air a heavy hand clapped over your lips, smothering the scream before it had a chance to fly free. 

Fear not. It repeated, its unsettling amount of fingers and hands squeezing you tighter; pulling at you, exploring you. The hand on your throat squeezing, its many fingers digging into your soft skin causing you to gasp for breath. Tugging at the grip on your wrists you fought it all the while, though it seemed wholly unfazed by your feeble attempts. You could feel your heart beating frantically against your ribs, and worse still a wave of shame as your body betrayed you, the heat between your thighs becoming too prevalent to ignore. 

Almost as if it knew, the thing pried your legs apart just as easy as it had torn away your clothing. Its gaze (or at least part of it) drinking in the sight of your undeniably wet panties. You felt a blush burn through your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut, a single sob causing you to jolt, though the sound died in your covered mouth like the scream before it. You could feel its hands crawling up your thighs, numerous and uncountable fingers stroking and squeezing the soft, sensitive flesh. Before you had time to really appraise the situation you felt more hands tearing at your camisole, ripping away the fabric with ease and exposing your chest to its wandering, piercing gaze. 

Fear. Not. For the seeds of our future shall be sewn. You will be known as Eden; as Mother; as the Willow of Life.  It seemed to growl within your mind, the words, once almost musical now seemed…discordant, unhinged…desperate. Its eyes went wild, jittering back and forth as it focused on everything and nothing at once. 

Oh no, fear was there, most certainly. Your insides churned as you thought of its words. Garden, seeds, mother…tears burned your eyes as the pieces started to connect in your mind and what it intended to do. You tried to beg, plead with it. Words and screams snuffed out by its powerful grip on your mouth. You could feel its hands on your breasts, groping them forcefully. The idle thought struck you of the blooming purple blossoms that would appear as sore reminders of its touch. Such a strange thought to have, but the mind does strange things under duress. Suddenly the sensation on your breasts changed as the thing pressed what you could only assume were its palms firm against your nipples. The flat surface of the unseen hands seemed to churn and split, as if a pair of lips were opening there. You tried to pull away from the unusual sensation, but against its iron grip movement was but a distant memory of a freedom you once had. The strange mouths enveloped your nipples, unseen tongues and teeth and…feathers? Perhaps, at least that’s what it felt like, began to caress them, pull on them. Each action causing a shameful, unwanted throb to your pussy, further soaking your panties– which were by no doubt practically see through at this point with the amount of arousal that leaked from your twitching and anxious cunt. 

You felt a pressure on your thighs, the being using its hands to push your legs apart further, almost painfully so. Tears streamed down your face as you attempted to thrash against it to no avail. It began to shift, its feathers of lightless flames ruffling and twisting as it seemed to bristle, its eyes lolling around aimlessly. You could sense it before you felt it, something massive between your thighs, obscene and perverse. 

How long has it been since you last prayed? You couldn’t remember, but in this moment you began anew. Begging to God for mercy.

God? Fear not. God is dead. Abandoned us all long ago. We are God now. The Father rots as the Mother is chosen! There was hate as it spoke to you, such heavy, burning hate. You felt it, and where it touched your skin it seemed to burn and sting as if this thing could turn emotions into sensations. 

It was then it dawned on you, through the flood of emotions and its reactions to your prayers. This…thing was an angel. One of God’s first children and holy host. Though at this moment, nothing seemed holy about this creature. It seemed crazed, so far removed from its former grace and purpose that all glory was replaced with madness. 

You snapped out of your thoughts as you felt something press against your soaked panties. Though you couldn’t see it, couldn’t even try with how you were being held, you knew what it was. Screaming into its hand, your struggle found renewed vigor, desperate to pull away, to escape; however, it was useless. The beast was too strong, not to mention the sheer endless amount of hands it seemed to have. You felt the pressure against your panties grow more forceful, the blunt, rounded shape of its tip confirming the fear of what lay in store for you. 

Without further warning or preparation, the Angel pulled you down, its thick rod smashing against your panties. With its strength and unyielding rigidity of its unseen cock, it managed to push its tip into your cunt, the fabric of your panties clinging to it as it stretched you slightly. The storm of panic raging within you intensified as it became clear this monstrosity was about to take you through your panties. 

You attempted to bite at the invisible hand over your mouth, though it was impossible, not only were you unable to even open your mouth, but as you felt your lips move against the palm, it seemed to shift itself in such a way that attempting to bite it would prove impossible. Twisting and pulling your legs, trying your best to close them was just as futile. The burning stinging sensation you felt when its anger flared subsided, changing into a strangle, warm tingle. The more you struggled, the more intense the sensation became, as if it was enjoying the futile effort you put forth. 

Once more it pulled you down onto its Angelic cock, pressing harder into your entrance. You could feel its arousal straining against the thin, wet material of your panties, slowly gaining entrance to your cunt. Then there was a sudden tear, you swear you could hear the fabric being shred as you felt the large appendage sink deep into your core. Another wail was smothered in your throat as your eyes rolled back from the overwhelming mix of searing pain and shameful pleasure. 

The Angel shuddered, its large, inhuman hands pulling and squeezing at your body. You swear you could feel claws dig into your soft skin, and what could only be described as more mouths biting and sucking where its palms pressed against you. The burning, thick cock stuffed into your human cunt throbbed to a strange rhythm as it withdrew from you just a few inches before being slammed back against your cervix. You could feel your shredded panties clinging to his shaft, scraping your insides as it stretched your inner walls. 

You had given up trying to scream at this point, your muscles giving out as that last thrust almost knocked the wind from you. Teeth brought searing pain to your nipples, and shamefully caused you to clench around the Angel’s massive dick. You felt a noise rumble in your throat, though not a scream, a moan. A vocal admission of desire and acceptance of what was happening. 

It began to move more, faster, its cock pistoning in and out of you with an eager, primal need. Each pass of it caused your cunt to stretch uncomfortably, yet with a strange satisfaction– the animalistic desire to be filled, to be bred. The twin mouths on your nipples began to suck, pulling the little buds of flesh into a matching warm, velvety embrace. Heat flushed through your body, and you were all too aware of the liquid arousal that dripped from between your thighs– a glistening reminder of your body’s own betrayal. The creature sensed it, the reluctant pleasure that slithered through your core and blossomed outwards. Digging your nails into your palms you tried to fight it, tried to hold the waves of carnal delight at bay. You didn’t want this, didn’t ask for this…yet, to your disdain and chagrin, your body came alive at its touch. 

Your skin began to heat where it touched you, searing warmth spiraling out and tangling with your own. It brought forth new sensations, unnamed feelings you had never before experienced, as if the Angel was sharing its own sensations with you. Your legs began to shudder in its iron grip, and you could feel your cunt clenching and twitching around large cock it continued to fuck you with. Through its touch you could sense how tight you were, could feel how soft your body felt in its hands and mouths. 

The sensation began to change, heat gave way to a fluttering feeling. Every part of your body felt as though you were in a storm of feathers; each nerve bursting with sudden and fleeting feelings of pleasure, but these feelings were not your own. Horror set in as you realized what was happening, the creature’s cock began to swell and throb harder in your core. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the world, to retreat within and hide from the maelstrom of pleasure and pain and emotions, both your own and the sensations inexplicably shared by the monstrous Angel. Though try as you might, it didn’t stop from feeling every gloriously painful inch of its dick as it began to spasm and convulse inside you, the burning hot cum filling your insides with every throb and twitch. 

The Angel’s orgasm pushed your body into full blown betrayal as your own, reluctant orgasm blossomed within, heat spilling out to every part of your body as you contracted painfully around the massive rod still inside you. You wished desperately to cling to something, have anything to hold onto, but amidst the storm of pleasure and emotion you had nothing but the bite of your nails into your own palms. 

You felt a lurch, like your stomach dropping when you miss a stair going down steps, and the sudden rush of cold wind dancing over your sweat drenched body. There was something soft beneath you, lumpy and awkward, yet still soft. Eyes still shut, you focused on your breathing, fighting through the storm to find a moment of calm. Realizing how tired you truly were, how ragged and exhausted your body was from the carnal abuse it had just endured, you found yourself slipping and drifting into sleep….

“No!” You woke with a scream, clutching one of the many blankets to your naked skin. Panic slowly started to fade as you realized you were in your own house with the door still barricaded: alone. You fell back into the covers and ran your hands over your face…what the actual fuck was that? You didn’t know, it felt like a nightmare, quickly fading from memory. Though with how badly your insides ached, the strange, full feeling you carried in your lower stomach, and the 8 little red scars in your palms from your nails…you knew that there was no difference between nightmares and the waking world. Not anymore. 

[dragonzzilla]

Tears of the Kingdom's underwhelming narrative had rich potential

I'll preface this with a confession: I have not played Tears of the Kingdom. As a matter of fact, I haven't played any Legend of Zelda. I simply never had the opportunity while growing up, so my interest in the series has always been satellite. As such, I do not have the perspective of someone who has. My opinions are formulated entirely in what little I have seen or sought out. I'm coming at this with the perspective of an outsider looking in. But I'm not looking for a fight. My aim isn't to bash the new hotness out of jealous spite, or to convince people to feel bad about liking this game that, I've otherwise heard, is really fun. The reason I care, even though I'm not a part of the fandom, is that we all deserved better.

This is a much anticipated sequel to a smash hit from one of the biggest names in the industry, sold at a whopping $70—and having watched for free a YouTube compilation of all the cutscenes pertaining to Ganondorf, the much advertised central antagonist of TOTK, I felt robbed. This was my legitimate reaction:

Disregarding all my other feelings for a moment, I was dumbstruck to see a Nintendo game—released in our year of 2023—use what is essentially the same cutscene four times while explaining the backstory. I recognize TOTK has modular progression, allowing you to reach the Sages in whatever order you please. But once you've seen the first one, the other three will offer you no more valuable information. I'm willing to stretch my suspension of disbelief pretty far, yet even I recognized on first viewing how formulaic the Sage cutscenes are. It wrenched me out of the story.* Hearing different perspectives about the same events can and should be interesting, but the Sages relating these events barely qualify as characters—possessing neither names nor even faces, thanks to their uniform masks of Zonai design...

* I'll acknowledge: Within universe, there is reason enough for the Sages to repeat what is essentially the same story to their respective successors to apprise them of the situation. I can certainly see Link having to sit through the same spiel several times so everyone is on the same page. But it felt really unnecessary as a member of the audience. And unlike their BOTW counterparts, the Four Champions, the Sages don't stick around long enough to endear themselves any further, instead passing their abilities and function onto their successors.

… Which, I feel, represents the Ancient Past Storyline as a whole. Despite the number of bodies involved, no one felt alive. Queen Sonia—this continuity's founding mother of Hyrule, where divine power is explicitly matrilineal—amounts to nothing more than meat for the fridge to motivate the real star of the show, Rauru. Everyone else, including Zelda and the other Sages, are merely bit players in the conflict between him and Ganondorf. But it's a conflict without teeth. Ganondorf displays nothing but a mad, naked lust for power. Opposing him is Rauru, the quintessential Good King and benevolent god figure who would never abuse his power, but would sacrifice it all to seal away the evil invader who killed his beloved martyr-wife. There is no interrogation of the 'gentle' imperialism Rauru represents. His way is textually presented as the only righteous way. The world of this continuity revolves around his legacy and its preservation; anything else is not merely deviant, but indicative of evil. Only someone with the blackest of hearts would oppose this order. The narrative requires Ganondorf to be nothing less than the epitome of evil.

Which is… really disappointing, to say the least. Because I happen to like Ganondorf. His character and his place in the mythos have always been the forefront of my interest in the series; forget Link or Zelda. Naturally, I was drawn in by TOTK's marketing about Ganondorf's return as a human antagonist after a 17 year long hiatus. Given how much of a reinvention BOTW was for the series as a whole, I was disappointed back in 2017 to learn that Ganondorf existed only as a mindless force of primordial evil. "How lame," I thought, "but I guess it's not really Ganondorf." Calamity Ganon was just that: Ganon. And Ganon's always a full-blown monster, divorced from any nuance possessed by his OOT, WW, and TP selves. Then the first teaser for TOTK dropped, placing Ganondorf the man (if a little worse for wear) front and center. Intrigued, I enjoyed the explosion of enthusiastic fan art that followed, as well as the speculation regarding the role he would play. Surely, he would be more than a one-note villain! My expectations rose as Nintendo revealed more about him. His new design didn't immediately scream Dark Lord; and in his first speaking role, he draws attention to the fact that he has returned (within universe and meta-wise) and he has a vision for the world. I couldn't want to see the final product! Yet here we are.

It's a strange thing to fixate upon, when I don't have any skin in this game. But I'm passionate about storytelling. I enjoy rich narratives with nuanced characters, and I respect those that fully commit to the ideas they present... whereas stories that try to have their cake and eat it too, well, those pique my interest as well. Whenever I see untapped potential, my writer's mind cannot help but ponder the age-old question of "What if?" And I intend to do just that, in the cut below (this rant is long enough as it is).

Of course, no amount of brainstorming can change the reality of a product. A ship's structural flaws only become apparent once it's left port, but there's no recalling it then. Nonetheless, there is value in the discussion. We should always critically analyze what corporations give us, desiccating their products to discern the messages (whether intentional or not) contained within—especially when the product is aimed toward a young audience that might not have the cognitive tools to decipher those messages for themselves. Even if we cannot affect change in a monolithic company like Nintendo, we can still draw lessons from their missteps to improve our own writing.

If I have such grievances with TOTK's story, why bother with a rewrite? Because:

Playing within the limits of another's sandbox can help to build creative muscle.

I believe TOTK has all the right ingredients for a compelling story, if this new series wasn't so afraid to challenge its narrative roots the way it has its gameplay.

A few more things to note: I am not a professional writer, nor am I a veteran of the series. I'm working strictly with what TOTK brings to the table. I'll make no efforts to reconcile the continuity errors between BOTW and TOTK (though it deserves mentioning), or even attempt to fit this in a single cohesive timeline with the rest of the franchise. I am not that brave lol. What I propose below is simply how I would use these toys; YMMV. I hope this inspires discussion more so than congratulation or wordless agreement (though my ego will accept compliments all the same, especially since it took no small amount of spoons to organize my thoughts like this). As Ganondorf says:

A Modest Rewrite of TOTK's Ancient Past Storyline

Zelda is still flung to the past, but she awakens not to a picturesque golden age under the magnanimous rule of an infallible demigod. Instead, sadly reminiscent of her own age, the land lays in ruin, in the immediate aftermath of its own calamity. But this isn't the fault of Ganon. The blame lies solely with the Zonai.

The Zonai were understandably viewed as gods. A people who live up in the sky on floating islands, in possession of miraculous technology (including killer robots to protect their interests!), and magical artifacts that in the wrong hands can unleash cataclysmic power? A civilization as powerful as theirs doesn't suddenly end without a very good reason. Yet as far as I know, no explanation is provided as to why Rauru and Mineru are seemingly the last of the Zonai. No mention is made of a rival power that could've taken them down; certainly none of the terrestrial races. Remember, the Zonai were seen as gods. If you were to ask me? A civilization with that great of a power at their disposal, and apparently so much of it that Rauru has four more Stones (not including his own, Sonia's, or Mineru's) to pass out as he sees fit... can only destroy itself.*

* I know the Zonai are depicted in text as a purely enlightened and benevolent race... but as far back in the franchise as OOT (which TOTK draws a lot from), not even Hyrule—the standard by which all civilization in LOZ is judged—was above a civil war, orphaning Link. War Within LOZ clearly isn't waged solely against primal forces of evil that can, must, and should be destroyed. And that's good! A story is made richer when even the Designated Good Guys can fuck things up, when characters are allowed to contain multitudes—good and bad qualities!

Power does not defuse conflict. It only escalates the scope of destruction once it's unleashed. So, for whatever reasons the Zonai gave themselves then clung to, they started fighting each other. Using their flying machines and automatons, battles were fought upon and between their sky islands, the detritus of war raining down on the lands below—the inhabitants of which can do nothing but watch as a war rages in heaven—until finally the full power of the Stones is unleashed in an exchange that guarantees mutual destruction. The sky islands all plummet to the earth, wreaking mass destruction. This is the world Zelda finds herself in—where the land has been cracked wide open, the skies are choked with dust, and no one gets along... so unlike the world she knows.

Zelda still comes into the care of Rauru and Sonia, but Rauru is merely Sonia's consort—he holds no power as king. It's evident from the start that Sonia is steering the direction of Hyrule—a humble territory in this age—in this tumultuous time, although Rauru is backing her. It's thanks to Sonia that Rauru and Mineru survived the fall of their sky island, brought back from the brink of death. It was during this time that Rauru fell in love with her; and to repay her, Rauru revealed that, between himself and Mineru, they have three intact Stones (a small homage to the Triforce since it doesn't matter in this continuity) with which they can secure Hyrule's place in this brave new world. Importantly, this isn't portrayed as any more righteous than a nation acquiring a clear advantage over its rivals. Indeed, Zelda's thrown for a loop to learn that in this era, the other races like the Gorons and the Zora aren't merely independent from Hyrule but have a history of conflict—something she never learned in her history books. And tensions are only rising, as these rival nations find Stones of their own after much scavenging, shifting an already fraught balance of power. The gods are dead, their empire shattered—yet slivers of their strength remain, for those daring enough to claim them. By using one of these Stones, a tribe could secure its borders, reclaim ancestral land... or conquer new territory. This is where Ganondorf enters the picture.

This Ganondorf is still a villain, but there's room for nuance. He's ruthless and prideful, and certainly antagonistic toward Hyrule; but the narrative respects him as much as his fellow monarchs. He cares about the success of his people, because his entire identity is shaped around being their king. Remember that a male is born to the Gerudo only once in a hundred years. Ganondorf is but the latest in a lineage of kings, with the heavy burden of expectation that carries—he has a legacy to uphold or surpass if he can help it. And ever since he was a boy, he envied the easy lives and green lands of Hyrule, so as a man he has made it his personal ambition to conquer it... but at every turn, he has met his match in Sonia, who is every bit as skilled of a commander and a magician. The two of them have clashed so many times that they've become the most intimate of enemies, hard pressed to hate each other because they both know what's at stake. For years, they've been evenly matched... but the downfall of the Zonai changed everything. In spite of the Gerudo's best efforts, they haven't been able to find a single Stone to make up for the fact that the crash of their local sky islands kicked up terrible sandstorms and drove monsters from their usual habitats. The Gerudo are more desperate than ever. Then Ganondorf learns that his oldest enemy is housing two living Zonai underneath her roof, and has a total of four Stones at her disposal. He cannot battle Hyrule as before, lest he risk annihilation—if not by Sonia's hands, then another tribe that is more willing to coup de grâce a decimated competitor, or they might perish to monsters, or the desert might finally claim them, the dunes swallowing up their bones and burying their accomplishments. He could bend the knee—throw himself at Sonia's feet and hope for the best, sacrificing Gerudo independence to share in Hyrule's bounty. But his pride will never allow that.

He grew up in the shadow of detached gods, was raised on tales of how they were the ultimate arbiters of truth and value—almighty in their judgment and unassailable—and he saw for himself that they would only ever come down to earth to indulge their curiosity about the quaint groundfolk or harvest what their sky islands could not provide, most notably Zonaite (of course they named it after themselves...) to fuel their miraculous machines, the secrets of which they refused to share with anyone 'because they weren't ready' and would in fact use those same machines to keep the groundfolk from overreaching. Ganondorf is the first king in generations to glimpse a sky—and a future—uncontrolled by the Zonai. Though he was raised to be a king, the very definition of absolute power and privilege, only now is he truly beholden to no one. Finally, he is free to shape his own destiny. And he's not about to relinquish that freedom on account of his dearest enemy getting in bed with a fallen demigod—no, not a god... the Zonai's civil war proved they are not infallible. Without their technology, without their precious Stones, they're flesh and blood, the same as anyone else. Mortal. And what is a man to a king?

Despite the bad blood between them, and the generations of strife between their peoples, Ganondorf is able to convince Sonia that he is willing to bury the hatchet for the sake of his people, that his desire to enter the protective embrace of her kingdom, given the dangerous new world they find themselves in, is genuine. His true intentions are not so painfully transparent, but still Zelda does not trust him. She can't stop wondering how this man becomes the source of the Gloom in her era, even if the hateful creature she encountered in the depths below Hyrule Castle hardly seemed human at all. But she cannot act on a suspicion of duplicity due to future events. So for Ganondorf's entire stint in Sonia's court, Zelda tries to weasel out the truth—and in so doing, builds a relationship with the future Demon King. Once Ganondorf catches on to the fact that Zelda sees right through him, it becomes a game of 4D chess. Who is this girl, a member of Sonia's court that he has never heard before yet is trusted enough to bear a Stone, and why is she so certain of his true motives? He's smart enough to suss out that it isn't simple bigotry. It's a fine line Zelda must walk, because she has a secret of her own—she hasn't told anyone that she's from the future, out of a rational fear of disrupting the past and changing history (but at the same time, she can't abide doing nothing, and these interests war within her).

Despite Zelda's best efforts, Ganondorf succeeds in his plot. In a single stroke, he eliminates an old enemy, deprives her nation of its leader and a Stone, and finally secures a Stone for the Gerudo. But claiming the Stone doesn't immediately transform him into an Almighty Demon King. The surge of power is great, but not so much that he's willing to engage three other Stone bearers—two of which are Zonai who of course have experience using them—so he wisely retreats, though not before telling Rauru: "No point in crying over this one. She's not the first victim of your arrogance. And we both know she won't be the last." He's made powerful enemies, but it's a battle he can fight on another day, and at least now he's on equal footing with the other factions and can take their Stones until he can finally conquer Hyrule. But Ganondorf severely underestimates the lengths Rauru will go for revenge. In killing Sonia, before Rauru's very eyes no less, he has made another enemy for life (and beyond).

Understand that Rauru survived the destruction of his people and their way of life. That's traumatic enough. But now, the person who saved his life, and gave it new meaning, is dead. Murdered. By someone he had come to trust. Because he put a target around her neck. He should have seen this coming, he should have listened to Zelda, perhaps then he could have stopped this. But it's far too late now. Before, he was content to merely support and serve—a just penance, he believed, for his small part in breaking the world. Now, he has a new purpose: To secure Sonia's legacy by any means necessary. He binds his fate to Hyrule, which will never be safe so long as Ganondorf lives. This isn't a wise and beneficent King of Light opposing a terrible darkness, but a grieving widower—who's also a skyborn demigod that just lost his one earthly tie.

After taking command as regent, Rauru does not invite the other races to a grand alliance; he brings them to heel through force. It's not enough for Rauru to immediately counterattack Ganondorf. He wants to destroy him, and what better way than to turn the whole world against him? Additionally, by consolidating the power of the Stones onto his side, he denies Ganondorf the opportunity to pick them off one by one. Zelda is witnessing history, the birth of Hyrule as she knows it, but there's nothing noble about it. It's simple imperialism, and she has to grapple with the fact that she's a beneficiary of it. If the peoples of Hyrule were united through bloodshed, does this invalidate the friendships she's made among those peoples in her present? She's confronted with deep questions which possess no easy answers.

Meanwhile, Ganondorf hasn't been sitting on his laurels. He sees Rauru is stacking the deck against him, such that even the Stone's power won't be enough to win the coming war. The Gerudo are outnumbered and outgunned. So Ganondorf turns to darker magics, begins to press monsters into service, etc. His search for ever greater power takes him into the Depths, where he finds a dangerous substance called Gloom. According to legend, it is the ichor of a demon god who was struck down long ago and sealed away in the bowels of the earth. It drains the life-force of whoever touches it, that much is certain... but Ganondorf reckons it is possible to access this stolen vitality to perform feats of magic hitherto thought impossible. Through his mastery of dark magic, amplified by the Stone, he is able to harness the Gloom. First he tests it upon monsters... then dissidents, those reluctant to oppose Rauru's growing army. He makes examples of them, siphoning away their life-force to show those who will not fight will still serve their king. But this barbarous act only creates more dissent among the Gerudo. Tradition appointed Ganondorf as king, but that doesn't mean they have to stomach his tyranny. Even if he manages to win this war, this new power could allow him to reign forever, and he just demonstrated how little their individual lives mean to him. Worried for the future of their people, Ganondorf's second-in-command, Nabooru, sells him out in exchange for clemency, enabling Rauru and his Sages to capture him. Instead of slaying him on the spot, Rauru declares his intention to haul him back to Hyrule for a public execution in Sonia's name. Nabooru insists on coming along; if the King of the Gerudo is to die on foreign soil, then one of his own should observe his passing.

Ganondorf doesn't respond well to this betrayal. After everything he sacrificed, they would still rather roll over and show their bellies—surrender their freedom and pride—to a foreign lord. Who are these people, to abandon the courage of their ancestors? These are not his Gerudo. Ganondorf disowns them, swearing vengeance upon these cowards even as he is taken away in chains. The journey back to Hyrule gives him time to brood on his destiny. He was born to be a king, yet the place of his birth has forsaken him while the rest of the world wants him dead. Most people would crumble, succumb to despair. But his pride will never allow that. He will keep fighting, like he always has. He will crush any opposition, even if it's the people who gave him birth. He will rule, even if he must reign as king of the undesired. There's a saying: 'The brighter the light, the deeper the shadow.' And Rauru has blazed oh so fiercely. To oppose him, Ganondorf must become nothing less than the King of Shadow.

At the moment of his execution, he draws upon the Gloom to transcend his mortal limits, finally becoming the Demon King. In this form, he's able to battle all seven of the Sages, but he's still not almighty. In theory, Rauru is able to slay him... but he chooses not to. Imprisoning Ganondorf isn't done as a last resort; Rauru wants him to suffer. "Killing you would be far too kind. I will make you wish you could die. You won't. I will hold you here. We will build our kingdom over the lands you tried to burn and pillage. And you will rot here, trapped in this moment, long after you have faded from its memory." And he sincerely believes that he'll be able to contain Ganondorf for all time—because he was able to ascertain that Zelda is from the future, after examining her Stone (his Stone, as it turns out) and piecing together her strange accent and unusual notions, even though she has the pointed ears of a Hylian. He doesn't understand the power, but he does take it as proof positive that his victory is guaranteed and Hyrule exists well into the future... without ever learning the whole truth of it. Rauru is directly responsible for the cycle of Calamity Ganon, as Ganondorf's resent and hatred transformed the Gloom into Malice.

Rauru's pride is an actual flaw, one that is fully explored in the modern day. Just like Ganondorf says, thousands of years passed in the blink of an eye; Rauru hasn't had any time to process his rage. He only saves Link to make him a vehicle for his revenge; sticking around past the tutorial as Link's spectral companion, constantly pushing him to ignore all distractions to destroy Ganondorf ASAP, yet unable to control him directly. In staying with Link, Rauru learns of his legacy; that he created a lasting kingdom, but harmed future generations by inadvertently creating Calamity Ganon—Ganondorf's disembodied anguish and hate, nursed over thousands of years. His selfish decisions created more harm than Ganondorf could have in a single lifetime. Just as the Zonai destroyed the world once before, Rauru managed to destroy it again and again. Hyrule no longer even exists as a kingdom, destroyed by Calamity Ganon 100 years prior. Yet Link continues to fight—not for himself, but to protect and help those he cares about as well as perfect strangers. Rauru gives a touch of the divine to Link, and in return Link reintroduces Rauru to humanity.

In contrast: Ganondorf broods in the Depths, alone. Although he still has a corporeal form, he's just as much of a ghost as Rauru is. He's more isolated than ever, having awakened to a strange world where nothing is as he remembers it. The geography is different, the flora and fauna is different, the people are different. Especially the Gerudo. They don't remember him as ever having been a person at all, believing the monster of their legends merely adopted the form of a Gerudo. But that doesn't sting as much as how tame they've become in his absence. These Gerudo have no fangs; they're fully in bed with Hyrule in every sense of the word, and it disgusts him. Nothing in this world is right. Everyone has forgotten their pride and their history; no one remembers a time when Hyrule wasn't be-all and end-all. Unable to accept this future, he terraforms Hyrule in the image of what it used to be, so it might become a crucible once more. The strong will adapt and survive, while the weak rightfully perish. He will create a world that rewards might and daring above all else.

Ganondorf is none too pleased to learn Link is running around with the arm of the man who sealed him for millennia, and assumes that he has become Rauru's puppet (even more hand symbolism)... but that's a key difference between Ganondorf and Rauru. Link essentially drags Rauru through character development, rekindling a sense of humanity within him. Ganondorf has no one to break him out of his rut. His only company down in the Depths are monsters and the Yiga Clan, who revere him as the source of Calamity Ganon—for his power and opposition of Hyrulian supremacy—but do not see him as person, a king in need of counsel. Ganondorf is more alone than ever, but he refuses to address this. To despair is to admit that the world has power over you, and he is the single strongest being in the world. Gods do not weep. And in that final confrontation, Rauru addresses Ganondorf: They're both ghosts of the past, stubbornly trying to shape the future to their liking; but the present belongs to the living. They both need to let go. But Ganondorf's pride will never allow that. To admit defeat is to admit someone has power over him, and he cannot allow it. It becomes clear to him that the only option left to him is to not play at all.

He swallows his Stone and becomes a dragon, but this doesn't lead to another boss fight (to compensate, the third phase would be a more classical Ganon fight; a friend suggested the name of "Scourge of Hyrule—Apocalypse Ganon"). Instead, in line with what was established earlier—that to become a dragon is to lose yourself to the process—Ganondorf ascends to the sky... and bears no more malice toward Link or Hyrule. He becomes the ultimate in power—immortal and at last truly divine—at the cost of his ego. He's still dangerous since he radiates Gloom, but he doesn't attack, just like the other dragons: an idiot god. He returns to the Depths out of instinctual comfort, but will occasionally surface and usher in a Blood Moon. And like the other dragons, you can harvest rare materials from him to make the best Gloom weapons or whatever. + Leaving Ganondorf in this state leaves a door open for fanatics to try and restore him in a sequel.

So, that's all I got

There's a lot of things I didn't address. Like whether the line of succession was broken with Sonia's death (so is Zelda descended from a relative of hers?), what sort of characters the Sages should be, or what Zelda does after Ganondorf is sealed away by Rauru (I'm personally not comfortable with her waltzing up to the Sages and in a stable time loop binding all the races to Hyrule), how weird the Draconification plot point is (and how Zelda is restored to her human form by Good Ending ghost magic), how Zelda is restored in this version (sequel hook same with Ganon?), how disconnected I feel Link is to the Ancient Past storyline as a whole, whether my version of Ganondorf actually ever learned about him, I didn't really dive into the aforementioned imperialist message in TOTK (others have already done so better than I), etc. Thing is, I'm not a professional writer. I do it for the love of it, and that's what this is. A messy labor of misplaced love for a franchise I've never played, all because I was upset they didn't treat my blorbo the way I like. You know how it goes. My brain didn't know when to let go, but at least now it's out there and not rattling around solely in my noggin, making an awful racket. Maybe now I can work on other things. If you've made it this far, cheers.

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Elemental Work Crash Course

Hello friends! As a west witch I find myself in a lot of elemental spaces, but as an elemental pagan I feel like we get little to no representation without wicca being present so this post is for all my friends who may be looking into elemental work and want to know what to expect! This is an introductory post so if anyone is interested in further information let me know in the comments!

Earth

Common Lessons tend to include grounding, understanding your place within it all like your social circles, life itself, or even the ecosystem. People also tend to find out how to see beauty even when they feel there is none, home and hearth magic, generational magic, and harnessing your own power. Its important to recognize earth is extremely giving, often giving things without expecting anything in return. Remember to give back to the earth when you can in your practice, it isn't fair to take things without giving back. Eventually earth takes all things back from the living, so remember that earth is as powerful as she is kind Darker Aspect/Element: Rot How to honor and find these teachings:

Going out in nature

Taking care of plants

Herbal work

Community service

Exploring

Grounding and meditation outdoors

Connecting to earth itself

Evaluating what it means to be human

Common forms of divination

Osteomancy (Burning Bones)

Abacomancy (Dirt)

Dendromancy (Tree reading)

Falling petals or leaves

Air

Common lessons from air tend to be quick and ever present, air speaks rather quickly to people and messages change! Its best to keep a log of signs and messages you receive because it tends to be a pebble trail on your journey. Air teaches how to keep calm in tense situations, creating your own path on the journey of life, going with the wind and learning to not value materialistic lifestyles, plus learning how to be more gentle with yourself and others!

Darker Aspect: Tempest How to honor and find these teachings:

Breath work

Spontaneity and leaving your comfort zone

Living to the fullest (however that might look for you!)

Dance or Hand motions

Meditations

Keeping sword or athame imagery as a talisman

Storm tracking

Common forms of divination:

Smoke Scrying

Wind Watching

Electromancy (By Lightning)

Austromancy (By Clouds)

Fire

Common lessons in fire encourage you to listen closely and not rely so much on searching for messages. In most mythos fire speaks once per session, when its burnt out usually the message is over. Fire teaches us how to be confident in our work, ambition, and performance. Fire likes to throw a lot at you and teach you adaptability, and most importantly how to be the best you can be. You can learn a lot from just a little flame.

Darker Aspect: Magma

How to Honor these teachings:

Practicing Confidence

Glamour Magic

Using your backbone/saying no more

Making friends in odd places

Hosting bonfires/tending to a hearth fire

Using candle magic

Common forms of divination:

Fire Scrying

Candle/Wax reading

Flame Shape reading

Casting knives

Water

Common lessons range depending on what you are looking for! Water can teach you how to be calm and collected, but also encourages you to be fluid! so if you need to unleash the flood you know when its appropriate to do so. You also learn how to go with the flow, how to be persistent, and how to be a fierce enigma. Water is also very humbling at times, so you will learn a lot about yourself.

Darker Aspect: Abyss

How to honor these teachings:

Emotion based meditations

Shadow work

Being in tune with yourself

Swimming

Boating

Fishing

Beach cleanups

Exploring your waterways

Common types of divination:

Water scrying

Waves

Rainfall

Storm tracking

Mist/Dew

[quitealotofsodapop]

Hmm...actually, once the identities are revealed...how do Sandy, Pigsy and Tang feel about whenever SWK or Mac casually drop a gods name casually, like "Oh, Nezha said he might drop by later", like that has to feel weird, y'know?

Macaque tries to keep things subtle around the noodle shop gang, but Wukong slips up occasionally.

When Nezha first appears at the shop pre-reveal looking like a grungy teenage demon with snake features (he's associated with them in the mythos) and SWK welcomes him warmly - Pigsy and Tang just assume the kid is relative that the monkey couple trusted enough to know where they are. Soon Nezha starts to get used to being treated like An Actual Child by adults who care about him and his mature facade starts to break down. The noodle shop gang think its more that the kid has a rough home life and needs a safe place to hang out. So whats the harm in letting the little guy stay too?

After the two monkey's are revealled as the Monkey King and the Six Eared Macaque however? Many questions are asked.

Pigsy: *turns to look at "Nez"* Nezha: "..." Pigsy: "Let me guess... Lotus Prince right?" Nezha: "Yeah." Pigsy: "You gonna turn back into your real form or...?" Nezha, looking a bit bashful: "What if I told you the snake-y and gross teenage stuff was my real form?" Tang: "Oh my gosh... you need acne cream." Pigsy: "TANG!" Tang: "I'm just saying! Human puberty is bad enough! Imagine being immortal with it! He needs to keep moisturized!" Pigsy: "Well, atleast he's been eating decently since he's been here... could use more protein though." Sandy: "And plenty of rest! You can't burn the candle at both ends! Even if it's infinite!" Nezha: *is honestly touched* (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

But yeah the gang do get confused at times when the monkeys bring up random names in history/mythology they know. Like "Cooking with Chang'e" airs one night, and Macaque randomly mentions:

Macaque: "Huh, she's on tv? She used to be really nervous with public speaking when we were little." Pigsy, shellshocked: "How do you know that!?" Macaque: "She's my sister, duh. I was born from a moon rock. She helped raise me until I moved to Flower Fruit Mountain to be with other Monkey demons." Pigsy: *incomprehensible spluttering* Tang: "Does she actually like mooncakes, or is that more a commercial thing?" Macaque: "She likes them, but her favorite kind has osmanthus in it." Pigsy & Tang: *aggressively takes notes for different reasons*

After a while it gets more annoying than amazing. Especially since Pigsy was already unimpressed with any immortal who wasn't Chang'e.

Erlang: "I require an audience with Sun Wukong." Pigsy, not even looking up from the stove: "He's on break." Erlang: "I assume you did not hear me correctly. I require an immediate audience with Sun Wukong." Pigsy: "And I told you: HE'S ON BREAK! Now you wait, buy something, or scram!" Erlang, stunned: "......lamb noodles please." *Wukong returns from break to see Erlang feeding his dog bits of lamb.* Erlang: "Wukong, you must understand that my visit is not one of pleasure. I have tasked myself to inquire about the status of your mission regarding The Egg." Wukong: "No egg here! Except for whats in the fridge. Hehehe." *dad joke* Erlang, glaring with all three eyes: "Hmm..." Wukong: *sweating nervously* Erlang: "...ok. I can see that you're truthful in that there is no Cosmic Egg present in this facility. Why you busy yourself in these mortals matters is beyond me. But be warned simian..." Wukong: "What?" Erlang: "We should spar more often, bro. Me and the Plum Hill boys starting to miss you on the training grounds. Plus you're starting to look fluffier." *Erlang and his dog leaves* Wukong: "Phew! Glad I got rid of him!" Macaque, returns from getting cheese tea, visibly pregnant: "What that jerk want?" Wukong: "Old work stuff." Macaque: "He's lucky I'm incapacitated, or I would have neutered him to match his hound." Wukong: "I know you would." Tang: *trying desperately not to explode cus was that just Erlang Shen?!*

Sandy is a lot more chill. That person he just talked to was a god? That's cool! Hope he's made a new friend today! Accidentally befriends a bunch of them just by being a cool dude. The dragon kingdoms think he's a great ambassador.

[adracat]

The Cycles of GWitch

This notion has been brewing in my head since I wrote my analysis on GWitch's Cinematic Rhythm. With the second cour nearly finished I can confidently say my suspicions were correct.

When we look at its wealth of influences from The Tempest, Utena, previous Gundam, Norse and now Arthurian myth the truest pattern is Cycles. More distinctly, how the past connects to the present and future.

The Tempest

The most blatant cycle is something we as a society are deeply familiar with. Revenge. It's a base and consuming thing, as we see from Prospera and also her namesake Prospero. The story goes the sorcerer Prospero was once the Duke of Milan until his brother with help from the King of Naples, usurps him. He flees to an isle with his young daughter Miranda and takes a fairy/spirit, Arial, and an island native, Caliban, as his servants.

For years Prospero was consumed by hate and the idea of revenge. However, after he commands Arial to sink the king's ship Miranda falls in love with Prince Ferdinand at first glimpse. And he loves her in turn. Prospero then relinquishes his revenge once he recognizes Ferdinand's love is true and reconciles with King Alonso and Antonio. For its loyal service, the spirit Arial is set free. The cycle of revenge in this story is broken.

Revolutionary Girl Utena

The cycle of Utena is not immediately made clear. The show keeps to the pretense of being innocuous until well into its runtime. But then we're introduced to the Black Rose Duelists, and swiftly afterward the school's headmaster and Anthy's brother, Akio Ohtori. A former prince who styles himself as The End of the World.

Abuse, filial obligation, the horrifying reality of womanhood beneath the yoke of patriarchal systems. These cycles are grounded and are hidden by a veneer of childhood innocence and fairytale mythos. The Prince was the savior to humanity, but was selfishly hidden by a witch. This witch is therefore punished eternally for her sins, pierced by the Swords of Human Hatred. She accepts this role only as someone who loves her brother and wants to protect him. She is branded a witch by the world. But as the show says, if you're not a princess you must be a witch. That's the truth of the Rose Bride. And in the end, all girls are like the rose bride; something we're witnessing now with Miorine.

The cycle Akio implements is to groom a champion with the ideals of princehood, the champion to quest for eternity with the Rose Bride's temptation and guidance, then using the champion's sword to bash down the Rose Gate in the vain hope of regaining his princehood. It's a cycle that has repeated for countless unknown years. And all the while weaponizing his sister's suffering. But just like The Tempest, the Rose Cycle is broken by love. The unfettered and earnest love between Utena and Anthy grants the witch the courage to escape her stagnant coffin.

Ragnarok and Arthurian

The Ragnarok Cycle is a series of myths that depict the birth, reign, and death of the Norse gods. I have an ongoing series of analysis where I discussed gwitch's usage here, and here. More I'm sure will follow. But as dire as it sounds, Ragnarok isn't just about the end of the world and its many gods. It itself is a continuous cycle. The gods will return and so will the world. It's a story of renewal.

The same can be said of the Arthurian Cycle. The tales of King Arthur and uniting Britain are end-capped with a messianic promise that the King shall one day return to rule Britain. Hope, despite the tragedy that follows King Arthur upon Camlann. The fact GWitch is now harking to Arthurian with Suletta in Arthur's role (and possibly Miorine as The Lady of The Lake) is intriguing. But the bones for this twist were there from the start.

Suletta, akin to Arthur, is a child orchestrated by a 'gentle magician' to receive a peerless 'sword'. And it's through Aerial's might she becomes engaged to Miorine, a 'King's daughter. Now, it appears she's to wield Calibarn or Caliburn; a direct link to King Arthur. Whether it will go smoothly is another matter. But the reference remains interesting and again reiterates the theme of cycles.

A Hopeful Note

The ultimate take away from these references is clear in my opinion. It's no coincidence that at the forefront is a positive message that not all cycles are terrible or absolute. They can be broken with love. Gwitch is deeply humanist when you consider everything it's pulling from and I hope this settles a few doubts. Cour 2 is incredibly hopeful, even with the fraught ongoings among the cast. Our protagonist is embodying this message the clearest. Doing something for gain leads to misery. Yet a helping hand costs nothing and connects us all in a cycle itself.

[intuitive-revelations]

While I've got critiques of a few choices (eg. bigeneration, the Season One reset), one thing I've got to commend RTD for is that the story arc of things getting "more supernatural" / the universe shifting from sci-fi to fantasy is actually a pretty perfect way of continuing the shows overall myth arcs without actually requiring knowing all the backstory.

Not only does this follow on from the Time Lords currently being gone again (which itself was kind of built up from the previous Gallifrey arcs and the Master's character development), but also is more or less exactly what the Ravagers wanted to do in Flux. They wanted to undo the Anchoring of the Thread, recontexualised in terms of the Division's universal interferenc. While time and its laws have somewhat stabilised for now, we are indeed now seeing Rassilon's laws of rationality starting to collapse. I would strongly argue this started even before the 60th anniversary, between the time loop in Eve of the Daleks and the constellations literally rearranging themselves in the sky in Legend of the Sea Devils.

Even outside of the shows main arcs, New Who has already dipped its toes into the concept that there are older creatures which don't necessarily run on science in the same way as everything else, or that are from outside the universe / incompatible with it. Primary examples being the Carrionites, Racnoss, the Beast and Abaddon, Weeping Angels, Solitract, arguably even The Timeless Child. The Dark Times have also been prominantly featured in stuff like the Time Lord Victorious series and Titan Comics.

We've also being seeing entities like Eternals gradually returning (Zellin, Rakaya, maybe Time) who were originally established as leaving the universe in the wake of the Time War in RTD's Series 1 backstory in the DW Annuals. We've even seen quite significant emphasis put on the Sisterhood of Karn and their connection to Gallifrey, something primarily developed in the EU with the Pythia lore, which also links into the likes of the Visionary in The End of Time.

All this being said, none of this backstory is (for now) important for new viewers to know. All they need to know is that Fourteen fucked up in Wild Blue Yonder, and now things which were once outside the universe, like the Toymaker, are starting to leak into it. They don't need to know, for example, that the TARDIS may only have been able to access edge of universe thanks to the scale of the Flux's destruction.

Ultimately this feels a lot like his approach with the Time War. While it was a logical conclusion to the classic series (hence why we get so many time wars / destructions of Gallifrey in the EU), with Genesis, Revelation and Remembrance of the Daleks all particularly serving as build up for a Dalek attack on Gallifrey, and indeed were all included in said prior-mentioned DW Annual articles along with the tension de-escalating 'Act of Master Restitution', none of that was important for new viewers in 2005 to know.

This being said, I do suspect some past context will return in the future, just as it did over New Who. For example, we're bound to be reintroduced to the idea that the Time Lords established rationality in the universe, maybe name-checking the Division as part of their interference. I also stand by my previous theory that we're likely to eventually see Rassilon return after his exile in Hell Bent. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he served as the face of an effort to bring back the Time Lords in some form, opening up questions of their oppressive history (expect the Timeless Child's trauma to be emphasised) and whether the universe is better off without its fantastical elements suppressed, even if this does open the universe up to the dangers he fought like the Vampires, Carrionites, Great Old Ones etc. (Particular emphasis on the last of these, given it's sort of implied the only reason eg. the Great Intelligence isn't a full-power Cthulhu Mythos Yog-Sothoth is because of the Anchoring.) Perhaps the Sisterhood of Karn's newfound influence on Gallifrey in the wake of the Time War and Lungbarrow could play a role here.

[cryptictongues]

Cruel

pairing: Barnabas Tharmr x Leviathan!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 4.5k summary: You will be Barnabas's ruin.

warnings: porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, vaginal fingering, body worship, angst.

This was supposed to be an Enemies with Benefits type beat but lmao it shifted a little bit. Hope this kicks off the week for those that enjoy!

Spoilers from the very beginning of the game, as well as certain things about Barnabas you learn later in the game. Also, there are some references from FFXVI Ultimania. Explained some of that in a comment if interested!

There are a few lines used from the game in the beginning. I do not claim that I own those lines or anything that Square Enix has created.

[AO3 link]

Barnabas didn’t want to be here. Sitting here with Dhalmekian’s leaders as they list all the reasons that he should grant them his knights to fight against the Ironblood makes him mentally roll his eyes. He only accepted the invitation for this meeting to ensure the plan he has set forth is going as planned. All in its right place he tells himself.

“Did you not pledge your swords to our cause!? The Marshal yells, and all Barnabas can think of is how pathetic the Marshal is. Men begging for him to save them, as if they deserve saving. He feels Harbard take a defensive stance beside him, sword at the ready.

“Come now. Marshal–the king of Waloed is our guest.”

Silence spreads at that statement, as if they are remembering who it really was that they were in the presence of: Barnabas Tharmr, Warden of Ash and king of Waloed, and the Dominant of Odin… a Dominant that has slayed thousands upon thousands in battle with a single stroke of his blade. They knew not to step on his toes, or they too would seek the same fate, as well as a termination of allyship. 

Barnabas turns to Harbard, shaking his head and scoffing at their pleas. Harbard goes at ease and looks to the Dhalmekian leadership. “And you have His Majesty’s answer.”

Groans and sighs waft around the room, no words being spoken as everyone contemplates their next moves. Barnabas casts his eyes down, thinking about how everything is going. His goal for this meeting is to have Hugo Kupka take the field as Titan, needing him to take down the Shiva Dominant that the Ironblood have so she can be captured. He needs all of the Dominants in the right place for this to work, and if he gets her, then everything will be set. Well almost.

Most of the Dominants outside his circle are exactly where he needs them. Bahamut is out of the way, staying within his means of commanding the Sanbrequois forces. Ramuh is out playing “hero”, most likely nearby to try and retrieve the Shiva Dominant. The Phoenix is six feet under where he belongs.  All of this comes to fruition as the perfect vessel, his mythos, starts to come together. There is only one issue: you.

Leviathan, Goddess of Chaos. The one who should be by his side to bring on a new age. But you fail to see the bigger picture, and that has led you astray. It infuriates him. You infuriate him. It drives him mad that you could betray him, and potentially ruin everything he has laid out, yet still have a soft spot for you. It makes him sick to think that no matter how hard he tries to fight his urges, you are still able to make him remember that he is what he hates most: human.

Commotion returns his mental focus as he hears shouting coming from the hallway, blood curling screeches growing louder before everything falls silent again, aside from the footsteps approaching the double doors. Once the footsteps halt, the doors swing open… and there you are in all of your glory.

“Sorry to crash your meeting, my dear friends.” You say, bowing slightly, although Barnabas could tell it was in a mocking manner. 

He keeps his face stoic, but his insides churn at the sight of you. It has been a few years since his last encounter with you. You had left him ten years ago, leaving not a trace of your whereabouts. It had sent him spiraling, as you were the last person, he expected to turn against him. The next time he saw you was a couple years later when he arrived back from Storm to the shores of Waloed, and he saw you there by the ship port. His first emotions were anger for how dare you show your face. That was until you climbed aboard, dragged him to the lower deck, and had fucked him on the floors on the Einherjar. Then you disappeared again, seeming to find him a couple times a year since and the both of you would engage in a few rough rounds before departing again. There are many times in the beginning he contemplated getting rid of you, the sting of treason heavy on his heart, but he grew to accept this agreement. If it meant he could be close to you, to share some semblance of the past when you were his most avid supporter, it would be enough. The last time he saw you was three years ago up until now, a big gap of time spent compared to the others. On the inside, he was surprised, but you tend to have a way with your timing on things. 

You look older, but he still saw the radiance you allure, wearing a dark blue velvet gown that covers your every step. Collar bones exposed and skin glowing like the moon reflecting the sea. You are like a siren calling to him, and it was working because all Barnabas could think is how beautiful you are… and how cruel you could be all the same. Because he knew your presentation was for him, and that he would break. He always did.

You are standing by the table now, hands placed on top as you scan the room. Everyone looks shocked, not expecting surprise visitors, let alone a rogue Water Dominant. The reaction makes you smile; you love catching people by surprise. Your eyes land on Barnabas, and good stars above, he looks gorgeous. Chest slightly exposed, beautiful blue silk and black fabric in intricate form on his body. He really hasn’t aged a day. 

Finally, a member from the Dhlamekian council stands, taking an immediate defense posture. “I don’t know how you bested our men, but you are not welcome here. This is between us and the Waloeders.”

You shrug. “Well thank goodness that I am a Waloeder. Well, by blood at least.”

Benedikta snickers, an obvious grimace on her face. “And you chose to leave, therefore I don’t think you have business here.”

You turn to her, a wicked smile appearing on your face. You walk towards her, placing your hand on her face to caress her smooth skin. “Oh, but I do, Benna.”

“Keep your hands off of her.” You hear a growl from across the room, turning to see it is none other than Titan himself. You feign innocence. “Or what? Are you going to put your hands on me? It’s not nice to manhandle a lady.” You turn fully to him now, a smirk forming over your innocent gaze. “Not that I personally mind it.”

Barnabas internally growls at your notion, moving his hand to his chin to keep his jaw locked. The last thing he needs is for his facade to slip. 

You sense the Marshal stand, irritation clear on his face. “I’ll ask one more time to leave, or I’ll have my guards escort you out.”

You belt out a laugh. “What guards? Look around!” Your arms go to the air spread out, turning your torso from side to side to show that it is just them. That seems to set him off as he goes to walk towards you, seemingly wanting to throw you out himself. You can’t have that.

You put your hand out towards him, feeling the blood run through his veins before gripping your fist, causing the Marshal to stutter in his stance. He gasps in pain, grabbing at his chest as he tries to breathe. You throw your fist down by your side, sending him to the ground in a fetal position. You keep your grip as you walk to him, bending down as you place your other hand's fingers on his chin, lifting it up to look at him. You see he is struggling, and all you can do is tsk. “Know this: I could make you scream just like I did to your men out in the hall. Consider this a mercy.” You tap his face before releasing him, leaving him on the floor as he tries to gain his bearings. 

Your attention goes back to Hugo Kupka. “You may want to ready yourself, Titan. The Ironblood are invading Dhalmekian territory as we speak.”

Hugo’s face is stone, walking past Marshal and others to the door. “Kupka!” The Marshal chokes from the floor. Hugo doesn’t look his way as he replies. “The Ironblood will rue the day they set foot on Storm… this game is over.” 

He makes his exit, closely followed by Benedikta. You see her leave with confidence in her stride, very obvious that she is trying to prepare her facade. You chuckle at this new development. 

“Everyone out.” A stern voice says, and you turn to see it is none other than Barnabas, whose hard stare is on your form. 

Everyone is still, not knowing if they should listen as it is their territory after all. You, however, could care less. “Do the lot of you not understand signals? Get out.” You say sternly, command dripping from your voice. The council slowly makes their way out, afraid to talk against you due to what they witnessed. You hear them talking amongst themselves in disappointment, confusion, and curiosity, questioning what business Leviathan has with the mighty Odin. You turn your head towards the Lord Commander himself, watching him stay firmly in his spot. “That means you too, Harbard.” Barnabas dismisses him, and Harbard walks past you, smirking as he is the last one to exit. The doors shut and you face Barnabas. “It’s been a long time, Barney Boy.”

His face twists. He hates when you call him that. You walk towards him, commanding his attention as you sway your hips. “Awe, does the strong, dark King of Waloed not like being called that?” You walk slowly behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Would you like me to call you something else, your majesty?” You draw out, hands running down to the inside of his royal blue undershirt. You lean down by his ear, taking a second to let your breath graze it as your left pointer finger traces the scar on his chest. “Would you like me to call you something endearing like my dearest?” You kiss under his ear, and he shivers. “Or…” you continue to kiss down his neck. “Would you like something a little more submissive like my pet?” You nip at his neck, and he grunts. 

He craves you in this way. When you left Waloed, left him, he struggled. He had been with several women since, but he always feels like he has to hold himself to the standard he’s set for himself. He could always be vulnerable with you, no matter if it was you in control or him. With you, he gives himself fully and he can’t say he ever regrets it even though you will be his ruin. He is sure of it.

You step back from him only to step into his line of vision, leaning against the table. You place your hand on his cheek, and he leans into its cool embrace, craving anything you would give him. “Someone seems touch starved. Is Benedikta not keeping you warm at night?” 

“Nobody will ever compare to you, no matter how cruel you are.” He speaks truthfully, turning his face into your palm to press his lips to the softness of your skin.

“Is that true? Because I know of someone, or rather something that seems to topple over me.”

He growls. “You know my relationship with my master is not the same as it is with you.”

Your hand moves from his cheek to grip his chin, holding it tightly as your eyes burn into his. “Are you sure? Because it seems every time we are in this situation, it’s my name you call out; like I am the one that can grant you salvation.” You bend down to kiss his forehead, whispering your next words against it. “It’s a shame I can’t seem to make that illusion stick.” 

You pull away and move to sit on the table. Your left foot is set on the arm of his chair, while your right one rubs against his muscular thigh. You love how muscular he is, his battle hungry body filling his clothes out deliciously, especially in his black trousers. Your foot moves past his thigh to his crotch, rubbing his bulge with little pressure. He is staring daggers at you, but you know he won’t do anything. He could have taken you in his arms and fucked you face down into the table if he wanted to, but he knows your command is law in these moments. Right now, you are his God. 

You push your foot slightly, causing him to buck into it with a sigh. “It’s okay though. I like to pretend, even if it is for a moment.” You set your right foot on the other side of the seat to settle on the arm rest. You pull your dress up, exposing yourself to him. 

Barnabas licks his lips. No matter how many times he’s had you, he will never get tired of how beautiful your womanhood is. His breath deepens, wanting so badly to touch you, but he knows the rules. You are in control.

“Did you want to touch me, Barnabas? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a taste, hasn’t it?” He mewls, nodding his head, hands clenching and unclenching to calm himself.

You smirk. You know him like the back of your hand. You know what he wants, and you are going to give it to him. “Go ahead, my darling. Claim your prize.”

There is hesitation on Barnabas’s half. It isn’t like you to give in so easily. You will toy with him until he is begging for you to let him touch and taste you. You would make him watch as you pleasure yourself, letting the sweetest gasps fall from your lips. You wouldn’t let him have what he wants until there is visible evidence of your essence dripping from your fingers. You see his hesitation and you giggle. “There is no catch, my dear. This is all for you. Indulge in me, worship me, for I know it is what you crave.” You lift your foot again, this time putting it on his shoulder to edge him forward. He simply cannot refuse.

He reaches forward, his big hands starting from your calves to your thighs, gripping the flesh as he brings himself forward. He places kisses on your thighs, giving small nips only to lick them right after. He takes his time with you, worshiping you like you deserve, making sure to convey his devotion to you as your encouragements reach his ears.

“You revere me so much, don’t you? You are doing a wonderful job at showing that.” You purr, using one hand to run through his dark locks. “But I want those pretty lips to worship me where I will be brought to ruin. Will you worship me there?”

He looks up to you, steel blue eyes stirring with his need to praise you. “I will do as you wish, my Goddess.” He goes in, securing your legs over his shoulders, and letting his tongue sing praises against your delicious cunt.

“You are such a good boy.” You mewl, gripping his hair as your other hand holds you up so you can watch him please you. All you can think is how beautiful he looks in his submissive state, an absolute juxtaposition to the battle hungry maniac he is. 

His hold on you tightens, his actions becoming more relentless the more you praise him and the more your essence starts to make its way onto his tongue. He moans into your pussy, lapping at your clit with vigor. He has had many women on his tongue, more as a way of getting them ready for his own selfish pleasure. No one has ever compared to flavor, for he yearns for you to fall apart on his mouth. To know that he is the one to bring you to completion makes his blood pump strongly through his veins, going right to his manhood. 

Your noises grow louder, becoming apparent that your release is calling to him to give you what you need. He takes his right pointer and middle fingers to your heat, sinking them in as his tongue worships your clit. He feels your hold on his hair grow stronger, and his moan against you with the fast work of his fingers signals your finish. You cry out, thighs squeezing around his head as he rides your orgasm out. He slurps the sweet liquid dripping around his fingers, letting you calm down as your breaths echo throughout the room. 

You pull his head up, hard enough to the point where he is now standing in between your legs. You are both staring at each other, both breathing heavily waiting for each other’s next set of commands and moves. You stare at his lips, glittering with your essence. Your resolve is breaking down, your want to do what you haven’t done in many years taking hold of your heart. 

Barnabas is waiting for you to tell him what you want from him next when gravity seems to shift as you pull him down, your lips pressing against his in hunger. Time seems to still, his mind going insane as your lovely lips move against his. Something he noticed in previous meetings is that you would never kiss him. Whenever he would go in to kiss you, you would avoid saying he was undeserving of that kind of affection from you. The last time he had kissed you was not long before you left. It has been ten long years since he received this blessing, and rather than thinking about what has changed, he loses himself in you wanting to make up for all the times he wasn’t allowed to love you like this. 

His hands grab your face, holding it in place as he escalates his kisses. The callused skin of his palms feels good on your cheeks, the roughness causing you to latch your hands to his top attire. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him on top of you as you deepen your kiss with him. His bulge is right up against your wet cunt, and he softly grinds into you. The feeling feels good on both ends, both of you capturing each other’s gasps and choked moans as things get heavier and more intense. 

You pull away, placing both hands onto his cheeks as you look at him. The emotions swirling in his gaze are almost too much to bear, and if you want to do this right, you cannot be sucked into them. You won’t let that happen. 

“Make love to me, my darling. Please.” You whisper. 

He is fast to lower his trousers enough to release his cock, lowering his face to yours to kiss you again as he sinks into your warm heat. You whimper, his cock stretching you out in an exquisite way. It has been a very long time since you’ve had him on top of you like this, and you will burn this into your memory for all time.

Barnabas picks up the pace slightly, letting go of your lips to trail wet kisses down your neck. He sucks harshly where your neck and left clavicle meet, the need to mark you infiltrating his soul. He missed loving you like this. He can’t believe you are allowing this. For so long, it has been you to have your way with him, to have complete control over the situation. In any other instance, if he had instigated this, you would have punished him till kingdom come. But you started this. You allowed this. It is now the both of you engaging with each other how you both used to. It is too good to be true. 

If only he knew that it was.

He keeps leaving marks on your neck, painting the beautiful picture that you are his to mark. He is pumping his cock in you in deep strokes, reaching every depth of your cunt that sends you reeling. His hands travel down to your breasts, squeezing through the velvet of your dress which makes your nipples rub against the fabric. You hum in approval, bringing your hands to the collar of his undershirt to move it aside, bringing your mouth to his chest, the both of you now marking each other as you both reach the edge together. 

Barnabas is fucking you full force now, his right hand pulling your head back as his mouth leaves your now marked body. His lips meet yours again, praises and whispers of affirmation leaving each other in the same breaths.

“Release for me, my Goddess.” He breathes into you. “Bring me to ruin.”

You cry out against his lips, your walls squeezing his cock as you cum for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him against you as he releases during your high. He draws in and out, slowing down as his cock becomes more sensitive by the second. Once the both of you are down, he releases your lips, heavy breaths and stares exchanged in the aftermath. He groans as he pulls out of you fully, causing you to sigh at the emptiness, letting your legs unravel from his hips to dangle against the table. 

You work to calm yourself down, needing to get yourself together before you do anything else. Your eyes shut, focusing your mind on your next moves. You know what you need to do, yet you didn’t realize cutting off your boundaries would make this much harder. It has to be done. 

You sit up to see he has fixed himself up and is staring at you with what you can only see is hope. It makes your chest pang a little harder, knowing what you are about to do will sever your ties with him for good.

You move off the table, situating yourself so your gown is smoothed out and looking somewhat presentable. As you are doing this, you see his feet reach your line of sight. You look up and he is directly in front of you. His eyes are soft yet holding back. He is smiling down at you, and it makes your heart flip. You want so badly to confirm you are here to stay, but that is far from the truth.

“What’s changed?” He breathes out. “This isn’t like you. I feel as if I’m back in the past; back to how things should be.”

Your gaze stays down, working up the courage to say what you came to say. His hand comes to your chin, mimicking how you had gripped his chin earlier, and lifted your face to his. He is examining you, not understanding why you don’t seem happier. “You are usually so cruel to me, making me earn my servitude. But most of all, you haven’t blessed me with your kisses in a decade. So, I’ll ask again, what’s changed?”

You sigh, stepping back from him. His hand is still out, confusion taking over his features at your mannerisms. Your confident gaze is set back onto your face, not wanting to potentially give into him. “This is a goodbye.”

“A goodbye? Meaning what?” Barnabas asks, his tone shifting slightly, his brows knit together.

“I’m leaving Valisthea… for good.” You admit.

His blood runs cold. Leaving? What could you possibly mean by that?

You watch his features shift once more, only this time it snaps your heart in two. He is scared; you can see that very clearly. It is the scared look of a boy, as you know deep down that is who Barnabas is: a lonely, scared boy. You continue. “Things around here are getting worse with the Blight and the ridiculous wars you and everyone else seem to lash out with. Countless lives lost to them. It is barbaric, and this place is no longer a place I can proudly call a home.”

“My biggest reason is that I cannot live in a place where you exist.” Your voice shakes. 

“Exist?” He chokes out.

You smile, a hint of sadness complimenting it. “The way you want the world based on how your god wants it will not only destroy everyone, but it will also destroy you. I will not stay to bear witness to it.”

“You know that this is the only way to salvation.” Barnabas says above a whisper, not wanting to give away his motives, but he knows it is futile. He knows you are smarter than that. 

You laugh, sorrow building in your chest. “If your plan to have us enslaved by that thing you call a god is salvation, then I’d rather be dead.” 

The next thing you feel is your back hitting the wall, Barnabas pushing himself into you as he holds your head in his rough hands, eyes staring at you belligerently. The scared boy you saw from the deep dwellings of his heart vanishing before your eyes. “We have always belonged to one another, ____. We can build a world that no man could ever dream of seeing.”

This sends you into a spiral, causing you to laugh maniacally. “I have always belonged to you, but you have never fully belonged to me.” You push him off of you, leering at him as you can feel yourself starting to rage. “You were the only one who could bring me to my knees, but I am not the only one that can bring you to yours.”

You rush towards him, pushing him into the table with your hand on his throat. “Remember this, Barnabas.” You seethe. “You may hate mankind, but under all of your disdain, you are still nothing but a man. Not even being Akashic can change that.” 

You feel him try to turn you over, but as soon as you feel him move you grip your free hand, making him stop in his tracks as he groans out in pain. You make his blood run slowly, having it flow away from his hands and feet to make them go cold. “Do you forget who you are dealing with? Your god made my Eikon the strongest. That was his first mistake because unlike you I am not a sheep in wolf's clothing. I will not stay to be his puppet.”

You let him go, backing away as he drops to his knees, numbness in his limbs as the blood slowly returns. “For your sake, Barnabas, I hope you find peace as I understand your need to avenge, but I will not stay for the finale.”

You kneel, looking at how pitiful he looks. “I do love you. And because I do, I must save myself the heartache that I will never be able to change your mind. Goodbye, Barnabas.” 

You stand back up and turn away, walking to the doors and out of his life for good. Barnabas coughs, hitting the cold floor with his fist to calm the anguish that repeatedly suffocates him because now he really is alone.

If only you knew that his attempts to keep you here weren’t for ulterior motives… he just wanted you to stay.

[abyssal-ali]

Project #68 [Operation Concupiscence] - 1

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Raven Roth

Rating: M (Chapters 1-3 are merely suggestive but overall this is a smutty story;) ) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 ao3 Masterlist | Day 1: Vampire

WC: 3.5k

TW: Demon AU

A/N: For the 2023 @damirae-sauce-week. This is a Demon AU x Hogwarts AU. Moone's Institute of Magic and Mythos has three Covens (aka Houses): Demon Coven, Mage Coven, & Witch Coven. There are several subspecies of demon; for example, Damian is half Samaeline (wrath/judgement demon aka Bruce) and half Azraeline (incubi/lust demon aka Talia). I mixed canon and my worldbuilding quite thoroughly, so please don't expect much canon adherence ;) In this AU, Damian was raised with the al Ghuls before he began attending MIMM; family dynamics are not a part of this AU.

Concupiscence: definition: noun. 1. sexual desire; lust 2. ardent, usually sensuous, longing

“Now, as you Year Eights hopefully already know, the basis of any type of magic is a give-and-take system, whether it’s demonic, arcane, or natural. Today, you will be choosing one specific subsection of magic to study with your partner and will record your findings on how the give-and-take affects your experiments. No, it does not matter which Coven you are from and which substudy you choose. Your partners and substudies will be chosen at random. Half of you will be called to pick a name from this cauldron; the other half of you will choose the substudy from that cauldron. Everyone understand the objective?” 

“Yes, Professor Zatara,” chorused the roomful of students.

The professor read off a list of names from a scroll, dividing the room into two. “Okay, students in line A, please select your partner. Line B, please choose your subject. I’ll call each pair up and we can discuss the specifics of your assignment once everything is settled.”

Raven shuffled along Line B, her gaze flicking over to Line A. More specifically, a classmate in Line A, with spiky black hair, deep green eyes, an insufferable smirk, and an unquenchable need to one-up others. 

“Raven!” the person behind her hissed, jolting her out of her thoughts. “It’s your turn.”

Ignoring the person stepping up to Cauldron A beside her, who was smirking at her being caught daydreaming, she stepped forward, reaching into the depths of Cauldron B.

She moved back to her seat, uncurling the strip of parchment. Lust magic .

Scoffing inwardly, she yanked the hood of her cape over her head, only her glowing purple eyes showing from its shrouded depths. Freaking lust magic. Of course it was the one subsection of magic she had completely ignored in her studies and knew the least about.

The heavy weight of a stare that could only belong to one person settled on the back of her cape. Whirling, she glared at the boy sitting at the table behind her. “What do you want?” she growled, letting a little of her demon rasp leak through her tone.

The annoyance smirked, green eyes piercing through the shadows she had wrapped around her. “Guess who was lucky enough to choose the school’s ice princess as their partner?”

~~~

The glowing violet slits that were Raven’s eyes blinked out as she closed her eyes in frustration, causing his smirk to widen.

The violet appeared again, along with the flash of a white fang or two. “I could only be so fortunate that it was the school’s ice prince?” Her tone was heavy with sarcasm.

“Got it in one! I do hope that brilliant mind of yours will survive throughout our partnership.” 

“Oh, shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, al Ghul,” she grumbled, turning away.

“So, your cape, then? Don’t mind if I do,” he returned snarkily, knowing he’d won that round.

She growled again.

“What are we studying, partner?” he leaned over her shoulder, attempting to peer at the parchment that she slapped her hand over.

He chuckled. “Oh ho, what a visceral reaction. How intriguing…why would you attempt to cover our assignment from your partner?” He tapped his chin, imitating thinking hard. “I’m sure you wouldn’t hide it to be petty, because your grades would go down and that would be unacceptable. Could it be…!” He gasped, eyes widened dramatically. “Is it perhaps love magic, and you don’t want to admit you’re in love with me?”

The violet of her eyes gained a distinctly red hue, signalling her irritation. 

Damian smirked and dropped the subject. 

“It’s lust magic, you dolt.”

“Ah, often closely used with love magic. I can see why you hid it now…it’s even more embarrassing to admit that you’re attracted to me.”

Raven raised her arm, a rolled-up scroll of parchment in hand, prepared to thwack him.

“Raven and Damian!” called Professor Zatara.

The classroom erupted into whispers as they walked up to Professor Zatara’s desk. The Head Boy and Head Girl, bitter rivals since they had joined Moone’s Institute of Magic and Mythos eight years ago, were partnered together for this project. 

“Your subject for this project?” Zachary Zatara raised his eyebrow at the two of them.

“Lust magic.”

“Good thing you two don’t get along, so I don’t have to worry about you testing this on yourselves, huh?” Professor Zatara leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Damian could sense Raven’s irritation through her stiffness. 

“You can choose how you’ll present your findings; the due date is in four weeks. Potions, charms, curses, anything is on board. You’ll be studying the levels of give-and-take, such as seeing if there’s an exponential increase of take from what’s given. Capisce?”

Damian and Raven nodded.

“Good luck with your studies. Garfield and Jaime!” Professor Zatara dismissed them, calling the next pair up.

“We can discuss the project while we do our rounds this evening?” suggested Raven as they walked back to their tables.

“Sounds fine, Roth.”

~~~

Damian turned the corner of the Witches’ Coven and stopped short, avoiding Raven with a move that had no right to be as graceful as it did.

Stupid Azraelines and their stupid sensual grace. 

“Ready to tackle the project?” He greeted her with a cordial nod.

She turned to walk with him, nodding in agreement. “How do you want to divide the work?”

“We can both do the research since that will likely require the most time and energy. It would be best to wait until we have a better idea of what this project will entail before we divide the work between ourselves. Does that work for you, Princess?”

“Sounds fine. I just turned in two reports, so I should be free to get a head start on the research while you practice your swordsmanship.” A brilliant solution, in her mind, to her little problem. She could gain at least a rudimentary understanding of the magic before they had to knowledgeably discuss it together. 

Damian nudged a stack of books in the Witches’ Common Room into order, rescuing them from falling at the slightest breeze. “You suggested it, so don’t say I didn’t do my share of the research if you have a problem with me later.” Speaking to the air, he activated his Coven magic. “Raven Roth is voluntarily beginning the research phase of Project #68, also titled Operation Concupiscence.”

She scoffed, brushing her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “I’m not such a tyrant that I’d keep track of the seconds we each spend on this. Also, concupiscence? Really?”

Damian mumbled something likely uncomplimentary under his breath, holding open the door to the hallway leading to the Mages’ Coven.

Deciding to ignore the insult and take the olive branch (see, she could be gracious), she strode towards the doorway. At the last second, he let it slide shut in her face.

Nevermind. She was going to end him once this project was over.

~~~

Raven sat in the library’s restricted section, thankful for the perks afforded by the Head Girl and one of the students fluctuating between first and second-ranked academically throughout the whole school.

Only a handful of students were allowed in the restricted section, and her nemesis was currently occupied with the duelling club, which he headed.

Satisfied with her privacy, she began collecting the tomes she’d mentally taken note of during earlier strolls through the stacks and carried the armful to the table in the middle of the area.

Pulling out her scroll of notes for this project, she weighted the edges down with the covers of the open books, stopping the curl of the paper that made it difficult to completely fill the parchment with notes.

Dipping her quill in the ink, she began.

Project #68

Due Date: Imbolc Eve

Partner: Damian al Ghul (Demon)

Thesis: Interchange in Lust magic.

References:  

Raven flipped to the title page of the first book, making sure she didn’t accidentally knock over her ink bottle.

Drat, she’d grabbed For the Love of Lust I, not For the Love of Lust II.

She took the book back to its shelf and retrieved the sequel, checking its title page while she was there to ensure no mix-ups occurred a second time. She had a limited period of uninterrupted time here, after all.

Returning to her desk, she picked up her quill and began marking her reference books.

Her hand paused over the final title.

Project #68 (Operation Concupiscence)

Due Date: Imbolc Eve

Partner: Damian al Ghul (Demon)

Thesis: Interchange in Lust magic.

References: For the Love of Lust II, The History of Love Deals and How to Avoid Scams, Nymphomagick: A Volume, How to Fulfill Sexual Summonings, So You Think You’ve Been Put Under a Love Spell, Sensual Creatures and Their Abilities + Uses

“Al Ghul!” she growled, spotting the addition.

How he had found the time to tamper with her scroll, she wasn’t sure, but she was going to give him heaven when she found out. That blessed sneak!

~~~

Damian sneezed violently, his instinctual defensive parry blocking his opponent’s blade as his eyes automatically closed.

Recovering, he disarmed his opponent with a flourish, a smirk taking over the usual no-nonsense set of his jaw. Roth must have found his addition. When he had declared the name of their project earlier, his Coven magic automatically completed it if some were left out. She’d never been able to harness the Coven magic and understand it like him, which was a shame, considering her heritage and raw potential. It made certain things so much easier to keep track of.

~~~

Raven angrily flipped through Sensual Creatures and Their Abilities + Uses, the final book in her pile and so far the least helpful. She could think of a handful of beings known for their sexual appeal and not one appeared between the pages of this out-of-date volume!

An illustration caught her eye and she turned back three pages to see a strange slew of lines, faded red colouring, and lots of sharp-looking marks that she guessed were fangs, or maybe stakes?

‘Vampyre, 1214, illustration by an eyewitness recollectione’, was its title.

The vampyre, or, as some call it, the vampire, is a creature of the night that subsists almost entirely on blood.  

Skipping the paragraphs about the beings, she scanned the page for anything that would further her digging.

Some suggest that there exists a select group of these creatures which have managed to survive by feeding on others’ sexual energies, instead of consuming their blood. This maye be a confusion between vampyres and liderc, or perhaps incubi, or perhaps vampyres have truely changed enough that blood no longer sustains them. Feeding off of sexual energies could stop the rashes of vampyres and their bloodbathes that have steadily grown more common this past sixteenth century.

Finally, something useful! Mentally giving a cheer, Raven pulled the book closer and began studying.

~~~

Damian paused at the sight of Raven, fast asleep in the restricted section. Her head was on her arms, the hood of her cloak pushed back, and she looked soft in the warm glow of the library light.

Raven always kept a neutral expression, but until he saw her relaxed like this, he had assumed it was her default face setting. Now he saw why; she was far too delicate when she relaxed, and to a rule-stickler, top student, and Head Girl like herself, she couldn’t afford to show any softness.

He didn’t know all the details about her backstory, but he knew enough that he understood why she pushed herself so hard and strove to be the best at everything. They were similar in that aspect–in fact, the more he pondered it, the more similarities he found between them.

Shivering at the uncomfortable realization, Damian turned to leave.

At the exit of the restricted section, he paused and turned again.

~~~

Licking her lips, Raven ran her fingers through her hair and sat up, momentarily confused at her surroundings until she remembered how tired she’d been after she finished the day’s research.

She hooked her hands over her shoulders, grabbing for her hood, but pulled something else up instead.

Raven stared at the dark green, almost black, cloak, one hand absently stroking the soft material. She immediately missed the warmth from her back.

~~~

“What’s Roth doing?” Dane, a Year Six student from the Demon Coven, leaned forward to see past Damian at the breakfast table.

Damian turned his head, watching as Raven stalked silently up and down the aisles of tables, something in her hand that she periodically shook her head at.

She turned and started down the next row of tables, and Damian saw his cloak in her hand.

Half-stifling a smirk, he turned back to his breakfast.

“Something funny, al Ghul?”

He glanced up at Raven’s raised brow.

“Nothing more than the usual; your face,” the taunt slipped out, a habit from years of bantering.

Her lips pursed, a minuscule amount that likely no one but he would notice, but she gave no other reaction. Usually, they didn’t attack each other’s features, but he was still a little unsettled that he’d willingly given her his cloak (and now she was making something out of it), so he didn’t apologize and instead squished the tiny shred of guilt.

“What’s the matter? You look a little peaked today…could it be? Has the stick up you-”

“Al Ghul,” her withering tone and pointed look at the younger students, who were all thoroughly invested in their drama, reminded him where he was. “I simply found this cloak and was attempting to return it to its owner.”

“Ms Moone has a lost and found box, you know,” he drawled, raising his eyebrow as he stood, collecting his dishes. 

A faint colour covered her chest, spreading around the edges of her leotard, and his thoughts immediately wandered to curiously wondering how far it spread, if it could get any darker and just how he’d accomplish tha-

“It’s cold out,” Raven interrupted the salacious turn his mind had wandered to. “I didn’t want a student to freeze. I’ll unfortunately see you in Advanced Runes.” With a swish of her cloak, she stalked out of the room, the picture of regal grace.

~~~

As Year Eight students, Damian and Raven were among the oldest students attending Moone’s Institute of Magic and Mythos. Most students graduated once they completed Year Seven, but particularly studious or talented students sometimes stayed another year or two, taking the equivalent of university prep and university courses, appreciating the safety the school afforded them.

Moone’s Institute of Magic and Mythos was a neutral ground for any and all magical creatures and wielders and had a strict no-discrimination policy. Even the students’ parents, guardians, or mentors were not allowed to interfere in anything relating to the school or its students while they were on its grounds, no matter how powerful, influential, or connected they were.

For that reason, some of the students who didn’t have the most stable backgrounds were eager to jump at the chance to further their studies and linger in the relative safety of the Institute before they joined the harsher worlds out there. 

It was practically announcing that something was wrong if you took a Year Eight, but most students preferred to keep their cards close to their chest about the specifics of why they were staying since information was power, and once they graduated Year Eight, any information gained about them from their Institute years was fair game to everyone else.

Raven knew why she was taking a Year Eight, but she didn’t understand why Damian had. Even though his family was the most powerful Azraeline clan, they were what some, including her so-called family, might call decent.

She’d never interacted much with his family, though, as students did not typically receive visitors throughout the school year, and also, why would he want to introduce her to his family. Who knows, maybe the al Ghuls were just as bad as the Trigons. It wasn’t like she particularly cared about him, anyway. Shaking her head, Raven discarded her rambling thoughts about her partner and opened another volume that she hoped would provide her with more information on lust magic.

“Hard at work already, Roth?” the unpleasantly smooth voice of Damian al Ghul sounded behind her.

She glared at him as he slid into the seat perpendicular to her, setting out his books and note scrolls neatly. 

“I was trying to before you interrupted me.” The restrictions on the restricted section of the library needed to be tightened, she decided.

He ignored her pointed jab and unscrewed the lid of his ink jar.

“Sounds like you might need to try some of these potions I’ve come across in my research. Maybe if you got laid, you’d be more pleasant to be around…oh, I see, it’s a catch-22; your unpleasant demeanour drives off anyone who would help you with that problem you have. My apologies, Roth,” he muttered faux-sympathetically.

“I see my ‘unpleasant demeanour’ still hasn’t driven you off,” she retorted. “Seems like you’re my last resort.”

Shifting in her seat, she leaned closer, letting her cape drop as her hand rested on his knee.

Damian’s widened green eyes dropped to take in her long legs and his mouth parted slightly, tempting Raven, but she restrained herself just before her nose brushed his. “If you still stick around after I’ve been so unpleasant, either something is wrong with you, or you’re more attached to me than I thought,” she whispered, her breath skimming his cheek. 

This close, she could hear the rapid thump of Damian’s heartbeat and smell the saffron and rose water that she’d only ever gotten a hint of before. The delicate strength of the aroma was not one she’d have thought Damian would wear, but the strange pairing worked for him.

Sitting back abruptly, she returned to her studying, but she noticed with a pleased twist of her lips that Damian sat unmoving for several minutes before he recovered himself.

Maybe he had a point…

~~~

Year Five

Raven’s cape snagged, pulling her into a dark alcove in the Institute’s halls in the Demon Coven.

“Sh!” The whisper behind her and the hand covering her mouth could only belong to one person.

Damian wrenched his hand away from her with a silent yelp that she could feel him let out as she bit down hard on his flesh.

“What do you want, al Ghul?” Taking a step back, she let the cool stone of the wall she leaned against calm her sudden spike in heart rate.

“You know I’m not trying to insult you, right?” he muttered, shaking his hand in the air as if the breeze would heal his pain.

“It seems kind of hard to interpret the sneers and jibes as anything other than insults,” Raven answered dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Damian tutted, leaning back against the wall opposite her. “I mean, I don’t actually mean what I’m saying. I simply appreciate the mental stimulation of a good verbal spar. It’s come to my attention that I perhaps am making you feel bad, which is not my intention.”

Pursing her lips in slight surprise at Damian’s words, Raven let him stew for a few moments.

“No, I’ve never particularly felt personally insulted by your words. I prefer to pay as little attention as possible to things beneath me.”

Damian huffed and she smirked.

Taking pity on him, she straightened. “No, I don’t mind. I also enjoy our little altercations. I appreciate your attempt to clear this up. See you around, al Ghul.”

“Wait!” Damian’s fingers gently closed around her wrist. 

She looked down at their joined hands, then back to Damian. The moonlight sneaking through the slits in the walls revealed a slightly flustered look on his face, though his tone also gave his discomfort away.

“Sorry, it’s just- the other students have some bets on our…interactions. Neither of us particularly wants their attention, and if we were suddenly-”

“Relax, al Ghul.” She peeled his fingers away from her wrist with her free hand. “Just because we’ve now acknowledged that we don’t take each other’s words to heart doesn’t mean we need to act all friendly. Keep up what we’ve been doing and everything will be fine.”

With a swish of her cape, she resumed her stroll, a grin playing on her lips as she recalled Damian’s unusual flusteredness. It was kind of cute.

[lunamond]

In light of my recent post about Acotar, I wanted to gush some about my favourite Beauty and Beast and Ballad of Tam Lin (and a sprinkle of Bluebeard) YA retelling.

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge ❤️

This is mostly going to be a gush fest and recommendation for anyone who was also excited by the idea of meshing Beauty and the Beast with Tam Lin and ended up utterly disappointed with Acotar.

Some very mild spoilers (mostly Worldbuilding)

Cruel Beauty is a fun and easy read: YA Fantasy Romance with plenty of popular tropes and archetypes, like the arranged marriage, forced proximity, enemies to lovers, etc

This book still manages to engage in such interesting ways with the original tales it's based on.

Instead of stealing the aesthetic of the Og fairytales and other folklore and mythology like in Acotar.

Any defining fae feature of Sjm's characters is immediately removed in the very beginning of Acotar (the lieing, the iron, etc), turning the characters in what amounts to hot magic people. Even their supposed long lifespans barely impact their behaviour or culture.

Cruel Beauty continuously builts on its roots, making them an intrinsic part of its narrative.

In Acotar outside of the very shallow narrative skeleton of the Beauty and the Beast tale, you could strip away the faerie and folklore elements, and you're left with the same story. The only changes you might need to make are to find a new name for Tamlin (while not that serious, I considered it quite offensive when I first read this series as a teenager that Sjm would take that name and then turn that character into an abuser).

In Cruel Beauty, however, both the defining elements of the Beauty and the Beast story and the Tam Lin story are crucial to the development and resolution of its plot.

The Beast of the story is cursed, as are the inhabitants of his castle. Nyx, our Beauty character, is offered in exchange for a mistake her father made. As she is unknowingly about to break the curse, the Beast lets her go back, but when she returns, it's too late to break the curse.

This is when the story morphes into the Ballad of Tam Lin, and Nyx has to win her lover back from the Faerie Queen in much the same manner as Janet did in the ballad, even saving him from a very similar fate.

The Bluebeard elements, which to me always seemed more like references than an actual retelling, are still really apparent and well integrated.

The representation of the fae is also great in this book. This is especially remarkable due to the fact that the actual words fae or faerie are never used once.

Instead, they are referred to as the Kindly Ones.

However, they are clearly trickster folk who make bargains with unwitting humans that always end up going wrong in cruel ways. They are fair, never directly lie, and always keep their end of the agreement. They place a lot of importance on names, are otherworldly, eerie, etc.

Basically, they actually seem Other, instead of talking and acting like frat bros from the 21st century.

This book differs from a lot of other Fae Fantasy, however, in the way it mixes Greco-Roman Myths with more Celtic Germanic Folklore. It creates a really fun interplay between these cultures, both in-world as well as on a meta level.

First of all, there are some other (in my opinion, more mediocre books) that do throw a lot of mythologies together. CB sets itself apart with the fact that it does so with a lot more purpose than others do.

In many people's minds, different cultures and mythos tend to be viewed as very separate. However, just looking at the Greek and Roman myths, it's already pretty clear that every time cultures clashed, so would their myths and stories.

This is a well studied phenomenon. The romans especially were well known to basically mash up their deities and myths with those of every new culture they interacted with.

And CB uses this brilliantly. The story is set in an alternate timeline, in which, after the fall of Rome, a kingdom known as Arcadia was created by former Roman generals/nobility. This mirrors actual history, during which many early medieval kingdoms would seek their legitimacy in their connections to the Roman Empire (see the Holy Roman Empire aka Germany).

But in CB, the fantastical elements are meshed up in this as well. This allows Rosamund Hodge to create an interesting interplay between the Greco-Roman Mythology imported by the elite in Arcadia and the more Celtic/Germanic Folklore elements native to the land and its population.

So, yeah. Go read Cruel Beauty, please.

[voidsentprinces]

...a'ight...so...update to the Ultima theory.

Refresher, Rhalgr is said to of met Venat during her days as Azem. They joined forces in order to destroy an enormous meteor that was heading towards Eitheirys. While destroying the meteor would later lend itself to the legend of Rhalgr as the Destroyer and a Meteor being his symbol. There is a chance fragments of this meteor fell down to the world after being blown apart. JENOVA travels from planet to planet in the FFVII mythos as a meteor. And Ultima, the High Seraph appears as an extradimension alien abomination in Ivalice. It is possible either Ultima has a fragment shard in JENOVA in another reflection or they are part of a similar race of extradimensional beings. In any case, it is never exactly stated where Athena discovers the Heart of Sabik. But I am going to make a jump in thought process and assume that while Ultima might of been banished when the meteor was destroyed, a fragment of its essence in the Heart of Sabik lands on Ancient Eitheirys and is discovered by Athena.

So how does, Ultima return to nest in Ivalice? She descended unto Eitheirys once again several hundred years before hand. Shattoto is given legend of summoning a great meteor to bring down upon the Kingdom of Mhach just because she could. But the level 60 - 70 BLM quest reveals she actually used her power to destroy a Meteor that was hurdling towards Eitheirys. Despite destroying it, she only managed to shatter it causing it to fragment across the world. Thus allowing Ultima to land far away from her Kingdom and nest where we eventually find her in Ivalice later.

[myrfing]

ancients arent fascists and are far too fantastical to fit into any real political system but people tend to view them in the story in a bubble (which, they kind of are portrayed as such in-universe so w/e) when I don’t think their position in the story can be extricable from garlemald. amaurot is dead and gone by the very beginning of the game and are introduced in shb as a means to examine why/how. what they represent is an ideal upon which garlemald’s purpose is built. what matters is not that they were good or evil but that their mythical perfection was upheld and used as justification for what came after 👍 not saying that this is ALL they are but imo it’s a big old chunk of it. the goal of extermination based on innate traits is not to kill people for fun forever (though you could argue it becomes entwined) it’s the idea that if the only people existed in the world were the most intelligent, most able, most “whole” that the world would be at peace and there would no longer be conflict or great suffering.

one neat thing about EW is its deconstruction of this “mythical fatherland” type of paradise and one of my favorite examples of this is their depiction of ultima thule. if you google “ultima thule” you’ll find…lol a boatload of controversies surrounding its usage in stuff like band names because of its heavy ties with nazi mythos/symbology. it refers to a place “beyond the borders of a known world”, a mythical grecoroman-styled land to the north from which the perfect people once hailed, were lost, and to which the “true” people who adhere to the ideology must return. blah blah blah a lot of parallels to christian ideas of an immortal paradise. i’d like to think that the developers were aware and deliberate with this context considering how easily accessible it is! Thule in the game, when you reach it on the edge of the universe after you go through elpis (a temporary veneer of paradise) is a dead and stagnant land built as a cobbled together amalgamation of a bunch of dead civilizations and peoples who did not make it through “the test” that hermes in purposeful irony imposes on the ancients, who again, represent that ideal. instead of being a paradise, it’s a purgatory where everyone DOES live forever but as ghosts in a dead land scraped of everything that gave it meaning, that orbits a heavy and turgid cocoon of despair. the world that is “born” (everyone imagine imagery analysis here I’m too lazy) is miss endsinger’s wild neverending ride where there is no real substantial world where anything lives but instead an endless mish-mashed retrospective recollection of all the loss and terror it took to create it. i think this is very cool. It’s swagful

[dailydemonspotlight]

Barong - Day 25

Race: Avatar

Alignment: Light-Neutral

April 24th, 2024

I'd like to start this daily demon spotlight with an admittance of bias. Barong is my favorite demon in the series, bar none. In celebration of making it to 25 (!!) days of this series, I've decided to let the holy cat out of the bag. Barong is the demon that introduced me to Balinese mythology, has saved my hide several times throughout the series, and has an adorable and unique design to boot. He stands right next to, if not above Black Frost and Chernobog in my book. Past that, though, I would also like to say- thank you all for sticking with me for 25 days! It's been so damn fun, and I plan on continuing this series for months, if not years to come. I know it's a little early for the ivories, but the small community that has been built up over time has given me so much life and energy!

With that sappy stuff out of the way...

Today's demon of the day lies in the form of the great panther, protector of mankind, and host of all things good, Barong. Bali mythology is surprisingly easy to look through, having solid roots and foundations, as well as its origin being in a somewhat small subset of Indonesia, though this isn't to say it's not complex. Balinese mythology takes a unique form, one similar to the worship of Ame-no-Uzume, wherein several of its stories aren't plays nor grand tales, but rather, fascinatingly hypnotic dances. Barong's appearance in these dances is that of a glamorously decorated (and very ambiguous) animal that I would personally say looks somewhat, vaguely similar to a lion?

However, the type of animal it is isn't that important, and admittedly just makes me confused. What is important is Barong's role in Balinese mythology, that being of a protector of humanity itself- in the mythos surrounding Barong and its eternal rival Rangda, Barong represents good health, good fortune, and has reign over all the spirits that inhabit the small province. The most prominent myth featuring the great avatar is recanted in the famous Kris dance, a dance representing Barong battling with Rangda. During the hypnotic trawl, dancers bring swords dangerously close to hurting themselves, though they emerge unscathed, watched over by two dancers in an ornate harness holding up the avatar of Barong who dances furiously behind them.

The dance begins with two monkeys and Barong engaging in dance, though quickly escalates as witches sent by Rangda attack the frolicking group. The dance-drama escalates from there as Barong tries to reign back control over the kingdom, which had found itself under siege by Rangda, eventually leading to the most iconic scene of the play, wherein two palace guards stab themselves with kali daggers in a desperate trance under Rangda's control- though they emerge unscathed as Barong comes to the rescue and engages in battle with the witch, protecting the guards with his holy magic. After a long and fraught dance between Barong and its rival, eventually, the holy avatar emerges victorious, and the kingdom is returned to peace and prosperity.

Barong is not just an artefact of the dance, though- he's an important figure in Balinese tradition, one held in reverence and good spirits, and the dance is simply held to represent the eternal struggle between good and evil, as well as celebrate the triumph of the love and goodness that Barong represents. People equipped in Barong costumes even, on occasion, parade around Balinese towns in order to ward off evil spirits and bad luck. Barong is locked in a never-ending battle against Rangda and the forces of darkness, yet never gives up hope; As a Bali volunteer in the Bali Volunteer Program puts it, "Once the trance is over, Barong and his supporters finally overthrow Rangda. But she does not die. Instead, she reincarnates and Barong must defeat her again. The fight never stops. It is symbolic of light’s eternal strife against darkness."

In the SMT series, Barong is depicted faithfully, though far more blue than red. Decorated in jewels and studded in silver, the Balinese lion dances in combat, easily connecting to the dance-dramas the beast is so frequently depicted in. Interestingly, a common series staple is that of Rangda and Barong's fusion leading to Shiva, and while unconfirmed, I have an idea as to why this may be the case. While Barong and Rangda are from completely different mythologies, they both represent opposing forces of light and dark, something that Shiva, a god of destruction who is not evil, is an inherent blend of- Shiva is both light and dark, good and evil, while Barong is good, light, and Rangda is evil, dark.

All in all, Balinese myth's hypnotic dances and beautiful performances lend to an amazingly designed demon that truly fulfills all it sets out to do, represents an underrepresented mythology, and stands out as my personal favorite demon in the series. Next to Chernobog and Black Frost, of course. And also Parvati. And Mother Harlot. Am I just edgy?

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Ferrari is about faith, they value devotion and loyalty, it is a religion above all else. Ferrari is about the bond between the devotee and the team, it's about the unshakable belief that one day their dream will become a reality and about the determination needed to see that dream come to fruition. Many will kneel and pray at the altar of the prancing horse but only a select few will get to rise and write the next chapter of its' gospel. To some it offers salvation, to others only destruction. Ferrari demands sacrifice, it will take and take until there is nothing left to give because it is the dream, the legacy, that matters most, not the devotee. Yet, they still dream and they still pray anyway, because who knows, maybe they'll be the one, the promised prince, the predestined one, the one who will give it their all and more and who'll return the glory of golden days past. There's cruelty and there's beauty in it, it's both tragic and divine. Ferrari is about legacy and they never forget their heroes.

Red Bull is not Ferrari, though they bleed and cut the same.

Red Bull is about conviction, it is no religion but it requires faith just the same. Faith in one's self, in the team, is paramount. Red Bull backs their own absolutely and without hesitation. No matter how far their prodigal sons roam, Red Bull will always back them and, if the time comes, welcome them home again. Red Bull is also a promise, an oath, a vendetta. They are the personification of fuck around and find out and may god help any soul who dares doubt that. They rarely forgive and they do not forget, you go after one, you will get them all, they will always close ranks to protect their own. Their passion and their seemingly unstoppable drive are a direct fuck you to all who doubt them. While Ferrari is about their legacy, Red Bull is about their future, they have always strived and fought and persevered in the pursuit of the next one. Every victory and every moment of glory is not in spite of their doubters, but because of them, because of those who made Red Bull their villain. If nothing else, Red Bull will gladly give them a show.

Red Bull is not Ferrari, yet they still bleed and cut the same.

It takes a very specific driver to master the prancing horse or the red bull, because you can never truly tame either beast. Many have failed trying. But there are still those who become one with those beasts, drivers where, as time goes on, it's difficult to decipher where the team ends and they begin.

Drivers like that usually come once in a generation, yet they were born just sixteen days apart. The predestined son of Ferrari and the Red Bull golden boy. What a fascinating pair they make. What a spectacular legend, mythos, they are creating.