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randomshyperson · 2 years ago

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Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06

Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.

Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap. | Words: 7.900k

A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful. In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.

New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.

Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.

Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner.

"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.

"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.

She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.

"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."

Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.

"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure."

But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.

Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.

In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.

Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.

"And what's up there?"

The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.

"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection."

You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.

"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"

Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."

You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.

"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you.

It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.

Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.

The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first.

You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.

After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.

Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.

Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.

You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.

Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.

The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.

The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.

The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.

You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.

You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.

"Good evening, Y/N."

"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel.

You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."

There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"

She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."

You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around.

"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.

"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization.

"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me."

"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-

"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"

"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."

The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:

"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up."

You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."

But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."

You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.

-&-

Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.

She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.

Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.

But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.

It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.

More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.

"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.

The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"

The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.

You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.

Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.

"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.

The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."

The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you."

And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.

Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.

"You were brave today, sweetheart."

Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."

Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:

"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose." You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."

She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.

"What is it?"

She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice."

You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."

She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."

"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?

"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.

"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"

Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."

You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."

There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.

"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.

You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way.

Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.

In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment.

The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.

In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.

The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.

She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.

"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.

"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.

While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks.

When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.

"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.

" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious.

"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority.

"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.

"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."

You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."

Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"

You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."

But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.

"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.

The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.

The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.

"Come in, dear."

You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.

Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.

"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.

"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."

But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.

"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."

It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.

Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"

You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."

Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."

Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"

Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.

"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."

Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.

"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."

What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.

"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."

But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"

Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.

She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.

It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.

"Is something wrong?"

She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."

You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.

"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.

Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.

You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.

"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?"

Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces.

"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."

Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"

She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.

In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.

Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order:

"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face.

Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath.

"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.

Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.

She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.

"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"

"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"

Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.

"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"

Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down.

Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"

Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"

The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot.

"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"

Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"

"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."

"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.

Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.

You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.

Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."

You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."

She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."

You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.

Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."

"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."

Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.

Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck.

Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"

"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her.

"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.

Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.

"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #marvel imagines

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evangelineenjoysdaisuke · 5 months ago

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WHO TFK IS THIS GUY?

Daisuke x F!reader

Warning: language, eventual smut, jimmy and everything that comes with him (lol). y/n smokes weed!!

a/n: y/n is a therapist on the tulpar! (not my original idea, @/-Mairibby on wattpad) the fic series wont be mainly about y/n and daisuke, its more about everyone, but daisuke and y/n get together eventually, yk? things may or may not go on plot due to me not giving a fuck lol. remember that this is from y/n's point of view, so not everything she says or thinks will be correct. but this fic is mostly getting familiar with the dynamics between y/n and the others, enjoy! ALL OF MY CONTENT IS FOR ALL READERS. PERIOD. EVERYONE IS SAFE HERE!

PT 1.

You were afraid of heights and elevators…so what the fuck are you doing in space? You questioned, looking at yourself in the restroom, and looking down at your scratchy material uniform…pony express…yay. Only a year left, bigger yay.

You were the only girl aside from anya on the ship, which didn't bother you much. You were known for keeping things positive and whomever you had a conversation with, it would always end in a laugh. So you went on ship as a newly licensed therapist. After graduating college, you'd come across a flyer stuck on a light post with a cute pony on it. You said hm, then in a week, you started your new job.

You didn't know any of these people, really. Curly, the captain, Jimmy, sketchy dark guy..usually your type, but co-captain. Anya, the nurse, Swansea, the mechanic, and daisuke, the idiot intern. Things are going smoothly, the food wasn't your favorite but there wasn't anything salt and pepper can't fix (god, you wish you had cajun seasoning. You made a mental note to bring some next time) you managed to smuggle your weed pen and a zip, knowing in order to be the best therapist you can be you have to be the least stressed. You hid it under your pillow, they make comments about the smell and know someones carrying it between all of you, but can't find it. They point fingers at daisuke, but don't attack him since they cant confirm it.

If anyone needed to be attacked, it was Jimmy, the nasty cigs that laid between his lips as you all sat around the table playing card games or just simply talking, the smell was louder than Swansea playing a game of poker. You didn't know why you paid so much attention to him, his aura was alluring. You liked how dirty he looked, like he has no shame. But there was just something….off. Like he isn't fit to be co-captain, but he never gave you a reason or showed why he shouldn't be.

Conversations with curly were light, conversations with him were easy. He's a good man, takes responsibility. You make sure to let him know. Only lord knows what would happen if he started doubting himself, and no one wants to even take the risk.

You sigh and collect yourself, take a long hit of your weed pen and walk to the lounge. Picking up the clipboard to do evaluations. You and Anya switched off time and time. She discussed with you that she felt like she was here for no reason with nothing to do, she wanted to feel needed and like she was part of the crew. It didn't matter to you, though. Not like she gets part of your cut.

Looking around and seeing everyone, you'd wonder who would be your first victim. They all equally hated the evals, only being cooperative because Cap says so. You wince your eyes and see who's less busy. The side of your lips turn up and you look at swansea. You walk towards him, and it's almost as if you're his 6th sense, you can see how disinterested he is and it was really obvious when he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. It made you laugh.

“When are you going to register in your head that I am too old to be going crazy on a ship, y/n. These aren't-” “necessary, i heard you the first time..and all the other times. But protocol is protocol, relax, okay?” you sat in front of him on the couch and he lifted his head to look at you. “Have you been able to complete your mandated tasks as a mechanic efficiently and to your fullest capacity?” your eyes lifted from the clipboard. “The ship hasn't broken down has-” “swansea” you cut him off and sharpen your eyes. “Do you need me to-” “yeah yeah- i got it. Yes i have” you chuckle at his response and drop your clipboard in your lap. “You know that you make this 10 times harder and longer? Or do you just like giving me a hard time?”

“Honestly both, I try to get as many minutes away from daisuke. He makes the vein in my forehead pop out” you laugh at that and point at him with your black pen, “now we're getting somewhere” you cross your legs and continue the eval until it's over. Swansea reminded you of a bitter grandpa but secretly wants to see you succeed. You see how he cares for daisuke, even when he cusses him out. He cares enough to cuss him out. It's something to admire from afar.

Daisuke and swansea were the best duo in here. Curly and jimmy were kinda boring considering it was the grumpy x sunshine trope. You just wondered how jimmy had so much…power. Though he was co-captain, whenever he had a conversation with anyone, it's almost as if they just let him do what he wants to without consequence, like he's a toddler. You see how Anya instantly lowers her head and just submits to him, but you haven't asked or said anything, not only because it's not your place, but also since Anya just doesn't really talk to you.

You took note of how you've caught her watching from afar. You didn't wanna label her as envious, she was just shy, while you laughed and fit right in. you didnt want to feel bad for anya, it's not what she deserves. You'd wish she'd just put herself out there more and know that she's safe with you, and you wanted a bond with her- absolutely, but there was some kind of tension that you just couldn't grasp on.

She also had a conversation with you about how she didn't feel comfortable doing evaluations with jimmy. She told you about the disturbing comments he makes, and asked if he told you them to. He did. But most of the time you're too high to even pay attention to what he's talking about and end up just labeling good on all of them. Anya ended up furrowing her eyebrows and just walking away, you watched as she did so, she covered her face and her posture lowered. She cried.

“Daisuke! Eval. Are you ready?” you smiled and walked into the sleeping quarters. “Ah!” he exclaimed, fixing his pillow before fluffing his hair and standing up with an awkward smile on his face. “Uh..yeah sure” he said. You smiled and lifted your eyebrows “i thought i was the only one hiding things on this ship” “you are” “ha, ha” you tilted your head, “we can sit on my bed and do it, if you wanna” he offers, you let out a hum and say okay before sitting on the bed, your knees touching but you didn't put too much mind into it.

You dropped the clipboard on the side of the bed and he furrowed his eyebrows and gave you a puzzled look. “Aren't you gonna ask me questions?” “I'm starting to feel like it's just not needed. Not saying your not important or anything, but you are an intern. What tasks do you really have?” you let out a laugh, but looking at daisuke, he didn't like your answer. It was actually very clear he took offense to it. You bit your lower lip and crossed your legs, no longer touching knees with him. You clear your throat and widen your eyes for a split second before raising the clipboard. “Have you been able to do your mandated tasks as intern?” an awkward wide smile on your lips. “And what mandated tasks do i have?” he said. Petty. You thought, you let out a breath, “im sorry, daisuke. I apologize, I didn't mean it like that. Please forgive me”

“Show me what you're hiding,” he said, out of the blue. You give him a puzzled look. “How is that an even trade? I made a comment. We get outta here in a year, you'll lose track of time and forget it in 3 days. What I'm hiding can get me in trouble for the rest of my life ""do i look like a snitch to you?” he crossed his arms, you laughed, “Fine”. To that he smiled, you stood and went to your spot, lifting the pillow and revealing the goods.

He bit his lip and looked at you before squinting his eyes. “So you really fucking hate me, huh?” you cock your head back at his comment, confused you look at him, silently signalling for him to elaborate. “First you say I'm useless here, and now I found out that you're the one carrying the weed on the tulpar and they've been saying slick stuff to me. Wow, y/n. You're an asshole” he laughs. “Shit..fuck, youre right. Im sorry” you felt like a complete bully and an idiot, you put your palm on your face to hide your embarrassment. He shook his head, “you at least gonna share? The least you could do” he let out a small laugh, in an instinct you pulled out your pen and gave it to him, avoiding eye contact. “How does this even work?” he asked, holding it up and scanning it.

“You're joking…rich kid, I imagine you have all the friends in the world and have parties, and possibly have done something worse than this” he glared at your sentence, but you scooted closer to him and held the hand that was sticking up the pen. It was pink and bedazzled, “see this button right here? Press it while you suck- or breathe in whatever from here” you said, before looking back at him. He nodded his head and bit his lip, you let go and allowed him to take a hit from the pen. He awkwardly pulls it up to his lips, you watched as he wrapped his lips around it, silently cursing to himself in regret, not because he was taking a hit, but because he wrapped his lips on it not around it. The wetness from his mouth from the lord knows where is now on your pen that you will continue to hit. Not that you minded, his lips were soft and pink, he carried around a coca-cola flavored chapstick and used it, mostly when he was nervous.

You cocked your head to the side and watched him take the hit. “Dont kill yourself” you laugh, pulling it slowly from his lips. He immediately coughs, and you groan to see the wasted hybrid smoke enter the air, you sigh and wave so it disappears. “You gotta work on that” you mutter as he dies, falling over onto your pallet and banging the floor, his mouth open as he coughs. You laugh and pat his back, trying to help him out. He collects himself, “what the hell is going on?” curly asks, stepping in, your eyes widen and you cover the stash with the pillow before turning back to the captain.

“Choking on his spit, ha, you know how daisuke is” you do an innocent smile and he squints his eyes looking at daisuke. He only raises a thumb and scratches the back of his head. “Swansea said he wants to show you how to fix the vent, and if you make him wait any longer he's gonna ignore you for a month straight” “that's my cue, see you y/n. And I forgive you” he smiles and stands, walking past curly.

Curly eyes you, “done jimmy yet?”. “Don't think I want to, maybe you should?” “Of course” you smile at his acceptance, and hand him the clipboard as he walks to you. “Thank you cap, you're the best” you say with a genuine smile, he only smiles back before walking away. Everyone was doing their only thing so you decided to lay off and keep your pen and your copy of “Interview With The Vampire” by Anne Rice from some company.

#daisuke #daisuke x reader #mouthwashing #pony express #swansea mouthwashing #fanfic #mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #jimmy x reader #mouthwashing headcannons #mouthwashing x y/n #mouthwashing fandom #fem!reader #anya x reader #smut

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the-entitie · 1 year ago

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Why didn't you say anything?

Poly TF 141 x sex-demon reader (male intended but has depictions of fem):

A|n: Based on this writer's amazing work and this artist's au. And now this is very long.... I can't just write porn can I? Of well.

Prt:2 is done <3 》》》》》

Be warned I use more Catholic or deamon depiction of our succubus(male) reader, so please expect some body horror esk depictions. Also, the 141 are all in a polycule in this story.

CW: NSFW halfway through after the line break, sex addiction or dependence depicted for reader, threats to health, kind of eating disorder esk, talk of threats/acts of noncon and dubcon to reader (not focused on), polyamory, some talk of religion, why is this so long? And angst??? Ok....

Thinking about being a demon who became the 141's spy. The blood of the damned that ran through you, making you that much more dangerous and that much better at your job.

You fell under the deadly sin of lust, but it's been so many decades that you can't quite remember how you came to be. Maybe reincarnation, maybe you were summoned. It doesn't matter anymore, but it still hindered your intake into the military. You were practically a veteran by the time Price picks you up and drags you into his team.

None of the 141 had ever worked with anyone demonic for an extended amount of time. There had been the call ins and times when they picked up failed missions, but none of them ever really worked with a demon.

Ghost, as a wraith, was the closest any of them had gotten to working with anyone similar to you.

You started out as someone they called to scope out information before a particularly threatening mission. You were just the help, the one they called when they needed a spy. Until they leaned about how every other task force would drop you within a month of calling you thiers.

Price had worried that it was something to do with you or your attitude towards teamwork when he had taken you in, made you one of his men.

That was before he noticed this kind of cycle you would go through. Just when a mission would start, you would pull back. You would separate from everyone, not cold turkey, yet you just wouldn't be present. The training room was one person short, or their would be one less person here on the quieter afternoons he didn't even know this team had.

It was after the missions that you would be more than present again.

You were there again when Soap wanted to run his lycanthopic body to exhaustion just so he could feel just a little more human with the pains it brought. When he was hyper, feeling like he needed to move, you were there to shove him. Drag him into a game of tag or chase or anything to help him move. Soap has never been good at sitting still.

When Gaz needed to be called from the purch he picked to preen his damp or irritated feathers on that was away from the busy noise of the base. Or when his Avian blood told him to take to the sky, you were happy to be taken for a flight or watch him loop around, watch him stretch his wings, across the star splattered skies.

And there you were outside with the nocturnal Ghost, saying you didn't need the sleep most nights and got bored. Even when his form would flicker, tendrils of shadows lashing around his open skin, something that made most run. You stayed with him, hummed a tune you can't remember the origin of, in a language probably only those as old as you would remember.

When Price was struck with phantom pain, when he would feel this pang on his wing only to realize it was from the one that didn't exist anymore. You were there with him. Happy to share a cigar with the smoke that smoldered was neither from his drag nor you. There to sit and fill in paperwork long into the night shift, to just exist around Price when the team was still settling in, or licking wounds.

In the more common areas where Soap would annoy Gaz into another game of cards. You were there to keep the peace.

It had taken Price longer than he was willing to admit to know what was going on. It wasn't some manipulative, carrot and stick, trick no. And it almost seemed like you hadn't consciously been doing it. Before it clicked.

You were a demon, a succubus, to be specific. You fed off of the emotion or the intent of sex.

And you only got that when you needed to get someone to talk. You only lean into it when it's needed for a mission.

He honestly felt stupid, like a leader that failed, but he was quick to right that failure. It wasn't like this team didn't run off and blow off steam together or that they left soap to struggle through his heat alone, nor did they leave Gaz to sit and brood alone. None of that.

And if you were a part of his team, this team, then you can't be starved. Can't be left to weaken, to crave, no. Price wouldn't stand it.

So he talked to the team. Told them his theory, his plan to fix it, and when the team had gotten over the hurt of leaving you alone and weak. They jumped at the opportunity.

Starting small.

Being more openly affectionate around you, never quiet reaching out but still letting the emotions linger.

Those play fights that Ghost would tap out of suddenly just kept going, and those thick visceral emotions none could quiet place the origin of; would hang so heavy in the air you could practically catch it between your teeth.

Those days Gaz would pull back, preen his wings alone; became fewer and far between. Now, the nearest team mate had a lap full of fluffled up wings and pleading eyes. And could Gaz use those honey coated eyes of his to glance up through his lashes and beg.

The quiet chuckles and this ever so pleased emotion would wind around Price's incisors, a satisfied thrill of the dragon flooding a palpable semblance of the satisfied job.

Price started talking about to the team, and they started trying to be more connected, more present, with you so you could have that nourishment. And if that meant that private room doors were left ever so lightly ajar during late nights spent with each other. No one mentioned it.

Soap was the first to notice the actual change.

Your eyes would flicker, puplis vibrating softly before it was shut down, and you would disappear. Or you would actually pull back. He was also the first to tell Price. And thier leader waisted no time.

"You good there, lutenent?" His voice calls softly into your quarters.

"All good Cap."

"Not so sure about that one soldier." Price presses on, taking a step further in to push the door more closed, "You don't play well with this team?"

"No, I have no qualms with any of you. Sorry if it seemed so."

"Ya do always talk so proper like you know?"

"Apologies, old habits."

Price steps closer, easily taking the space offered my your open thighs. Letting that simmering feeling flush his skin.

"Maybe we should start making new ones. What do you say, Sugar?"

His hand hovered just over your throat, careful to keep you feel safe. Price of all people knows what a demon can do when cornered, and it wasn't like he wanted you to feel put off.

He sees what Soap saw, just as his palm cups the edge of your jaw, your pupils flicker. Body dropping almost leaning agaisnt him.

"Why didn't you say something, Suguar?"

"Not of my use in this team."

"You don't need to be useful to eat." He sounded almost angry, calming all the more when you do lean into him, "you never need to earn a meal. Just ask. We all want to help."

That night, he let you ride him.

Laid back against your bed, held your weight by your thighs, and let you set the pace. Even if he was so hard it hurt, or if your dark lion-esk tail would flick across the sensitive inside of his thigh. Or when he's come twice and is practically drooling before he notice just how much more like your kin you look.

He doesn't stop you from flicking a forked tongue over the overwhelmed tears, he only noticed the change at the hitch of your breath when Price tangles his scared hands in your hair. Accidently tracing the curving rams horns that has twisted around your more pointed ears.

Singing your praise, even as you tried and failed to explain that you don't matter in this, just his pleasure.

He shut that down real quick.

#cod x male reader #x male reader #call of duty #cod #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #john price x you #tw ed implied #wip.txt #succubus reader #deamon reader #x reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au

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the-artist-grimm · 6 months ago

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Hey, Grimm, I've been meaning to ask, but what other information do you have about the vessels (besides 7, 12 and 13, which you explored already)? I know 9 is gender fluid as well, but that's about it.

Also, credit where credit is due, you were the inspiration for my Forneus to be a former vessel as well, though I went with tarot instead of numerology as theme.

Crimson Angel AU - Vessels 1-12

(I don't have too much on the others but I got some notes!)

Vessels #1 and #2 - Tasked with breaking into Shamura's archives to find a way to break the spell

#1 (Unity) They were Narinder's only witness, and after their Lord was chained, killed themself to reach his side, knowing he'd resurrect them. They worked diligently but abdicated after 150 years, as after well over a century of having no luck in freeing their god, they were tired. They did not die in pain, they simply stabbed their heart and asked Narinder not to revive them. Narinder only realized it a while after, but they had loved him-and though he'd not felt the same, he did feel guilty for letting them go on for so long. Their lengthy service was because of their unrequited love, and had he'd known, he would've insisted they go live their life and leave him.

#2 (Duality) Was actually a set of twins, a Brother and Sister whom died together and asked to share the crown. Tag-teaming crusades and the cult, they managed to finally help him understand the spell, yet after 120 years the two were tired as well, and thus he released them from service, wanting time as well to contemplate what to do from there. To his horror, however, they returned to him in less than a year-executed by War for their 'crimes' against the Old Faith. He offered to revive them again yet they refused, and thus passed on.

Vessel #3 - Originally tasked with the archives again, then the first to try killing the Bishops

#3 (Trinity, the Spirit Realm) She was once a budding seer, yet died after one of her card-readings angered a client. Narinder originally asked her to try searching the archives for another way to be freed, but eventually came to understand he had no choice, and sent her to try and fight his siblings. Somewhat stable at first, her mind, however, gradually began to crumble under the weight of death and blood, and eventually his once calm vessel became violent and un-predictable. Narinder forced her to abdicate after 100 years of service, and she died a month later after her cards said she could take on War alone without a crown. It was her who made Narinder order Red to keep closer watch on vessel mental states.

Vessels #4-#6 - Tasked with trying to kill the Bishops

#4 (Balance) The oldest vessel at age 55, he was a former guard captain. An effective leader, he, however, was not physically fit to fight as much as required, even with the crown's aid. He voluntarily abdicated after only 60 years then was executed by Leshy after 5, he'd not heeded Narinder's warning to be careful of the Bishops.

#5 (Freedom, Curiosity) The youngest vessel at 18, they were very eager to serve, but were very lax about their cult. A wildcard in battle they somehow managed to do ok against witnesses, but in the cult it was more like college students throwing a party. After 130 years they still proved just as reckless, so Narinder requested them to abdicate. They managed to calm down after and even settle down, yet after 10 years they and their new family-a husband and child, were executed. Just as #5 had realized there was something nice about a peaceful life, a former follower ratted them out.

#6 (Perfection) Another ok vessel, but highly vain. They followed Narinder's requests at first, but gradually grew more fond of gaining their own power, to the point where for 30 years managed to avoid all contact with their god. It was Red who threw a bit of a rebellion that got them back into the gateway after killing them in their sleep, and Narinder forcibly took Red back. Their own cult murdered them come morning, once they realized their 'god' was nothing more than a vain false idol-one whom had grown very fond of violence towards their own people in later years. Murder was the followings' payback. They held the crown for 135 years.

Vessels #7-#11 - Tasked with trying to kill the Bishops' following/disciples, all under STRICT orders to not engage with the gods

#7 (Lady Luck) Forneus. you know her already, but lets review. Strong sense of justice, very capable in a fight, the picture of a perfect vessel-if she wasn't just a little arrogant. Her overconfidence never hindered her however, and while he did grow uncertain about how many lovers she took it wasn't a point where Narinder felt concerned. After 80 years, however, she called out to him via the crown more serious than she'd ever been-she'd discovered that she was pregnant. A trip to the gateway could kill the unborn, and resurrections could only affect her. Having never considered raising a child she suddenly was at an impasse and unsure, yet after a long talk with Narinder kinda uncertainly giving her encouragement, she decided to take it as a sign to step back, and relinquished the crown.

#8 (Infinity) #8 was not as effective as Forneus, yet they also were highly determined to do their best no matter how many deaths they faced. Served for 40 years and only abdicated upon the realization they were outliving their loved ones. Life was infinite for them, but not their family. Died 6 years later of grief, after watching their youngest sibling die peacefully of old age. Narinder had gotten lucky with them as a note-he'd chosen them on a whim after the twins had arrived, and it was by pure chance they proved competent. They, however, never noticed the twins, they were so small and quiet.

#9 (Sorrow) #9 was genderfluid and had once been a lover, and wanted revenge for their spouse who died after stealing from Chaos' domain. Though Narinder was hesitant about another anger-fueled vessel, they begged for a second chance, and he decided to give them a try. 25 years was all they lasted, since Red reported they were becoming increasingly cruel and violent in later years and Narinder took quick action to avoid it progressing further. They were executed for murder not long after, after becoming a vigilante killing anyone who dared praise a god's name. They willfully ignored Aym and Baal out of anger for never having children of their own-and once actually lashed out at them when they'd gotten annoyed at hearing the toddlers playing. They made the twins cry about 5 years in, and while they actually did apologize after that Narinder was more wary about letting vessels interact with the twins.

#10 (Completion) Vain similar to #6, yet not to the point of selfishness. He managed a Cult just fine and was decent at combat, but he served only 30 years, however, after falling in love. He died not long after marrying though, since as he could not rely on a doctor of Pestilence's cult for assistance, his spouse could do nothing to save him after he'd fallen ill. He ignored the twins but sent food when asked-including uh...corpses. He'd been born into Heket's cult and cannibalism had been an old habit he'd never kicked. He used to hide heretic bodies in the offerings chest forgetting it was a one-way system.

#11 (Potential) Decent leader, decent fighter, served 30 years where-upon the Prophecy was heard of. During one crusade through Darkwood they managed to hear from Clauneck about it-he'd given the reading to the bishops, and while the duck typically allowed fate to pass as it desired, their discussion of executing all sheep concerned him enough to give a warning. Narinder initially wanted 11 to take on the role of mentor for this promised liberator, but 11 did not like the idea of babysitting and abdicated, leaving on poor terms for either side. As such, they did not heed Narinder's warning to be wary, and were captured and executed a few months later. They in general disliked kids, and made sure the cats were all made aware of that every visit. Aym and Baal's later hesitance towards Anthea is partially because 11 often complained about how loud/rude/annoying children were, despite Aym and Baal having only whispered to each other once or twice during a visit. Narinder had tried to convince them it was 11 who was the issue not them, but neither can really forget that and 9's previous scolding. Anthea encouraging them to talk had them a mix of surprise and a little nervous early on.

Vessel #12 - Tasked with just learning how to fight, manage a cult, and hopefully act as a bridge to pass it on to the Lamb.

#12 (Stability) Ratau was the vessel with the largest gap between him and his predecessor. 35 years separated them since Narinder spent too long trying to find someone perfect to no avail, and Ratau's anger at the Bishops, the realization that the Sheep were nearly down to 1, and the frustration of not having anyone lined up made him decide to just do it. Ratau only lasted around 10 years however, his initial rage had faded and while he was well-liked by his following he was not strong in the face of conflict, and after the Fox incident, abdicated of his own will, with Narinder simply telling him that when the Liberator arrived he'd call upon him once more. Of all former vessels Ratau was the only one who took Narinder's parting warning of the Bishops going after him seriously-he set up his lonely shack, and lined his territory with traps. The friends he'd made also proved useful, and he managed to avoid capture for the next 40 years. He did notice the twins, and actually did kinda awkwardly wave at them a few times, but Narinder's protective glaring scared him off from doing it again. Had he not Ratau honestly might've tried getting to know them since he did like children, but because he was too scared he never even looked at them after out of fear.

Anyway, thank you! Though as a note I believe it was @/waokevale who was one of the first to make Forneus a vessel, but I'm glad my work inspired you too! Forneus is such an interesting character so its fun to play with her background! :D

And cool!! As pointed out by @/parememi Forneus, Ratau, and Anthea actually line up with the perfect tarots for themselves too which was a happy little accident, (Forneus is The Chariot, Ratau The Hanged Man, and Anthea Death) but while I thus have tarot associations for them because of that, the rest just got numbers.

I went with number symbolism mostly since I see the vessels as points on a clock, with them being a countdown to the '13th Hour' of the Last Lamb-the impossible vessel not meant to survive.

Boarders are by @/lambouillet

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #crimson angel au #anthea #cotl au #cotl ratau #cotl forneus #cult of the lamb ratau #cult of the lamb forneus #crimson angel au lore

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bladekindeyewear · 3 months ago

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[S] 8r8k artist/writer commentary part 1

The artist and writer commentary on the first half of the [S] 8r8k flash just came out on Patreon, and I don't read any huge surprises in there, but there are a few interesting things there I'll put under the cut and discuss briefly.

Clarification that the red boots at the beginning are what Kanaya was wearing, I hadn't caught that.

(I haven't mentioned yet-- One last thing I hadn't noticed with the [S] 8r8k extract coming up in my youtube feed and its thumbnail was I'd never freeze-framed on Vriska's final design after emerging, with the extra infinities on her wings, et cetera, it's pretty cool to look at.)

What else from the commentary...

Chumi: Meanwhile, Vriska is losing her shit while (Vriska) watches and waits. This hug is her hardest task yet, apparently. Davepeta is losing their shit watching Vriska losing her shit! I think I made Davepeta look absolutely crazy, but if it took several years for someone to hug another person, I’d be losing it as well. Miles: If we as fans can spend 15 years dealing with the ramifications of Vriska in her messy entirety then surely Davepeta can handle half that time!

Hilarious bit here. Also the code on the back of Dave's card doesn't mean anything but there's a silhouette of Hella Jeff watermark-hidden in the captcha noise.

James: This scene is another example of some of the creative things we can do with class and aspect. Hope is “the destructive force of light, a violent vehicle of positive change and the ability to make the unreal real” while a Page is one who fights to preserve their aspect. Could this have had an effect on the way things unfolded? Who can really say.

Hmmm. I wonder how much to take this at literal value to override my Page theories or how much to just use this to add to our existing old guess at it? Classes can be pretty broad, and this interpretation isn't exactly in conflict with it.

James: In the background (unpictured) of this scene, we see Jade enlarging the heads of the soldiers to the point where it becomes so heavy it snaps their necks.

Interesting, I knew the skulls looked bigger than they should but I thought she was just twisting and snapping them. That's almost overdoing it but it's certainly a little scarier.

The team also mentions they've been decompositing Homestuck-original's gifs to break them down and learn from them to get their "homestuckiness" and timing right, which I've definitely noticed and appreciated since Beyond Canon with the quality increasing and fitting with the original Homestuck better.

Oh, and the Hope-protected Meteor had angels flying off of it too, that was too quick to catch (and consistent with the pre-Game-Over hopesplosion I think but I'd forgotten). Interesting.

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #Homestuck^2 #upd8 #spoiler #spoilers #Vriska #Jake English #Jade Harley #Hope and Rage #Writer Commentary #Artist Commentary #Patreon Commentary #Classes and Aspects #Beyond Canon

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allurenamin-moved · 2 years ago

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⎯ 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐬 ; 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

‣ synopsis: it's off with the promises and on with the action, and best believe that satisfaction will follow suit. wc: 3.7k

‣ tags: husband!nanami kento x wife!reader, angst, filthy smut, post-fight sex, shower sex, oral (f. receiving), hair pulling, nipple play, unprotected sex, black coded reader

‣ author's note: soooo for those of you who used to follow me on my old blog, you would know that this fic was originally written for someone else before i sweetly decided that lovely ken fitted the bill, hehe! nonetheless, hope y'all enjoy!

𝐈𝐅 anyone else was to describe it, lifelessness was the prime impression. There’s nothing else that one could possibly gather from your fairly cryptic manner; no words had fallen from your lips to aid the hypothesis.

You’re always so annoyingly adept at your motives. But somehow, there was still one - and only one - living soul that held the mindly means to figure this shit out. To figure you out. He would spend a considerably scant amount of time on such a task, yet fulfil it so thoroughly that the constant aching between your legs seemed more equitable than you would like it to be.

He’d recognized it through the minute rising of your chest as if it were obvious. He’d recognized it in the concerningly restive footsteps to your shared bedroom. He’d recognized it in the amusingly shrewd vibrations of your voice box that he’d supposed were to display your deadly level of vexation. Even the fresh, new callousness of your hands had been sensed, the ground being much more than the wrathful nails pressed against your palms in a fist - a skillful maintenance of your bitterness.

You’d hoped to be a mystery. You’d hoped to seem as composed as you believe yourself to be. But truth be told, you were utterly feeble in your means to conceal it; almost in a way that should have you cowering in humiliation. From careless hands inertly twisting your braids into a bun to your unrelaxed journey to the bathroom; cards were laid out. You fucking knew it.

What lies beyond sustaining his oh so honorable hand as your lover - your spouse, or partner in crime as some might call it - is absolutely no reason he should know you this well. The wonders, the mysteries… the frailties of your being weren’t just on the back of his skillful hand, but were studied, revised and crammed tirelessly by means of writing on every wall he turned to.

Fuck him, a cunning conscience with devil horns would whisper every two seconds to your delicate soul. Fuck his criminal wit. Fuck his willingness. Fuck those audacious, plump lips against your neck and his wispy “I missed you.” Fuck his free hand for its knowlege of the riddling workings of your body; sliding up your soft inner-thigh in dissonance with the tiny warm droplets.

But most of all, fuck you.

Fuck you for your sweet sighs of compliance. Fuck you for leaning back against his chest and serving absolute fuck-all to simmer his smauldering pride. Fuck you for carelessly rivaling your better judgment.

Fuck you. The one message that he’d received throughout the noise of your mindly cursing… because Lord, was he just too damn good at fucking you.

“Still don’t wanna talk to me?” His hand makes a bold move towards your aching cunt, leisurely and patient. Perversity had won the part as your middle name, commiserating you with honeyed whispers, convincing you that maybe, just maybe, the steamy torrent before you was well in outwitting the gears of your autonomy. The heat, the profuse clan of droplets crashing boorishly on your skin and on the shower floor, the wispy tendrils of steam, the cruel rashes of pleasure. Your instincts were hampered from the prospect of pushing him away. It wasn’t you.

Your breathy shudders were back at failing you, alas, and giving a fuck was thoroughly out of the question. His finger proceeds, light rubs against your clit abettering the drift of his persistence, “Tell me, sweetheart. Are you ready to push me away like you always do? Like you say I always do?”

“Ken…” You drag, lulled by the whispery milieu of the water, whilst afire by the skill of his fingers. You were beyond certain you’d heard a chuckle, a song of timeliness as per what you’d call it; a fair response to what was supposed to be a lesson learned.

“Baby,” he murmurs against your neck once more, whilst long, beautiful fingers in a pair begin their jaunt to fuck you before his cock does. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much and all you need is for me to prove it to you.”

Your gasp might’ve said something, but you’d basked in it for only an appropriate instant. His fingers, slyly slipping between your folds hadn’t done much for your lively ire. They had, however, certainly succeeded in peeving you further.

You wanted more. You needed more.

“We both know that this isn’t enough to prove it. ” You managed to breathe out.

Kisses on your neck cease, and fingers retract from what was the miry wetness of your pussy, certainly ready for more than just a round of listlessly apologetic fingering.

“Then what is?” He slyly murmurs.

Damn you for having retained the valor to communicate thoroughly. Spinning around to face him (which was, by apt means, quite difficult), you gift your husband with a bold move of your own, bringing a hand up to grip tightly at the nape of his neck and shorten the distance between your burning faces. A piece of your mind was the treasured cargo.

“I don’t know how long you’d hoped to play dumb with me, but it ends now. You know what I want.” You hiss through gritted teeth.

The deep and tyrannous buzz of your chest had barely succeeded in vanquishing the serene chaos of the atmosphere. In some obscure way, you felt like it mattered despite his fitting proximity to your lips. Hearing words could only do so much. It isn’t enough until his eardrums are damn near dissipated from your vague desires.

But there’s no need. Hushed demands are sweet in entertaining his specialty as, afterall, he is your husband.

“Always so bossy.” He tuts. Though, he does all but support the remark.

You’re moving backwards at his accord, coming in contact with the too-near dead end. You wind up grimacing softly at the rabid coldness of the wall against your shoulder blades and ass, instinctively deterred from the warmth of the recurring downpour. But all is effortlessly shirked once the stirring sensation of his cock against your thigh makes its rise. You feel so hot again, a manic arousal putting zero effort into making your head spin. The strengthening masses of steam would have to try harder.

Just about sick and fucking tired, you pull him in to kiss you, hard, bringing vengeful tongues and teeth to clash against one another in zeal. With a nip of his teeth and swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip, perhaps a good start in replacing the venomous tidings of each other’s disagreements was put in place A divine pair of hands is making ravenous journeys across the spacious sweeps of your melanated skin, helped by slippery suds that all but succeeded in concealing the scent of your unending keenness.

“For what it’s worth,” he mutters, breaking the kiss, “I do know what you want. I always know what you want, and I’m always willing to give you what you want.”

You’re fucked up. Manic. Aching. And your husband is having too much fun with you.

But one last peck against your lips is where it officially begins.

He continues down your neck once more, whilst this time, your breasts are caught in the arrest of his hands, squeezing and thumbing across the supple skin of your nipples every now and then.

It happened too quickly, too far from the likes of your expectations. As if only a nip at your collarbone later, his thumb is benevolently replaced by the eager muscle of his tongue, circling vigorously like his life depends on it… which, in this particular respect, it does.

“Fuck, Ken.” You heave, almost whimpering, back arching in a deliverance of access. A pair of plump lips wrapping around the erect nub was your response.

He then does the same with your left tit, licking, lapping, sucking, skillfully relishing the flavor of your skin as if it were his last. Your hands had conceded defeat and befriended the burning itch to touch him once again. You bring them up for your fingers to card through the doused tresses of his blonde hair, which he’d been making points to trim every so often.

You sensed an obscure motive behind it. He need not explain a damn thing, he’d probably say if you asked him about it. But the echoes of your casual “you look so much better with short hair” had made its homecoming. His beautiful cheeks would betray him in your honor, alluding with a pink hue at every vibration. You missed it, and you’re sure he missed it too.

The same could be said about the recurring shifts in his physique. Although you’ve come to appreciate it more than dwell on the intricacy.

“Oh my God,” you moan as he releases your nipple with a final pop to placidly continue with open mouthed kisses down the valley of your chest, your stomach, then down to your pelvis. The feat had become less farfetched than thought to be. But still, it was about fucking time.

“I missed you,” he murmurs once more, for what seemed like the umpteenth time to you. But it’s impossible to say that you didn’t appreciate it.

As you basked in the sight of him knelt down before you in diligence, what you did say was, “You said you were gonna prove it to me. So prove it to me.”

An index finger making its way back to your throbbing pussy, stroking in between your folds and up your slit to gather the flavourful mess of your arousal, serves the power of his cheeky rejoinder. “As you wish.” He murmurs before wontonly sucking on that fucking finger.

A bullet was wisely dodged. Dissipating the chance of a thorough scolding for him to just fucking get on with it, he wastes absolutely no time.

Senses fleeting, mouth forming an ‘o’ and hips arduously urged to buck against the art of his mouth and tongue, you free a series of curses as if it were a play for the casual streetwalker outside your house. One thing for sure is that the neighbors were pissed. Loafing folk sat in what was supposed to be the comfort of their homes in fumes, having attained the gall to complain if it weren’t for knowing of the obvious circumstance.

If it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s name bouncing off your tongue in a notably pornograhpic lilt, the neighbors would’ve said something. And you’re aware of it.

The strong, wet muscle zealously wiggles on your bundle of nerves before it is engulfed within the warmth of his mouth for him to suck softly. Your husband was finally fucking home.

“Fuck, so good, Kento. Always s-so fucking good with your mouth.” Along with your words, the grip on his hair meliorates in palpable praise, earning you the pulsation of a deep hum sauntering amongst the nerves of your throbbing pussy.

One last nip at your clit foregoes his hushed and mellow response, right before he eyes your zestful form through lidded, dragon-like irises. “So sweet.” he murmurs. “Sweet as always.”

He wastes not an ounce of time before diving in between your thighs again.

Knees lose a few tinges of functionality at the momentous feel of his tongue parting your folds. His hands dance up and down the stage of your lower body, caressing the small of your back before landing on the bounteous flesh of your hips to squeeze and detain you taut as he devours the absolute fuck out of you. Loud cries ensue in simple accordance.

A thunderous call from reality was in your heavy braids having rebelliously twisted out of their bun to fall back onto the expanse of your shoulders and back, carelessly falling victim to the wrath of the downpour. You should be irritated. But his tongue, fucking you ever so sterningly, had garanteed failure to give a fuck about anything opposing the likes of his amazing apology.

“Mmh- o-oh my… fuck!” More whimpers slip out in reverence as his head shakes vigorously from side to side, his nose rubbing against your clit before it is shortly replaced by his tongue again. He soothes the agonizing emptiness of your entrance with his long fingers; scissoring, curling, prodding sweetly at that spot that had, for too long, begged to be touched.

He could only keep this up for so long. There’s only so many praising mewls you could set about as he laps at your clit, as he works his digits to what he would know to be your principle. His fingers fucked you so good, but not good enough to make your forget whatever else you had craved throughout the course of this dumb fucking stress-train.

“Ken.”

The benevolent moil of his fingers ends as he returns to fucking you with his tongue again.

“Kento, please.”

Continually, his mouth shifts back and forth from your entrance to your still throbbing clit; licking, sucking and biting ever so softly. At decent levels you were certain that his neck was tired.

“Kento! Kento, please,” you heave desperately, “fuck me. Fuck me now. I need you to fuck me right now.”

The unremitting sounds of the pouring atmosphere stood not a chance against your grippingly melodious pleas. He heard you, loud and crystal fucking clear. The treasurable element that many would identify to be control had blindly resided within his procurity.

You weren’t going to let him have it for long.

“Kento!” You mewl with absolute finality. Having devised the mastery from his hair still intertwined between your fingers, you harshly pull his head back for him to look up at you. “Quit playing games and fuck me!”

“Patience, Sweetheart. There’s time.” He, once again, proceeds in ways that effortlessly contradict the dulcet tone of his rules. Kisses already take small treads back up to your pelvis, then to your stomach. “I need you to be patient with me. I need you to lay low and let me fix things.” He is soon up on his feet, his lips traveling towards the now acquaintable stop between your breasts. He lingers to plant a few more kisses on the spot, then slowly moves up to your neck as he murmurs, “I can make you feel so good. But only if you let me. Just trust me for once.”

“Kento,” a sigh escapes your lips as you aid his treatment to your neck, leaning back and giving him access.

“Just let me…” he stops to suck at the advantageously delicate skin before he’d then made it to your lips. “ …make things right.”

His lips were well guarded within the intention of connecting with yours, steeling you for what is soon to come. His hands were gentle too, having found purchase on the space of your hips and being so dexterous to the touch whilst his intentions were anything but.

Your hands grip tightly at his broad shoulders, hopes instinctively goaded by his cock conveniently rubbing against your thigh again. You thought of it to be the final tease before he adheres to your lusty inclinations. But it is only after the heat of a “Turn around,” is softly blown against the flesh of your treated lips that he does what he’s raucously told.

You do so without question, facing the wall in anticipation.

Though (with arrant difficulty) you’re inwardly vowing to be obedient, your form misplaces all pretense of control. It is especially to the songy squelches behind you directly disclosing the act of your husband stroking his cock; your hands are against the wall as you’re moving your hips backwards to brush up against him. You’re fortunate that he responds with some form of enthusiasm, which is closing the distance between your eager bodies and lining himself up with your dripping entrance.

The contact induces another knotty spate of desperate whimpers, which he obediently acknowledges, sinking into you with utmost precision. “Oh, f-fuck!”

“Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay, Sweetheart.”

The soothing response to your sonorous gasp was hushed and ever so demure, a stark polarity to the harsh grip of his winsomely big hands now on both of your breasts, squeezing like stress balls.

“Kento,” you call out once more, “Kento! Fuck me. Please… fuck me.”

The need for those words had successfully reached its coming of age; even posing as an anagram had been deducted as an option. You’ll never have to say them again.

He begins to move, steady thrusts gradually progressing into a speedier rhythm. His grunts, as well as your whimpers, had joined in with the feat of increasing in a higher measure.

“Baby,” It was his turn to silently twine a series of praises as you, in return, release a reverberant string of salacious cries for the neighbors to hear and possibly enjoy. “You look so beautiful like this. You always look so beautiful like this, taking me so well.”

Your hips are once again a landing spot for his hands. You bring your hand down as well, letting it rest upon one of his as he fucks into your pussy with an unsparing velocity.

The vibrancy was beyond sinful. The warm water continues to strike the lustily responsive flooring as his hips rival the noise with jarring contact against your ass. Each cry made up for a snarl, each word of praise made up for a cold shoulder, each thrust made up for a petty form of dismissal.

He finds it within himself to slow down, the only unchanging fruit being the brunt in which his skin slams against yours. “I missed you, I missed the way you feel. Angel, tell me how good it feels.” He goads.

“Oh, baby,” It had been your turn to sing the term of endearment. An urge to finally say “I missed you too” was frighteningly near, but remained still… in your favor, really. It seemed like your tongue’s desire to untangle was only in support of praising his touch; praising the way he felt inside of you, praising the clench of your walls around his length or the nudge of his tip against your dear sweet spot. “So good! So f-fucking good,” you mewl. “Please… please make me come.”

But you’re empty again, pussy clenching around vain flecks of air. The incompleteness brought waves of confusion. Rhythmic pumps of irritation. A need to spew pleas that was soon held off by the gentle contact of his hand on the front of your neck. Your hand that was once atop his had made its way back against the wall.

It is when his grip gradually strengthens do you meet his return to fucking you senseless. Your sounds travel at staggering heights of volume amongst the echoey air. “Oh- Oh- fuck!” You scream. It encourages him.

Groans, grunts and a final round of “Oh baby”s against your ear had made its endmost cut. A knot in your stomach signals an approach to orgasm. You were close. “Fuck, Ken…I’m gonna-”

He doesn’t respond. Not with his familiar breathing of “Come for me” or anything else of the sort. No. He speeds up, in pursuit of something much, much more than a customary finish. A compromise. A refitted amity. Hopes had desperately arised from your moans. Hopes of an “I love you” reattaining its fittedness. It’s exactly what he murmurs against the shell of your ear as you reach your high, cumming with ear-cricking wails that do nothing but praise his laborious efforts.

The jets and quells of warm liquid inside of you incline a decrease in the speed of his thrusts, which eventually turns into a steady stop once light sobs from overstimulation make their way into the cleft of echoes.

“You’re okay,” he repeats against your neck. “You’re okay.”

Heavy breaths, weak knees, and a space freighted with teeming clouds of steam. From the very moment that he’d pulled his cock out, that’s all he could’ve left it to be. You were slightly stunned, for a reason that wasn’t identifiable.

Your loofah remains lifeless, devoid of its purpose with fluffy white froth sticking languidly out of its miniscule gaps. You were about to pick it up, mind unmoved from the strident feel of cum dripping down your inner thighs, to resume the sorrowful bout of washing away the sense of need that your husband could only do so much to vanquish.

“Hey, relax.”

You were still facing the wall. You weren’t making eye-contact. You weren’t going to. And you knew that he knew. But his feet were resolutely taut upon the shower floor. They reeked of intention. It seemed like he wasn’t done.

It was still foreign to you, the slight suction between your back and his upper body that soon vacates as he bends down to retract the loofah. He’s up straight again. “Can I?”

Yes please, the words had begged to be the ones to make ties with his mellow request, but all you managed to bring out was a hesitant “Sure.”

He proceeds enthusiastically, nonetheless.

“I am, however, still waiting for you to…” he begins as he sweetly drags the contraption down the trail of your back, “rank the irrefutability of my proof.”

Be it your weak knees or your opulent bathroom’s restored comfort, you suddenly feel that there’s no point in arguing the prowess of his sex skills. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the time to praise him with more words.

Within the beat that you remain silent, your eyes instinctively follow his hand trailing towards the swell of your breasts, making it difficult to not stare. Studying the garish shine of soap down the smooth canvas of your melanin, and its corrivalry with the single shimmer of your husband’s wedding ring… was artful. Artistic. Just like him. Just like you always thought he was.

It gave you time too; time to realize that all this was you. If only your pride allowed it, an immersive rewind to the oh so salacious removal of your dress and heels after what Namami had made out to be a stern “don’t talk to me” could teach you something.

But despite it all, and you being greatly incapable of turning an inquisitive mind away from what was the flavorous scent of eager suds… control was a factor that you would do everything in your power to make yours. And yours only.

“We’ll see, Ken.” You reply softly.

hope you've enjoyed that 🤍 masterlist ‣let me know your thoughts!

#writings. © by sana.#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader

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writingwithcolor · 2 years ago

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Conlanging Issues: A Compendium

NOTE: This question was submitted before the Nov 1, 2023 reopening and may not adhere to all rules and guidelines. The ask has been abridged for clarity.

Most of my questions are about linguistics. […] One of the major locations in my story is a massive empire with cultural inspirations ranging from North Africa in the far south to Mongolia/Russia in the far north […] The middle region is where the capital is and is the main root of culture, from which Ive been taking inspiration from Southwest Asia […], but most notably southern regions of India. I've tried to stick to the way cities are named in Sanskrit-based languages but added the names of stars to the front (because the prevalent religion of this region worships the stars [...]). So Ive ended up with names like Pavoprayag, Alyanaga, Alkaiduru, Alcorpura, Cygnapete, etc. Is this a consistent naming system or should I alter it in some way? The empire itself is named the Arcana Empire since [...] each act of my story is named after a tarot card [...]. Another region in my story is based more on parts of South China and North Vietnam, so I've tried to stick to names with a Chinese origin for that. I understand the significance of family names in southwest [sic] Asia, so I wanted to double check [...]. They have only two short given names. Based on the birth order of the child, the first half of the name comes from the fathers family and the second half from the mothers family. It is seen as disrespectful not to use both names because using only one is seen as denouncing that side of your family. Thus I have names like Su Yin, Dai Jun, and Yi Wen for some of the characters from this region, and the city itself that they are from is named Bei Fen. On the other hand, Im having further trouble naming characters. […] Ive been trying to give my human characters names from real human cultures to distinguish them from the website-generated names of say, orcs, elves, dwarves, etc, but I think I should change many of the names Ive used to be more original and avoid fracturing real world cultures for the sake of my worldbuilding. […] Im still very weak in the linguistics area (even after four years of French, sigh) and am having trouble finding where to read about naming patterns so I can make new ones up. I read your naming guides but am still having trouble on where to start for specific languages. […] Im trying to look into Sanskrit, Turkish, and Persian specifically.

You're Going Too Broad

In my opinion, you’re casting too wide a net. You mentioned looking into Sanskrit, Turkish, and Persian to develop fantasy names. These languages are very different from one another, so unless you’re using them separately for very different parts of your world, it will be hard to draw inspiration from them in a way that makes sense. You’re taking on a huge amount of research in order to worldbuild cultures that span a massive geographical area (basically all of North Africa and Asia?) and have very little in common. Are you sure you want to take on that task?

I could see it being more manageable if most of your story is set in a small region of this world, which you will then research in depth to make sure you’re being as specific as possible.

Taking Persian as an example, you’ll have to decide whether you want to use Old Persian, Middle Persian, or Modern Persian. Each of these comes with a different alphabet and historical influences. They’re also associated with different periods of time and corresponding cultural and social markers. Once you’ve decided exactly when and where you want to start from, you can then expand the borders of your area of focus. For example, if you’ve decided to draw inspiration from Achaemenid Persia, you can then look at the languages that were spoken in the Achaemenid Empire. A quick Google search tells me that while Old Persian was the empire’s official language, they also used Aramaic, Akkadian, Median, Greek, and Elamite (among, I’m sure, many many others and many more regional variations). Further research into each of these will give you ethnic groups and bordering nations that you can draw more inspiration from to expand out your worldbuilding.

Don’t forget to make sure you’re staying within the same time period in order to keep things consistent. It’s a lot of work, and this is only for a small portion of the continent-spanning worldbuilding you’re trying to do.

You can get away with painting the rest of the continent in broad strokes without too much depth if the story doesn’t go there and you don’t have any main characters from those parts of the world. Otherwise, you’ll need to put this same level of detail into your worldbuilding for the area with Turkish-inspired names, and again for the area with Sanskrit-inspired names, and so on.

I know this isn’t what you were asking, but I honestly have a hard time helping you figure out where to start because your ask is so broad I don’t quite know where I would start myself. So, this is my advice: focus down on one region and time period and go from there. Feel free to write back once you’ve picked a narrower focus that we could help you with.

- Niki

So there’s logistical issues in regards to your naming system for southern China-coded regions. One issue is history: mainly on how there is not simply one language in China but multiple due to having a lot of ethnic groups and the size of China. South China in particular has different dialects and languages than the North as seen in this map of Chinese languages and dialects. There’s also how historically Mandarin was not the official language until 1913 in China and historical China saw vast changes in territory dependent on the dynasty. Before then, Mandarin was primarily a northern Chinese language based in Beijing while southern China had its own languages, dialects, and dynamics. Not to mention, historical China saw an evolution of language just like English has Old English, Middle English, Early Modern English, and Modern English. For instance, Vietnam was once part of China during the Tang Dynasty and at another point, it was not part of China.

-Mod Sci

If You’re Borrowing Whole Words or Elements, Research More

The other issue is inconsistency with the cultures you’re deriving this conlang from. In regards to “two given names,” the Chinese name I was given was one syllable and then I would have a last name that was also one syllable. There’s also how not every family is perfect. Not every marriage is sanctioned and some children may come from single parents. Some families may not cooperate with marriage and sometimes children may be abandoned with unknown parents. There does not seem to be contingencies for these names under this conlang system.

The main problem with conlangs is that one needs to truly understand the languages one is drawing from. Tolkein managed to create conlangs due to training in linguistics. Mandarin is already a difficult language with multiple tones, and trying to use it for conlangs without knowledge of how Mandarin works or a good foundation in linguistics is just a Sisyphean endeavor.

-Mod Sci

Four years of French wouldn’t have taught you about linguistics as a science or anything about the language families you’ve listed - Indo-Iranian, Sino-Tibetan, and Turkic, nor any Asian naming conventions. I agree with Niki that you need to narrow down your research.

Pur/pura means city in Sanskrit (ex: Gurdaspur, Hoshiarpur). Prayag is a place where pilgrimages are done. Naga isn’t a place name in Sanskrit (google says it means snake), nagar is and it means town. X Nagar is a very common name for places (Ex: Rajinder Nagar). Many cities in Karnataka have names ending in uru (Bengaluru, Mysuru, Mangaluru, Tumakuru, etc) but the language of Karnataka is Kannada - a Dravidian language and completely different family from Sanskrit (Indo-Aryan). I’m not sure where “pete” came from. “Bad” and “vaal” are common suffixes for places too (Ex: Faisalabad, Allahabad). A disclaimer that I do not speak Sanskrit, I speak Punjabi, which is a descendant of Sanskrit and in the same linguistic family (Indo-Aryan languages).

- SK

Also, This Is Not…Really Conlanging.

Hi OP. Linguistics refers to the science of studying how languages work, not the discipline of learning languages. And nothing shows that gap more than how you have thus far approached constructing fictional languages and toponyms.

The reason why Sci and SK have a lot to say about your place names is because they don't resonate—you have borrowed whole words into your toponyms (place names) from a variety of languages—without an accurate understanding of what these words mean, how they’re pronounced, where they’re derived from—and expected them to work together. I suggest you read the links below on why conlanging is not as simple as choosing some languages and mashing their IRL words together:

Why Using Random Languages Wholesale in your Fantasy is a Bad Idea

Pitfalls of Mashing Countries and Languages in Coding

In your city names, for example, you’re using star names from multiple languages that use different sets of sounds represented by different sets of historical spelling rules. “Cygn-” and “Arcana” stick out like a sore thumb—the fact that one “c” is /s/ and one is /k/ is an obvious flag that they are Latin-derived English borrowings. This is because spelling rules were created in Middle English to make sense of the mix of “c” pronunciations across words of Indo-European origin due to a historical split called the Centum-Satem division. This is a phenomenon that is very specific to our world history, and to the history of English at that. Ironically, in your attempt to avoid stock fantasy names (which also often fall into the Latin-derived English pit), you are taking the exact same approach to naming.

Like Niki said, your selections are far too broad to code under a single umbrella. Do you expect that whatever language that city name came from runs the full gamut of sound inventory & spelling variety that spans multiple continents and hundreds of languages? Because that’s not how languages work. (And yes, I mean hundreds. Indigenous languages and linguistic diversity are a thing. See Niki’s note about just the languages in Persia. And nation-states bulldozing over those languages and pretending it’s just one language is a thing. See Sci’s note about China.) I haven't even talked about the variation in morphology (how words are formed) or syntax (sentence structure).

Please just read or re-read my guide on “naming conlangs” in this post and start from there.

~ Rina

PSA ON CONLANGING AND FANTASY NAMES:

For fantasy language asks submitted after Nov 1, 2023, the asker must indicate that they have read Mod Rina’s conlanging posts linked in FAQ 2 (Guides and Posts by Topic) of the Masterpost under the question “How do I make a fictional language for my story?” While this is an older ask, we are posting it as an example to our followers.

Per our new rules, any questions that can be directly answered in or extrapolated from the FAQs, or questions that indicate that the relevant resources haven’t been read, will be deleted with a note in the Deletion Log explaining why.

As always, if this post was helpful or educational to you, please consider tipping the relevant mods: SK, Niki, Sci, and Rina.

Edited for terminology errors

#asks #naming #languages #linguistics #Persian #Chinese #South Asian #worldbuilding #coding

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nicorenarin · 7 months ago

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Phantom Scapegoat: Why P5X Deserves A Chance

Whilst many often shake their head at the concept of a 'gacha' game, it wasn't a surprise to see the Persona series take a shot at such a game. Persona 5: The Phantom X, or just P5X, was released fully in April within multiple regions of Asia and is planned for both a Japanese & Global releases within the future. Aiming to tell a brand new story within the Persona 5 universe, P5X takes place in a parallel timeline where new protagonist, Wonder, leads in the main role with a new group of Phantom Thieves.

As of writing, the game is about to release its 2.3.3 update, which will include an expansion of the side story 'Cross Fate', which covers the original Persona 5 palaces with both the new and old cast, yet it's clear that this story will aim to tie into the main story in one way or another through the developing concept of parallel worlds and timelines. The one thing we have to be aware of is that whilst the main developers are Black Wing Studios, a subsidiary of Perfect World Games, it was recently confirmed in an interview that ATLUS themselves are still helping to construct the narrative and the world of P5X.

My only question is... where was this writing all over the original Persona 5?

It's quite insane that whilst we are only nearing the end of the third palace, P5X takes the world we know of P5 and makes it insanely intriguing. We went from the third arc being centred around a generic 'yakuza' goon to focusing on a struggle for power between teachers that aims to uncover a bigger conspiracy deep within the school that Wonder and some of the other characters attend. Even the second arc, whilst initially presenting itself as a parallel of the Madarame Arc, I think it does it better.

Unfortunately, many on the internet aren't exactly too fond of such a game. It's understandable. A lot of mainstream gacha games such as Genshin Impact are known for their predatory practices in terms of pull-rates, the fear of missing out, etc. Yet, P5X doesn't fall into this pattern, nor does it show itself as a game not willing to listen to its community. As someone who has barely spent a dime, getting all the featured characters and still having currency to spare is a very good thing. The game cares about you and at times will throw summoning tickets and various other items at you either for nothing or for a simple task. They've even recently brought back Tycoon from Persona 5 Royal and taken it online, which has been brilliant.

Harkening back to the earlier point, I believe that a community like the Persona one unfortunately exposed an ugly side of itself with the rising popularity of P5X. The amount of times I see that it's a 'china game' or the reason they won't touch it is because it's 'chinese' feels rather horrible. I think it's perfectly fine to dislike gacha mechanics, but at no point does Joker emerge from the phone, point a gun to your head and force you to enter your credit card details. Many content creators such as JohneAwesome were skeptical of the game, but after playing it? He's now a huge fan! Who would've thought that playing a game like this would change your opinion? The game isn't perfect and many, like myself, have a fair few issues with the game, especially with how it can be better. Yet, I think it's better to try the game for yourself than make it out to be a devil walking.

With collabs with games like P3 and P4 basically confirmed, along with their potential involvement in the main story, P5X has an opportunity to be one of the grandest stories in the entire series and I truly hope it rises to the challenge.

#p5x #persona 5 the phantom x #persona 5 x

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darkdemeter · 1 year ago

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OLD DRAFT CONCEPT : " GUARD DOG "

—- not my gif, credit to original poster! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader (x slight Natasha Romanoff)

A/N — Here's a little bedtime story for ya'll. Old draft concept for an upcoming and looong oneshot for Wanda in a mafia au setting. Bits and pieces may be recognised in the published column plot wise but overall, we're taking an alternate route, my babbies.

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

READER DISCRETION — Alcohol consumption — mafia business and semi dark themes — profanity — mention of death and murder — mention of black market and auction — reader and Nat have some history — player reader Tony is so proud — Alexander Pierce is of course an arsehole, what else is new? — Rumlow is a bad guy (duh) — I think that's it?

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true.

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation.

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration.

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market.

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay.

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t every single cent he spent on you three years ago.

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs.

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs.

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one.

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.”

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot.

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particular deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need a refill and pronto.

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.”

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere oopsie?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.”

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women.

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his fold, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work.

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless.

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way and you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your refurbished liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress?

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun.

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, Sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.”

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow.

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support.

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs. But she never committed to joining forces.

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress.

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand.

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included.

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous.

She’s facing you, back arched and ass resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, the sweet bouquet of lavender rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin.

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow.

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress.

“You really think she wants a guard dog?”

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you.

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you.

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you.

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue.

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head.

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.”

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave, because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help.

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing.

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — (Even though I doubt this is worth putting the taglist on, here it is anyway)

@alexawynters

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istadris · 2 months ago

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Trailer Analysis of Asterix & Obelix The Big Fight (Part 3) : Theorical Plot

Part 1

Part 2

One month from now, we’ll finally be able to watch Asterix & Obelix : The Big Fight!

In the previous posts, we have seen what will be present in the Big Fight: some elements will be familiar, while other will be original to the show.

Now that we have all these cards in hand, what can we expect from the actual series? There will be five episodes of 30 min : what story can be told in 2h30 ?

This is the part where I speculate about the possible plot: I might be wrong, and I hope the show will still be able to surprise me in good ways. I'm curious to hear your own theories, but first, let's dig into mine!

Set Up : The Year is 50 BC…

(RIP Pierre Tchernia et ta voix inoubliable de narrateur des films Astérix)

I think it's safe to assume the first episode will serve to introduce the main characters, the initial situation and the general mood of the show.

Of course, we’ll get to meet once again with our dear old Gauls and show them in their natural environment: living, laughing, beating up Romans for fun.

We’ll probably be introduced to the depressed Roman centurion we see here and there in the trailers, serving as the poor hapless victim of the Gauls’ shenanigans, and demonstrating the might of the magic potion in a big fun battle.

In the meantime (or even before that), we’ll certainly be introduced to Metadata and her boss, working on finding the best idea for the triumph of Caesar. Metadata learns (and serves as the exposition fairy) the situation of: Gaul is entirely occupied by the Romans. Well, not entirely…etc etc you know the pitch.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the Metadata scene has someone talk about how monstrous and barbarous the Indomitable Gauls are, and then the scene cutting to the village being very silly. Like the fish scene

All of this could take place in the first episode ; but it’s also probable this could be spread out on two episodes, especially with the upcoming situation...

Inciting Incident : Menhir Ahoy!

It's no surprise to anyone who knows the story, the plot gets kicked off by two events influencing each other : first, the Romans want to have Ceramix challenge Vitalstatistix to a duel and need to put all their chances on their sides, thus capturing Getafix and remove the magic potion. Secondly, because of that plan, Getafix gets attacked by Romans in the forest and Obelix throws his menhir at him, causing Getafix to lose his mind, thus putting the entire village in a very grave situation.

But I am also convinced we’ll have a third plot-kicker: Vitalstatistix’s birthday.

There’s a couple of moments in the trailers where the Gauls are feasting, and we can see some gift-looking objects there. And in The Chieftain’s Shield, it’s after a particularly festive banquet that Vitalstatistix gets his liver issues. Who knows, maybe it’ll be thematically connected to him getting back in shape to defeat Ceramix?

So I think the Inciting Incident will combine these three elements:

Metadata tells Caesar about the Big Fight because the mosaic idea didn’t please him and Potus was getting aggressive about it. Caesar is enthralled by the idea and tasks Potus AND Metadata with this plan.

Meanwhile, in the village, the Gauls just finished celebrating Vitalstatistix’ birthday, but it caused him health issues; Getafix orders him to go on a trip for a cure, and while Vitalstatistix and Impedementa pack up, Getafix goes into the forest for some ingredients. Maybe Asterix and Obelix follow a bit later because he forgot something, or maybe they go hunting at the same time.

Either on Caesar’s orders or by sheer coincidence, the Romans near the village are on a mission to capture the druid; I think the events play pretty much identically to the comic, with the Romans disguising themselves as trees and shrubs, ambushing the druid, Asterix and Obelix running to the rescue, Obelix shooting the menhir, Getafix getting knocked out, Asterix and Obelix bringing him back to the village and nursing him until he wakes up… and everyone learns he’s now cray-cray.

Plot Point : Ceramix's Recruitment

After the plot gets kicked off, I think we'll be introduced to Ceramix by episode 2 or 3, not further.

Potus and Metadata visit him and we get to learn about his personality and political opinion : he's very strong, a brute who forces his villagers to follow Roman customs or get beaten, and prompt to show his loyalty and obedience to the Noble Conquerors.

I fully expect the gag of Ceramix boasting about beating any Gaul chief to be slightly expanded in a sequence where he rips off his tunic and breaks things around...before freaking out as he learns WHO is his opponent. But obviously he'll be convinced : either Getafix has already lost his mind, either Potus promises Ceramix the magic potion won't be an issue.

@scribeprotra raised a very interesting point in one of my previous posts : while Caesar savors the idea of the Gauls becoming Romans, Metadata insists on the term "Gallo-Roman". Now, this could be a throwaway gag, or it could be that she sincerely thinks, at least at first, that Gauls assimilated to Rome have a good way of life, that Gallo-Roman culture is the future and so, she doesn't see a reason for the Gauls to keep resisting. If that's the case, the visit to Ceramix' village could be a cold reality check to what Gallo-Romans actually live like, when they're forced to cast away their culture and embrace the Roman culture...

Of course, I might be reading too much into this. But an important theme of the original comic (and the Asterix franchise as a whole), despite its light tone, is the danger imperialism poses to one's culture, whether by cultural assimilation or enforced erasure.

But whether she wants it or not, the plan marches forward, the challenge is issued officially and the village has to face the music...

Plot Point : The Arena and the Council

Now unsurprisingly, I think the arena will be central to the second and third act of the show.

Caesar and his lackeys will spare no expense for the spectacle of the Gaul's defeat. It's meant to be a big mediatic buzz, topped with Antiquity-equivalent of news shows. Probably also why we get a glimpse of Cleopatra. And of course, the big traveling fair mentioned in the previous parts of this analysis.

But before the actual fight takes place (and we know it's soon before the fight, since a legionary comes to fetch the Gaul chief for the Big Fight), the village gathers under a willow in a village council.

What is the point of this council ? I see two possibilities of subjects, and they might be connected :

the madness of the druid, and its consequences on the village

the Big Fight, and whether Vitalstatistix is up to the taks. I'm leaning toward this option because it might look like Fulliautomatix is talking himself up. Maybe trying to sway the council into making him fight instead of Vitalstatistix who is too out of shape for the challenge?

Whatever it is, it seems that by the end, the Gauls gather around their chief : to give him their support, maybe?

In any case, once Vitalstatistix steps into the ring, it will be time for the...

Climax : What The Heck Is Going On ??

For obvious reasons, not much is revealed in the trailers about the third act/climax of the show. But one thing is (90%) sure : the victory won't be as easy as in the comic.

In the comic (and in the climax of the animated Big Fight), thanks to a deus ex machina Getafix drinking one of his own potions, he miraculously recovers just in time to prepare enough magic potion for everyone (since Asterix & co except, and rightfully so, for the Romans to play foul even if Vitalstatistix wins). Hearing about Getafix' recovery, Vitalstatistix, who up until that point had been wearing Ceramix down by running in circles, gets a second wind and knocks Ceramix down with one punch.

In the trailers of the show, there's a detail I noticed and that is...we don't see any details of the fight. And especially not Vitalstatistix. Not even a half-second shot of a punch that would makes us wonder about the fight. So we have no idea of how it will actually play out. Will Vitalstatistix play the long game like in the comic and focus on wearing Ceramix down? Will he try to fight upfront and be confronted to the difficulty of no magic potion to help him out?

We just don't know. But what do we know?

The fight takes place at night, with highlits of red and dark, giving a more intense atmosphere to the situation.

There's seemingly an attack on the village (and of course it's Asterix's hut that takes the brunt of it). Okay, to be fair, the attack seems to takes place at dusk rather than night....

Dogmatix is with Mrs Geriatrix and Impedimenta. Which means that neither Obelix, neither Astérix (who's usually Dogmatix's minder if Obelix isn't available) are present. In the comic, Obelix is staying at the village out of guilt during the fight, but he still had Dogmatix with him. What motivated him to leave his beloved pup with other people?

There's a movement of troops. I would bet on the same attempt at backstabbing as in the comic

Okay, that one is a big shock : Obelix gets punched out and sent flying several meters away??! Who is strong enough to inflict that on Obelix of all people ?? We can distinguish a crowd in front of the village, with certainly the puncher being in it. Someone might have had access to magic potion, but then who? Another hint is the burning village around Obelix ; definitely connectiong this moment to the hut being destroyed.

Asterix walks throught the arena crow and looks pretty worried. Could be explained rather easily by Vitalstatstix getting his ass beat in the first part of the fight, and Asterix knowing he can't do anything about it. Ooooor it could be a detail he learned/noticed that could drastically change the outcome for the worst. And speaking of Asterix...

"Ista, you reused the same screenshot twice in a post!" First of all that's not from the same trailer, second of all this is my absolute fave shot of the whole promotion and I do what I want. It's not secret to anyone knowing me that I LOVE situations in which Asterix has to actually use his warrior skills, and here it seems like it's a Serious situation : dramatic lighting, very serious expressions, an aggressive antagonist, and I'm DYING to see the context of that scene. Did Asterix learn something and Potus is trying to stop him? Did Caesar finally order the capture of the Gauls and this is the last stand? Alain Chabat, I can forgive you a lot of liberties with Asterix because you make good jokes but if this scene ends up being a cheap gag, I will never forgive you.

And that's the last part of my trailer analysis for the Big Fight! If you have any more details to add, feel free to reply or rant in your tags!

As for me, these trailers did a perfect job of titillating my interest and making me impatient for the show! Can't wait to watch it!

#asterix #asterix and obelix #asterix & obelix the big fight #the big fight neflix #astérix et obélix #astérix & obélix le combat des chefs #trailer analysis #Ista writes

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nayatarot777 · 2 years ago

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what do they adore about you? • love pac

a love pac? from me? shocker, i know. but i’m in the mood to tap into some cute and lighthearted energy so…here it is 😂

there is an extended 18+ reading for this pac on my patreon where we look at what this person adores about you sexually in particular. go check it out if you’re interested!

if you’re interested in a personal reading, then please read the info here

• pile one • 🏔️

this person adores how who they’ve grown to know you as is completely different to who they met you as. this could be due to you experiencing some ego deaths while knowing this person, or this is just about this person being granted permission by you to peel back the curtain to see what was behind the persona that you originally portrayed. and they’re in deep adoration of what they see fr. they love how you’re such a good match for them and how you can meet them halfway. i’m feeling like this person knows that they’re a handful at times and not the easiest person for most people to deal with, however you seem to know exactly what to do to help stabilise them and still make them feel like an equal. there’s a dedication that you have to genuinely participating in team work with them and your commitment to them, and you’re so generous with your nurture and your emotional care too. you may have known this person since childhood or you make them feel the same way that they did when they were a kid - safe and loved and cared for. highly nurtured. they adore your physical beauty. you could be natural most days - no/minimal makeup, simple outfits - but yet your beauty is still so obvious and bright to them. you don’t need any enhancements of any sort, in this person’s eyes. they adore your self esteem and how you know how to give love and compassion to yourself, therefore it’s not a difficult task for you to give that to them as well as others, either. they adore your self-care rituals - whatever that may be. i’m seeing someone watch you do your skincare routine and just stare 😂. i’m seeing something specific about them getting home from a long day of work and you ensuring that they have a comfortable, structured space to relax in with a nice meal to eat that they can tell has been made with a lot of love by you. that’s another thing. if you cook for them, they LOVE your food. this person could be on some old person vibes lmao. “grandad vibes” i’m hearing, and they love how you match that. if you’ve built a stable home together, they love how you know how to keep it orderly and structured. again, i’m feeling like this person would be a little lost in relation to that 😂. especially if you have kids. not to say that they’re useless, but there’s definitely more of a calm energy to you when dealing with these duties and responsibilities, whereas they may feel like they don’t hold that same energy as much - they might be a bit more high-strung and frazzled usually. all in all, you’re extremely healing for this person. especially with how you celebrate any accomplishment that they achieve - whether they think that it’s big or small. you could be the type to constantly want to celebrate in some way - maybe even throw parties - and they admire how you see anything and everything in life to celebrate and value.

extended 18+ reading here

• pile two • 🍰

you could’ve been drawn to pile one, too, since 2 out of 4 of the same cards came out for the both of you. this person adores how you’re really on your boss shit. you could be someone who owns your own business (a business woman in particular), or you’re just very high in your work position. either way, you do the damn thing and they see it. they love that you’re able to be completely stable on your own, not having to rely on anyone if you don’t want to. you have a lot of knowledge about your work, finances, and just the way that the world works. knowledge that could even be seen as something to not speak about by the majority of people. knowledge about the government? especially if you speak to this person about politics - they LOVE that shit. even if they don’t understand it themselves lmao. they adore how you carry yourself in such a strong and powerful - yet divinely feminine way. you show everyone that there’s strength in femininity. you could also fit into the typical definition of a “classy” person. whether it’s the way that you dress, your mannerisms, the way that you speak, etc. this person can see that you’re highly educated - even if not academically, you have so much self-education in that head of yours - and they can tell that you’ve really put in the time and energy to graft in either your work/career as well as your self-development. how much you value yourself. just like in pile one, your self esteem is adored by this person. nobody can tell you shit about yourself. you’ve done too much introspection to let someone else tell you who you are or who you need to be. they know that you’re constantly seeking for answers within. they love your introspection and how you question yourself and your behaviours. perhaps even as a way of finding your own worth - not coming from a place of a lack of worth - but more so “am i living up to my full capabilities?”. i’m hearing that you could remind this person of their mother in particular? maybe their mother had this demeanour too, and you naturally match that same energy extremely well. they have so much respect for you because you have so much respect for yourself. they also adore how, although you’re extremely abundant, you’re still very down-to-earth. you don’t let your money or materialism get to your head at all. you keep yourself connected to what you believe truly matters - which is your internal state. they also adore how you don’t speak that much. you’re not someone who just runs your mouth and talks about your business to just anyone. you’re extremely self-protective and make decisions based on what you intuitively know is right for you. you’re not a follower and you’re not easily swayed by what people tell you - you’re a free thinker. you’re deeply in tune with yourself and they adore you for everything that comes along with that.

extended 18+ reading here

• pile three • 🏖️

i literally just heard “a baddie with anxiety”. PERIOD 🗣️😂. this person adores how you still view life in the best way possible with the best confidence that you can possibly muster up when you’re met with adversity. a lot of you in this pile struggle with pretty severe mental health issues, but they see you dealing with this extremely well. they also love how you’ve managed to release any fears and anxieties that have stemmed from the judgements of others - especially from your family. you did this for the sake of your own happiness and honouring your own joy - and most of all, honouring your inner child. you have a very healthy sense of self despite being someone who has gone through certain types of treatment from others that would usually result in the opposite. you’re the embodiment of strength to this person. i’m seeing fire signs heavily throughout this reading - Leo and Sagittarius in particular, but definitely Aries too. i’m hearing that you’re able to “re-parent” yourself. where your parents perhaps didn’t “match up” (for lack of a better term) to what they were supposed to be, you decided to be your own damn parent and implement the teachings and the wisdom that you needed to, towards yourself. you’re also a pretty big “larger than life” personality to this person. i’m hearing “goofy ass” for a lot of you 😂, meaning that you’re always laughing and joking and not taking life all that seriously. they adore the connection that you have to your inner child and how you can see life as one big playground, almost, despite everything that you may mentally struggle with. these psychological struggles could get worse at night, but they admire how you know how to re-group and acknowledge the following new day as a new opportunity to make the most out of your experiences in life - big or small. they love your acceptance and readiness to just experience life. it’s like you have fears about insignificant things when you get into a tough headspace, but the shit that you should probably be worrying about (in terms of important life things) are the things that you don’t take too seriously. and it’s like this is your good luck charm for yourself. to just keep things lighthearted and fun. they also love how you’re awakened. to what you feel like your purpose is, or what your life is supposed to be all about. you could also be extremely aware of how other people live their lives in other cultures to learn from them and take from their teachings to implement them into your own life - that sagittarius energy is coming through. they could love your culture and how you stick to your cultural roots too - especially if this person is a different race, ethnicity or culture to you themselves. you take pride in yourself when you know that you’ve done a good job with something. they adore your confidence in yourself and where you’re directing yourself in life. period ☺️. i love your energy, pile three. you seem like a fun but knowledgeable person to be around who sees the bigger picture to your existence and i have to respect it and admire it myself 😂.

extended 18+ reading here

#pick a card #pac #pick a photo #pac reading #tarot #pick a picture

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sejdkvinna · 5 months ago

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rune misconceptions

Learning and studying runes is no small task, and there's a lot of misinformation and misconceptions out there! We are also limited on historical sources of magical uses for runes, so reconstructing how to use runes often requires some creative liberties. Modern interpretations of the runes absolutely have their place, but understanding what we do and don't know about runes for historical sources can help you discern where information is coming from.

Blank Rune

The blank rune isn't a rune! Ralph Blum's "Book of Runes", published in 1983, is responsible for the creation of the blank rune. He preferred a 5x5 grid system over the 3 aettir sets, so adding a blank rune was convenient for this purpose. Additionally, the blank rune can be considered redundant. The blank rune is associated with wyrd and that you are not meant to know the answer, which is a meaning I've also seen many attribute to the rune Pertho.

Rune Spreads

While rune spreads can absolutely be useful in modern witchcraft/divination, we don't actually know that rune spreads have a historical basis. Our knowledge on the potential of rune casting in old customs comes primarily from Tacitus in "Germania" (not written by a practitioner, only an observer), who writes:

"They attach the highest importance to the taking of auspices and casting lots. Their usual procedure with the lot is simple. They cut off a branch from a nut-bearing tree and slice it into strips these they mark with different signs and throw them at random onto a white cloth. Then the state's priest, if it is an official consultation, or the father of the family, in a private one, offers prayer to the gods and looking up towards heaven picks up three strips, one at a time, and, according to which sign they have previously been marked with, makes his interpretation. If the lots forbid an undertaking, there is no deliberation that day about the matter in question. If they allow it, further confirmation is required by taking auspices."

However, this still doesn't necessarily indicate that the runes were the symbols in question, so whether runes were used for divination is still disputed! If rune castings and spreads work for you, keep at it! My only advice is to recognize that runes aren't just Norse tarot cards, respect their differences and treat them as separate. But be wary of sources that claim that their rune spreads or methods of casting are based in ancient practice - we know very little about divinatory uses of runes!

Origins

I've heard a few different stories on the origin of runes (mythologically speaking). Some claim that Oden created the runes and therefore belong to him. Others claim that Freja is responsible for teaching Oden the runes. While Oden is heavily associated with the runes and Freja did teach Oden magic (specifically sejd/seidr), the runes were revealed to Oden when he sacrificed himself on Yggdrasil and waited nine days and nights.

Learning the Runes

"Runes none should grave ever Who knows not to read them; Of dark spell full many The meaning may miss. Ten spell-words writ wrongly On whale-bone were graven: Whence to leek-tending maiden, Long sorrow and pain."

Egil's Saga warns people to not use the runes if you do not know them well. This isn't meant to fear-monger or discourage people away from learning the runes, but take your time learning them! Reflect on their meanings, understand how they fit into their mythological/cultural context.

References

http://whispersofyggdrasil.blogspot.com/2012/04/wyrd-blank-rune.html?m=1

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/whats-up-with-the-blank-rune-how-and-whether-to-read-it

https://norse-mythology.org/runes/runic-philosophy-and-magic/

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Runic_magic

"Germania" by Tacitus

Egil's Saga

https://norse-mythology.org/tales/odins-discovery-of-the-runes/

#witch #witchcraft #witchblr #norse paganism #norse witch #heathenry #paganism #pagan #runes #beginner witch #baby witch #paganblr

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dark-side-blog3 · 1 year ago

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Ignore that this Home Alone inspired poly adeuce fic is a month late. Or choose to read it for 2024 Christmas, up to you.

I had a lot of fun writing this! Put it into a word counter just for fun, and I'm surprised to see that my first real WIP I finished in 2024 is 3k long! It was just so fun to imagine a twist one of my favourite Christmas movies, and I got so caught up in the fun of it I didn't make my deadline ^^; It was originally meant to be a short little crackfic, but it was just too fun! There are some cracky, campy elements, but that's just in the spirit of the movie I based it off!

Anyways: MDNI, warnings for standard yandere things, and creepy crawlies.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Shouldn't we be pouring salt on the pathway?"

"Nah," you smile, splashing another bucket of water on the front steps. "This is so we can have a nice slip-and-slide for tobogganing tomorrow, Grim! Same reason I'm filling up a little ice rink in the back-- I wanna do some skating. I can't wait for it to freeze over and teach you how!"

Grims' head shakes fervently as he beams; "Just you wait! I'll show you the grace and speed of a master figure skater! I'm gonna be teaching YOU how to skate by the time we're done!"

"Well if you wanna do that, you're gonna need to be well rested. Can you grab us some cookies for before-bed snacks?" you encourage, the monster agreeing and scampering off inside the dorm house to pilfer the cupboard.

You continue pouring water on the steps and trudge around the house's perimeter to check on the steps leading outside to make sure they're freezing over like you intended. You have several other home security measures to check over...

Most of the staff, and students for that matter, went home for the holidays. Family to see, vacations to take... A life to live outside of the school and other people in it. Should anything happen, Crowley was unfortunately unavailable (what else is new, the old bastard), nor was Vargas, Trein, or Crewl. Normally they'd be spattered throughout the holiday to watch over the students. But there are other teachers on the premises, and hardly any students who can't return home for whatever reason, and they let it slip by... One night during the whole winter break when none of your trusted faculty members nor any of your more powerful friends like Malleus or Idia could help if you got into trouble.

And maybe, maybe your brain has been rotted by movies and defending yourself from overblotted students.

But it's better safe than sorry.

With everything seemingly in order, and the sun setting quickly behind the treeline of school woods, you rush over to the front gate to hang a large sign:

NO SOLICITORS

Hopefully, this will deter anyone planning to intrude on you tonight.

You trudge your way back to the front door, carefully avoiding the steps. You spend the next few hours snacking with Grim while watching movies together, playing card games, and chattering about what ifs and would you rather... Before too long, it's time for bed, and Grim is out like a light, thanks to several pounds of turkey stuffing, potatoes, and cookies you still had after the holiday party days ago.

The party was fun... It did leave you with more leftovers you knew what to do with, which is always great. You got to wish Rook Joyeuses Fête, decorate cookies with Jack and Jade (the merman being much better at decorating, likely due to working in the lounge), and say goodbye to everyone dear to you before they left for their own plans... But it also had Ace and Deuce.

Which, on the one hand, they're harmless. You know they are. They're just jerks sometimes.

They should be focusing on their studies, and you had to devote your time to keeping Ramshakle clean, and Grim on task to graduate... The little monster became somewhat of a family member. Surrogate son or little brother you're not entirely sure, but you want him to succeed.

And even if the pair of heartslabyul boys were gifted students that excelled at every course with time to spare, Grim wasn't-- Grim needed your help to study, to get to class, to handle some of his projects for him when his paws would cause accidents in the potion lab. Grim needs your help to get through college, and it keeps you way too busy for a relationship with either guy.

And even though they soured the mood of the party right after you told them as such, it's the truth, and that's what it is. You're not going to jeopardize Grim's future just to date college students.

They acted like jerks for the rest of the winter break.

When everyone was opening presents, they bitched at everyone for the gifts they exchanged, teased relentlessly, knocked over decor, and told each classmate going through the magic mirror over the week to 'take their time coming back, if at all'. Poor Idia had an anxiety attack when they started teasing him; it took you half an hour to calm him down enough to stop puking and stick to just dry heaving. Grim scampered off after Idia fainted a second time... It took another hour after that to help him through the magic mirror, with his robot escorts. You would have walked through with him, but he insisted holding your hand as he left would be enough, only dragging you somewhat through the portal.

It was rubbing you the wrong way how they were picking fights with everyone, and snubbing Grim anytime they saw you and the monster around campus.

Suddenly, the front gates screech open, drawing you out of your thoughts. You peek out the sliver of the window from behind the thick curtain in the bedroom to see two figures shuffle through the snow.

It can't be them. Even if you were just thinking of them, that would be too... Convenient. Like some movie logic. Thinking of people doesn't summon them.

Whoever it is will be getting a nasty surprise in three, two, one--

A muffled thud and string of curses can be heard from the other side of the glass. You sneak your way down the stairs so you can at least see who's at the door.

"Son of a--! Grim!" Deuce shouts. So much for not summoning them.

"Open the door, little buddy! We know that you're in there and that you're all alone... Your precious prefect is spending the last night of the winter break with someone else, right?" Ace yells, quickly being joined by a snickering and rapping at the door.

A shadow presses itself against the window, trying to peer through sheer curtains. You duck behind one of the striped couches on the outside of the room, close to the walls. Through the reflection of the glass cabinet, you can see the figure stay and linger at the window, tapping against the glass with a small can.

"Come on Grim. We've got tuna for ya if you just open the door and have a chat..." Deuce says, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells through the glass.

His shadow straightens up, before pounding back on the glass, rattling the old pane against the tight frame, the narrow strips of wood being tight enough together that neither of them could just force their way through the window; Even if they shattered all the glass.

Which Deuce just might, slamming himself into the frame as hard as he could.

"I saw you move in there! Don't ignore us!" He shatters a pane, shoving his hand through to grab at the sheer curtains and tug, ripping them.

You duck back behind the couch, scanning for tools to protect yourself. Shut up. Don't be stupid, just think. Think quick, and smart.

The banging stops for a second. Before becoming far louder-- powerful enough to feel the floor shake. Metal creaks against its hinges, and the lock crashes into the strike plate of the door.

Ignore that, focus. Cleaning supplies. Always nearby, the dorm is filthy. Dish soap and mop bucket.

You dart out from behind the couch to grab the bottle of dish soap, grabbing it and rolling up against the wall just in time as the banging stops, the door knob jiggles and a thin wire pokes itself out from the cracks between the door frame. It makes quick work of the locks on the door, before opening, and Ace proudly struts into the room. The second he does, you pop the cap and squeeze the bottle, squirting bright blue goop into his eyes and smarmy mouth! And you splurt the floor for good measure!

You sprint back to behind the couch he pulls back, sputtering, and wiping it from his eyes in thick globs. You watch through the reflection of the cabinet as Deuce shoves his way past Ace as he splatters fistfuls of goop onto the floor, next to the bottle of leaking dish soap. Ace shoves Deuce for the push, and the resulting shove has both of them slipping on the puddle of dish soap you left in your hurry.

"Ahg-- Ace?! Why are you on the floor?"

A visibly wet smack as dish soap arches off Ace's gloves, slapping damply right into Deuce's face as he grunts from under his classmate: "Get off me, you buffoon! Go find the cat-- Grim, I'm gonna skin you for this, you little creep!"

"Don't make threats until after we have the little rat, runt. If he goes tattling we're screwed--"

"There's no one to tattle to! He's all alone in this big house! Even the ghosts aren't here! If we stick his claws in an electrical socket or force-feed him motor oil, no one would think anything of it! He's just a dumb animal that killed himself without supervision!"

Something glints from under the couch. You grasp at it, finding a spare ornament, and an unused ziptie, threaded through the top. There's got to be something you can use to create a bigger distraction and get you and Grim out of here.

There has to be something in reach-- going back to the bucket in plain sight of them is too risky. Shoving your hand under the couch, your clutch the first thing that your grasp: An aerosol room freshener. Score.

Wrapping the ziptie around the spray trigger, you tighten it and roll it over to the boys, still scrambling about on the floor. You watch from the reflection in the cabinet as Deuce gets a heavy spray right in the eyes, hollering in pain!

"AUGH-- Fucker! You think you're so smart, punk?! Your little bomb just gave away your position!" Deuce shouts, whipping out his magic pen, covering his eyes.

You feel a sense of dread. Primal instinct. You leap out from behind the couch just as he summons a caldron to crash into the couch, narrowly missing you as it smashes the solid oak to splinters. Splinters stick to your socks, embedding in your feet as you scamper off to another room, streams of water and gusts of wind being shot after you.

Just as you turn the corner to climb up the stairs and rush to Grim's room, you hear Ace curse exasperatedly, stumbling his way to the end of the hall to stare at you, still wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Another string of sighed curses leaves his lips as he watches you scramble up the stairs, making accidental eye-contact.

They know their plans are botched now.

Gotta climb faster.

On all fours, you claw up the stairs, just as a tug on your ankle forces your jaw to slam into them. Casting a glance backwards, Ace has gripped your ankle with his sticky gloves, grinning madly as you struggle to tug your ankle away from him, and try to dodge the other one of his hands trying to grasp for your other leg, only to end up sloppily groping your ass before trying again. You try to shake and kick him off, getting a hits to the side of his head, but not as effective as if you had room to wind up. He's gripping so hard it feels like he's going to break something. You scramble, shifting your weight side to side to get him off, prying yourself off the stairs and scratching your nails into the old wood. Your nails cling to the baseboard, prying the edge as much as you can, the wood creaking and snapping off with each desperate tug to pull yourself up.

The baseboard snaps, and you find yourself with a small wooden shiv, thinking to whip around and stab it into Ace's hand, leading him to retract for a second long enough for you to scramble up a step again-- before being slammed back down into the wood as you're grabbed again.

A girthy, irrate red centipede wiggles its way out from the hole in the baseboard, defensive of the now-ruined home.

You snatch it up, close to the head and the snapping mandibles as it wriggled and writhed, as you slowly reached back around to Ace, still clinging to your legs as you tried to shake him off. The teen was so focused on keeping you still as he pulled some ducttape off the roll with his teeth, that he didn't see the massive, snakelike body of the centipede until it was too late; And you stick it right on his face.

He seemed to freeze, giving you enough time to tug your leg again, just as he screamed an ear-piecing shriek!

Ace pawed at his face squirming violently on the stairs, thumping loudly on each step back to the bottom as you sprinted your way upstairs, into Grims room, slamming and locking the door behind you!

"What the hell is wrong--"

"PSYCHO PREFECT IS WHAT! Is it in my hair? Fucking thing was thick as a finger, and they put it right on my face! Is it in my hair?!"

"The prefect is home?! Dude! We're so screwed!"

"So go up there and get them, dipshit! Why are you standing still when they're up there getting a fucking bear trap or something ready?! Are you having an aneurysm or something?! Why are you just staring at me like that?!"

"...Ace... Don't... Move."

"Deuce... What are you talking about? Go get them-"

"Don't. Move."

"Deuce..?"

The telltale crash of a cast iron cauldron smashing through your rotten wood floors makes you nearly shit yourself, glancing back at a sleep-stirring Grim.

"DID I GET IT?"

"YOU ALMOST CRUSHED MY SKULL YOU NUTCASE!"

"DID I GET IT?!"

"You fucking moron!"

You snatch Grim up, using the blanket he was sleeping with like a hobo bag to hold him in, and open the window, edging your way carefully onto the roof. If you can just make safely to the other side of Ramshackle, you can try scaling down the ivy. And it will at least give you a head start-- Maybe hiding out in Sams is the best idea. A store owner must have a CCTV, right? And if Ace and Deuce try and kill either of you, then even if something happens to you, they'll get caught...

You wrap the corners of Grims blanket around your shoulders, like a makeshift baby pouch. You can definitely feel him squirming on your back, starting to wake up. You let go of the window, slipping down the rough roof tile. Laying on your stomach, you side-shuffle over, staying as low to the roof as you can to get the most traction. The edge nearly takes you by surprise when your foot doesn't connect with length that's not there. Slowly, you shuffle even closer to the edge, swaying your arm around the edge to find the vines of Ivy.

"I FOUND 'EM, ACE!"

Your head whips around to see Deuce leaning as far as he can out of the window before he scrambles to get onto the roof.

Whipping your head back to focus, you grab a fistful of vines and pull the rest of your body off the roof! You snatch another fistful with your other hand as you fall.

And fall all the way down, watching in horror as the ivy peels itself from the brick walls.

You feel Grim claw his way out of the pouch and onto your face just in time, as you land on your back with a sickening crunch.

"Oh shit," Ace comments, seemingly having been waiting for you at the bottom of the wall. You see Grim flee across the yard out of the corner of your eye, unable to lift your head.

The sound of snow crunching underfoot, and Deuce panting like crazy soon joins Ace in staring at you as you lay helpless on the ground. As soon as he arrives he gets asked: "Are we gonna get Grim?"

"No point, really..." Comes the huffed response; "We were gonna get him to fuck off, and he's fucked right off. Tonight didn't really go to plan anyway."

A boot gently kicks at your side as Ace turns his attention back to you: "Are you paralyzed or something? That was quite the fall."

You open your mouth to speak, but only a cracked whine makes it out. You cringe and try again, but nothing intelligible comes out.

"Holy shit, they're brain-damaged!" Ace grins, laughing as he backs away from you.

You feel Deuce tugging at your legs in the snow, dragging you from your shallow ditch in the snow. He begins tugging you closer to the dorm, before he drops your legs, moving to grab you under your arms and haul you that way, up against a wall. Breaking a window, he shoves you in, head first. The cold floors of Ramshackle are still warmer than the ice and snow.

"Alright. Hey, real quick, can you feel this?" Deuce begins poking you with a wire from an ornament, starting with your legs, and making his way up on both sides. You nod, wincing at some particularly sharp pricks, to which Deuce responds by rubbing the area to dull the pain.

"Can you say where you are right now? Do you know who I am? Who you are?" You nod again, voice stumbling through a pained response.

"Awesome. You're not brain-damaged! You're probably just winded from the fall. Is anything broken? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes? Try twisting side to side. If you can't it means your spine might be broken, and you need a doctor."

You comply, weirded out by the sudden care, but the doctor comment means they will call someone. And that someone will keep you safe, and them away. The pain's already fading, and likely nothing serious, but you could trick them... Deuce particularly seems like a soft touch. You wince as you try to twist, feigning inability.

Deuce makes a worried expression, like he's about to piss himself from fear.

He backs off slightly, giving you a bit more breathing room: "Try crossing your arms and lifting them as far away from your ribs as you can".

You comply again, feigning difficulty,

And duct tape wraps around your wrists instantly. Deuce presses his knee down into your chest to pin you down as he wraps as tightly as he can, while Ace ties your legs from outside.

"This really, really isn't my style. But we've got to get you somewhere that is not here when the teachers come back tomorrow, and we can't have Grim knowing where to find you." Deuce rambles, soaking his glove in a bottle of something, before pressing it to your face. He continues rambling, leaning in closer to whisper: "And I know how this looks! But I promise we won't do anything to you while you sleep. Or when you wake up! I swear! It's all more normal than it seems tonight-- or it can be anyways. And... And if you give me some time, give me a chance, we can even ditch Ace and forget this night ever happened! You just need some time somewhere else..."

The room spins with dark spots as Deuce presses his soaked glove further into your face. He continues rambling at you, while you feel Ace begin dragging you back out the window again. The snow doesn't feel cold this time as you fall into it. It just feels soft.

#my writing!#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere poly #poly yandere #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace #yandere deuce #yandere deuce spade #yandere adeuce #yandere poly adeuce #bug tw #creepy crawlies tw #yandere crackfic #sorta~! It is for sure all over the place. but so is the moive tbh #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #holidays.!

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