#Fortune and Glory {original}

[thecupidwitch]

Planetary Magick🌙

Sun

Zodiac: Leo

Metal: Gold

Day: Sunday

Colors: organge, yellow, amber

Stones: Amber, topaz, ruby, diamond

Tarot: The Sun

Herbs: Angelica, poppy, sunflower, marigold, hibiscus, mistletoe

Symbols: lion, hexagram, sparrow hawk, dragon, head, heart, swan

Influences: renown, potency, fortune, tyranny, pride, ambition, masculinity, arrogance, bigotry, vitality, health

Moon

Zodiac: cancer

Metal: sliver

Day: Monday

Colors: blue, sliver

Stones: moonstone, pearl

Tarot: The High Priestess, The Chariot

Herbs: eucalyptus, coconut, jasmine, lotus, myrrh, sandalwood

Symbols: bow and arrow, crab, cat, turtle, Sphinx, owl

Influences: gradtitufe, friendliness, safe, travel, physical health, wealth, protection for enemies, deception, illusion, women, emotions, healing, dreams

Mercury

Zodiac: Virgo, Gemini

Metal: aluminum, Mercury

Day: Wednesday

Colors: violet, gray, purple, indigo, yellow

Stones: opal agate

Tarot: The Lovers

Herbs: hyssop, juniper, betony, carrot, chickweed

Symbols: wand, octagram, the mind

Influences: good fortune, gratitude, gain, memory, understanding, divination, dreams, forgetfulness, communication, business, cleverness, creativity, information, intellect, memory, perception, science, wisdom, gambling, writing, root of dishonesty, deception

Venus

Zodiac: taurus, libra

Metal: copper

Day: Friday

Colors: green, pink

Stones: turquoise, emerald, sapphire, jade

Tarot: The Empress

Herbs: jimsonweed, violet, rose, alder, apple, angelica, olive, sesame

Symbols: sparrow, dove, swan, pentagram

Influences: peace, agreements, cooperation, fertility, joy, love, good fortune, jealousy, strife, promiscuity

Mars

Zodiac: aries, scorpio

Metal: iron, red brass, steel

Day: Tuesday

Color: Red

Stones: ruby, garnet, bloodstone, diamond

Tarot: The Tower

Herbs: ginger, mustard

Symbols: sword, pentagram, horse, bear, wolf, vulture

Influences: war, victory, judgements, submission of enemies, bleeding, stripping one of rank, harness, discord, conflict, aggression, lust, power, courage, goals, protection, motivation, ambition, strength

Jupiter

Zodiac: pisces, sagittarius

Metal: tin

Day: Thursday 

Colors: blue

Stone: sapphire

Tarot: The Wheel of Fortune

Herbs: balm, hyssop, maple leaf and bark, oak, sage, dandelion root

Symbols: eagle, dolphin

Influences: gains, riches, favor, peace, cooperation, appeasing enemies, dissolving

Saturn

Zodiac: capricorn

Metal: lead

Day: Saturday

Color: black

Stone: onyx

Taror: The World

Herbs: alder, apple, ash, asparagus, baneberry, belladonna, distort, hellebore, blackthorn, corm, cypress

Symbols: cuttlefish, mole

Influences: safety, power, success, positive response to requests, intellect, causes discord, strips honor, melancholy

Uranus

Zodiac: aquarius

Day: Thursday

Colors: blue-green, electric blue

Stones: quartz, labradorite, blue topaz, amber, amethyst, garnet, diamond

Tarot: The Fool

Herbs: clover, pokeweed, snowdrop, foxglove, love, rosemary, trees of heaven, hellebore, morning glory, sage, wintergreen, orchids, sweet woodruff

Symbols: dragonfly, butterfly

Influences: breaking connection, sudden and unexpected change, freedom, originality, radical and revolutionary ideas, enlightenment, equality, individuality, rebellion, instability, loneliness, boredom, mistrust of self

Neptune

Zodiac: pisces

Minerals: coral, aquamarine, platinum, neptunium

Colors: green, blue, lavender

Tarot: The Hanged Man

Herbs: morning glory, night-blooming jasmine, pine, water lily

Symbols: the sea, Trident, the spine

Influences: dissolving boundaries, expanding upon ideas, changing established rules, intuition, idealism, sacrifice, glamour, illusion, evolution, decay, visions, art, healing, inspiration, dreams, creativity, compassion, drifting from reality, carelessness, stubbornness, absent mind

Pluto

Zodiac: scorpio

Metal: plutonium, tin chrome, steel

Day: Tuesday

Colors: maroon, dark red, purple, white, black

Stones: snowflake obsidian, clack tourmaline

Tarot: Judgement

Herbs: pomegranate, rosemary, vanilla, basil, poppies, belladonna, foxglove

Symbols: Phoenix, snake, scorpion, fox, eagle

Influences; destruction making way for renewal, rebirth, knowledge, spirituality, transformation, destiny, the subconscious, desire, arrogance, death, obsession, destruction

#thecupidwitch #witchcraft #planetary magic #witchblr #witchcore #witches #witch community #witch #grimoire #spellwork #spirituality

[buckrecs]

2023 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 1

masterlist | ✨- fav fics | status - complete

All of them are COMPLETE Series.

1. hurts like hell by @extremelyblackandwhite

Bucky x Maximoff!Reader

she loses him at the battle of wakanda and grows into a morally grey witch trying to gain him back.

2. Broken by @soulgazingwithbucky

Bucky x Reader

You built the bridge between you and Bucky Barnes, but he only knows how to watch things burn.

3. Blood Petals by @picassho-18

Mob!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

When the famous death hungry assassin, the Blood Mistress, and the charismatic mob boss of Brooklyn city, James Barnes meet, heads will most definitely roll.

4. It’s A Match by @ofstarsandvibranium

Chubby!Bucky x Reader

You’re back home for Spring Break and you’re swiping through Tinder in the middle of the night. You come across the profile of your high school history teacher that you may or may not have had a slight crush on. Throwing impulse control out the window, you swipe right. Lo and behold, you’re shocked to find that you matched.

5. Ruin by @sinner-as-saint

Mob!Bucky x Reader

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you. 

6. A Taste for Older Men by @seventven

DBF!Bucky x Reader

y/n is moving back in with her parents after breaking up with her college boyfriend. due to an emergency at work, y/n’s dad is unable to pick her up and sends his friend bucky in his stead. to bucky’s surprise, y/n is no longer the innocent girl he remembers from years back.

7. Always by @jadedvibes

Best Friend!Bucky x Reader

Bucky realizes he's in love with you right before graduation, but you accepted a job offer across the country. Fortunately, nothing, not even distance can hinder the way you feel about one another.

8. Running From the Past by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

Bucky x Mutant!Reader

Reader is a mutant who was experimented on by HYDRA. Due to her unique powers, she escapes without being seen when the Avengers attack the Hydra compound she’s been kept in for the last 5 years of her life. Her mutations and Hydra experiments allow her to blend in with her surroundings and change her appearance in minor ways, though the changes are only temporary. She’s now on the run, avoiding both Hydra and SHIELD.

9. Operation: Faking It…? by @povlvr

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Surely faking a relationship to improve the public opinion of one beefy super solider known as Bucky Barnes would be the easiest of mission for two well seasoned Avengers? Tony Stark seems to think so & decides to task you with 'Operation: Faking it', but what happens when you realise there might be less faking needed than originally planned?

10. Misconceptions by @firefly-in-darkness

Bucky x Reader

Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have…

11. Bucky & the Beast by @thejamesoldier

Assistant!Bucky x Boss!Reader

“You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”

12. Buckyvision by @fictionalmemories ✨

Bucky x Reader

While fighting Wanda with you, Bucky gets hit with her power and wakes up to a reality that’s not his own.

13. Best. Date. Ever | Best. Proposal. Ever by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Bucky x Reader

This wasn’t quite what you had in mind.

14. Just Like You by @ladyfallonavenger

Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader

The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge.

15. Heart of Steal by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N? 

16. will you love me tomorrow? by @buckys-darling

Bucky x Reader

You and Bucky are friends who fuck and nothing more. That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself, at least.

17. I Needed You by @ofheroesandvillains ✨

Bucky x Reader

Reader tries to make sense of her feelings, it doesn’t really go too well, especially when Bucky already has a girl. 

18. sweet by @noceurous

FWB!Bucky x Reader

it was something cliche but your fuck buddy fell for you nonetheless, even though you swore you would never do relationships again. But rules are meant to be broken.

19. Hope Of It All by @bethdutten ✨

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

set between WS and CW; after saving Steve and breaking from Hydra, Bucky remembers you from the helicarrier. He doesn’t know where else to go.

20. Season Of The Witch by @msmarvelwrites

Bucky x Enhanced!Reader

Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much. 

21. The Last Word by @thefallenbibliophilequote

Bucky x Reader

you and Bucky never get along, it’s not that you hate him- it’s just that he always finds ways to get on your nerves. You’ve had enough of it.

22. Super Mom by @marvelous-imagining

Bucky x Single Mom!Reader

23. Take Me Out by @shamevillain

Assassin!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

You and Bucky are both professionally trained assassins. Both contracted to kill the other. Both completely unaware.

24. Like I Want You by @tmpestuous

College!Bucky x Reader

you and bucky have been best friends your entire life and it’s never been anything but platonic. so why do things get so bad when he gets a new girlfriend?

25. Overthinking by @galaxy-siren

Bucky x Assistant!Reader

Tony and Bruce’s lab assistant, Y/N, is harboring feelings for Bucky. When she accidentally texts him that he’s cute, she overthinks the whole situation. It might just take the meddling of the other Avengers to work this out.

26. So This Is Love by @ofstarsandvibranium

Chubby!College!Bucky x Reader

friend and roommate, Bucky, is a bit of an annoying fuckboy. He sleeps around as well as tries to be as annoying to you as possible. But here’s the thing: you don’t mind any of it.

27. Some Alpha by @/ofstarsandvibranium

Alpha!Bucky x Reader

Bucky is an Alpha, but can never seem to find someone who wants him to be their Alpha. Until he finds you, a Beta, who’s as firey as an Alpha, yet also tender-hearted like an Omega.

28. The Favors by @bbyboybucket

Virgin!Bucky x Reader

Reader assumes that Bucky is experienced due to him being a ladies man in the 40s, however, she finds out that he’s never been touched and decides to help him out.

29. take my breath away by @buckycuddlebuddy ✨

Dilf!Neighbor!Pornstar!Bucky x Reader

who knew that your silent, very good-looking neighbor with the cutest kid was such a devil under his grumpy and quiet behavior... 

30. Capital Letters by @sinner-as-saint

Writer!Bucky x Assistant!Reader

James Buchanan Barnes, one of the best, most admired and affluent authors of your time turns out to be nothing but a heartless man... or so you thought. 

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #winter soldier x reader #mob!bucky #chubby!bucky #bucky x assassin!reader #dbf!bucky #best friend!bucky #bucky x enhanced!reader #bucky x mutant!reader #bucky x avenger!reader #dad!bucky x mom!reader #dad!bucky #bucky barnes x single mom!reader #Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader #fwb!bucky #bucky x hydra!reader #assassin!bucky #roommate!bucky #bucky barnes college au #college!bucky #bucky x assistant!reader #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #alpha!bucky #pornstar!bucky #dilf!bucky

[dailyadventureprompts]

Wilderness: The Secret of Grist Ridge

Taking its name from the its centuries old owner, the rolling highlands known as the Domain of Daldivain still bears the scars from when it was vast salve farm that fed the armies and granaries of the old empire. Since the empire's fall the people of the domain have maintained small settlements and scattered villages, herding over the the valleys and rises their debt-bound ancestors once toiled to cultivate.

All is not as peaceful as the picturesque vistas of the domain would suggest; cloud drakes, once a rarity and folkish sign of good fortune have become invasive in the region, beginning to prey on livestock and even lone travellers as their numbers swell.

After having several of their homesteads savaged by the beasts, one of the villages has sent for the party: The majority of its residents including the majority of its elders want the party to hunt the beasts back to their lair, but their wisewoman claims to have had a vision that points them to Grist Ridge, the old ruins that lay at the heart of the old autarch's domain. Most have no idea what the mushroom addled crone is talking about, but there is some rumour of treasure in the old mill that may make it worth checking out.

Adventure Hooks:

Early in their journey our heroes encounter a band of warriors led by Haltri Drakesbane, a woman who sees herself as the protector and future leader of the domain's people. Already having proven herself by slaying the beasts that preyed upon her kinsmen's land and several other villages, she's more than happy to ally with the party and split the glory if it means driving the drakes out for good. Her offer is not without caveat: Haltri hopes to leverage strength of arms into a unifying authority over the scattered peoples of the domain, and her detractors (including the village elders who sought the party out) fear what her ambitions may lead to if she goes unchallenged.

Feeling an inexplicable desire to wander, the journymage Enilo (along with his fluffy familiar, Cloudchaser) has sought out the ruins at Grist Ridge, spending days exploring and journaling about his experience. Enilo doesn't know it yet, but he's been called by the goddess of sky and enlightenment to receive a revelation that may change the future of the domain, provided the party's willing to have him tag along during their exploration and later defend him when Haltri shows up sometime midway through the delve to take the ruins for herself.

Though a number of the usual dungeon denizens have made their home in Grist Ridge, there is something malevolent skulking around its deepest reaches, filling the tunnels between the old windmills with the echo of scraping chains and a distant grinding sound that unsettles to the bone. It leaves handfulls of corroded coins from the old autarchy in places where others may find them. The locals know not to touch these, as it seems accepting the gifts of the lurking horror means inviting it to follow you home.

Background: One of many such sites left over after the fall of the old Autarchy, the ruins today known as Grist Ridge once surveyed a vast domain of slave farms owned by one of the old empire's richest men, Lord Daldivian, who's mark on the region endures even centuries after his death.

The old lord bought up the debts of hundreds and dragged them off to work in his fields, grinding them down much in the same way his mills ground down the grain they cultivated. Because he didn't need to pay his workers he was able to sell grain for less, bankrupting score upon score of the region's old farming families and creating people desperate enough to sell either their ancestral land (expanding Daldivain's domain) or themselves into bond slavery for fear of starvation, swelling his workforce from hundreds to thousands.

Daldivane was of course using lives as grist for his ambition long before the first mill was built: The region that came to be his was originally open wilderness along the Autarchy's border inhabited by worshipers of the goddess Yithini, who the old empire considered heathen and thus worthy of extermination. Lord Daldivane used his in with the imperial military to raze their homes and shrines, sowing his first fields with meal ground from their bones. He also used this military connection to hunt the endemic species of drake near to extinction, both because the beasts were sacred to Yithini and because they threatened to impede his expansion.

Further Adventures:

Enilo's observations of the region and the ruins (built on the space of Yithini's demolished temple) will eventually lead him to a series of revelations: The drakes aren't invasive, they are merely returning to their natural population levels after being culled. The environment is healing because of the return of its natural predator. There were people who lived in the domain before who's existence and subsequent elimination Daldivane concealed, who lived in harmony with the drakes through their worship of the now forgotten sky goddess. Unexpectedly finding himself a prophet, Enilo will return to the people of the domain and begin expounding on this secret history, reawakening the worship of Yithini in what was once her sacred land and sparing the people from further clashes with their draconic neighbours.

Haltri does indeed have ambition, taking the exactly wrong lessons from the stories of Daldivane she imagines herself as a new, kinder, autarch, seeking to reclaim the mills of Grist Ridge and rebuild the economic engine that made the old lord one of the richest men in the known world. This will of course require the denizens to be put to work in the fields once again, but in her opinion its the least they can do to repay her for driving the drakes away and keeping them safe. Its up to the party to uncover these ambitions, or perhaps look aside for the sake of their new, increasingly powerful ally.

The thing stalking the foundations of Grist Ridge is a demon born of Daldivane's pittiless greed and the sorrow of those he enslaved. Stalking around the lowest reaches of the ruins and emerging only at night, it resembles a man dressed in tattered finery of the old autarchy with his legs fettered together and his arms bound to a yoke. Where its face should be there is only a cracked millstone, grinding forever and ever over its bleeding and lipless lower jaw. Most disturbingly of all It hungers for bones: placing severed limbs or whatever stray mice it can catch in its mouth and grinding them to powder, sometime after its meal coughing up bloody autarchy coins the way an owl might a pellet. Though it does not speak or perhaps even really THINK the demon of Grist Ridge believes in fair commerce, as any who feed it are due a compensatory amount of treasure just as anyone who takes from its offerings owes it in some way.

Art

#low level #wilderness mountain #wilderness highland #exploration #mountain dungeon #highland dungeon #fiend #monster hunt #demon #yithini

[bvtbxtch]

Movie Marathon | Eddie Munson

Day Thirteen of Kinktober

Summary: Five years after the Ghost face killer has ended his reign of terror on Hawkins, the local movie theatre has decided to host a premiere of the movie based off the massacre. You and Eddie decide to go and revel in his glory.

Pairings: Ghostface!Eddie Munson x Accomplice!Fem!Reader

wc: ~ 3.5k (it feels good to be back)

Content Warnings: This is porn with a plot so like normal, 18+ MDNI!!! Mentions of murder, stabbing, serial murder, blood, knifeplay, public sexual acts, handjobs, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up pls), sadism and the idea of getting sexual pleasure from pain inflicted on others, choking, anal, squirting

A special thank you to everyone for the warm welcome back from my hiatus <3 y'all are amazing! Specific thank you to @darknesseddiem for being a wonderful friend and helping me through this month!!

Five years had passed since the massacre at Hawkins. Five years since 7 of your classmates died within the span of three weeks, and it has been four years since evidence was planted to put the wrong person away for the crimes. It had been three years since the story was picked up by some big wig film buff and today was the day of the Halloween screening of ‘Scream’.

Coincidentally, it was Halloween five years ago that you and Eddie Munson were rowing out to the middle of Lover’s lake with a weighted box full of bloody clothing, masks and knives. You had nothing to do with the murders, but that hardly mattered now. You were as guilty as your boyfriend now - hiding evidence, harboring a fugitive, obstructing justice, mutilating a corpse… you would go away for almost as long as he would at this point. You were in deep and as much as you hated to admit it, you loved the rush. You adored the desperation that Eddie had for you; begging and pleading for you to help him - to keep his secret, to keep him safe… You would do anything for your boyfriend… You think you have made that pretty clear. 

The movies were the icing on Eddie’s revenge porn cake. The seven that were murdered came from Eddie’s own personal list (which made it a surprise the idiot detectives didn’t put two and two together, but that’s what you get when bigwigs from the city come to a small town like Hawkins. You had both made sure protections were in place. Gareth and Jeff were to ensure that they told police about certain band practices and trips to the city for potential work with Corroded Coffin would corroborate with yours and Eddie’s stories.) and the satisfaction of swift justice allowing the teen to get away with it all? It stroked Eddie’s ego a dangerous amount. 

His ego had gotten you into this position, and as much as he scared you sometimes, his infatuation with his life’s work intrigued you. He riled you up talking about taking what was his just as much as he excited himself. The nights that he had come back from taking the lives he thought he was owed, you had earth shattering sex. The night you dumped all the evidence in Lover’s lake, he ate you out on the small canoe you rowed out like a man starved, like it would be his last time tasting you. You missed that feeling of desperation, that fear of getting caught, but you had a feeling that a literal fucking movie being made about your serial killer boyfriend might spark some new inspiration for the two of you…

-

You were fortunate that the late October weather was mild enough that the premiere of the movie based off of your sleepy little town could be hosted at the outdoor theater right down the road from Hawkins High (the exact place where three out of the seven bodies were found during the original massacre: Jason Carver, Patrick McKinney and Chace Williams hung up like scarecrows on the football posts by their intestines - a gruesome and impressive detail of their deaths). Eddie and you could sit in the back and revel in the glory that made him so anonymously infamous. Kids and teens alike flocked to the ampitheatre donned in their ghostface masks and cloaks like Eddie wore for each one of the massacres.  He told you it made the fear so much more satisfying, that watching the life drain from Chrissy Cunningham’s eyes in her own bedroom was much more satisfying thinking that it was just a shape of evil coming for her, not the freak of Hawkins High… The two of you quietly took your seats in the aisle of one of the back rows, glancing up at the projector screen in arousal and anticipation. Eddie was vibrating, the whole town coming to pay homage to him without even knowing it. He could hardly contain himself. You had to place your hand on his thigh to stop his leg from violently shaking. You flashed him a knowing look and rubbed circles into his upper thigh. There were laughs and joyous shrieks coming from the rest of the audience as everyone settled into their seats. You had lucked out, most people choosing to sit closer to the front, leaving your aisle empty, save for a group of teens sitting on the other end of the row. You could gloat in peace while being out of earshot. The stadium lights scattered around the theater seats flickered off and the air grew thick with anticipation. A cacophony of laughing, cheering and screaming echoed through the air as the opening credits began to roll…

-

You had only been 17 when you were thrust into Eddie’s plot. He had loathed you for a long time, being a cheerleader and in with the ‘it’ crowd, you had originally been on his kill list. When you had joined Hellfire at the beginning of the year (after much persuasion by the freshmen), you went from one of the people he loathed the most, to one of the people he loved the most. You and Eddie began dating in September, a month and a half before the murders took place. You had walked into his trailer unannounced - Eddie had just hung his cloak up in the bathroom and was cleaning the blood off of his hands when you found him. 

“Eddie?!” you gasped. You had felt all of the blood drain from your face and your limbs had gone numb. You laugh when you think back to how terrified you were at first - the poor little lamb. Eddie had rushed you with his knife in his hands, someone’s blood still decorating the handle. He slammed you against the trailer wall and held the knife to your throat. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, but there was a sense of peace. You knew that Eddie wasn’t going to actually hurt you, you could sense it. 

“So, it was you all along?” you whispered. Eddie was flabbergasted. You didn’t ask out of fear, but out of wonder. You were impressed. There was nothing in your eyes, nothing like what he had just seen out of Patrick McKinney’s deep brown irises. Still, he kept his jaw clenched and he pressed the cold tip of the knife into the skin on your throat. You winced at the contact, but didn’t plead like he thought you would. 

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll keep your secret.” You had gulped. You dared to raise your hand to grab his wrist and pull his armed hand away from your throat. Allowing only a beat, his mouth was on yours. You had only ever had sex once before, and never with Eddie, but there was a primal desire that was missing from the first time you did it. Eddie trailed the knife down your body, using it to tear away at your T-Shirt. You knew you should have been more scared, you should have run, or at least told him to wait until he wasn’t cleaning someone’s fucking blood off of himself before he fucked you… but his magnetism was too strong, you felt like you couldn’t help yourself. It was like that after every kill. It was like that after every time you went to hide evidence. You listened intently to Eddie’s plans, and the more he told you, the more you agreed with him. Vengeance against the people who made his childhood and life a living hell seemed pretty warranted to you. 

-

The movie progressed and you could feel Eddie growing antsy in his seat. With each slash on the big screen, Eddie’s breath hitched. You slid your hand up further to the apex of his thigh and you could feel the tip of his cock standing at attention against the denim. 

“You getting yourself all hot and bothered seeing your work, baby?” You whispered into his ear, finishing off your question with a bite to the mop headed man’s earlobe. You heard him shutter against your touch as you rubbed against his growing erection. You grabbed at him through the denim and he moaned quietly. Your bodies moved together while your eyes stayed glued to the meathead and his bimbo girlfriend getting diced on screen.

“You think that’s supposed to be Billy and Heather? Or do you think they’re trying to make connections between Andy and Chrissy? You know how everyone said they were boning behind Carver’s back” Eddie snorted and you couldn’t help but giggle along with him.

“Nah, that’s definitely Heather and Hargrove” you cooed, squeezing hard on Eddie’s cock, making the laughter fizzle out in his throat. He cleared his throat to cover the moans that were desperate to escape his mouth. “This broad has a lifeguard bathing suit hanging out of her closet there, see?” You pointed to the blurred red fabric in the background of the shot, a beautiful brunette with blood all over her face took the main frame. Eddie’s head lolled back as his eyes rolled. He already felt so good, but he wanted to push it. He wanted to feel the danger he did the first night. 

While you stroked his angry, hard cock, Eddie shimmied his hand into his back pocket. You didn’t notice until you felt something cold on your tight-clad inner thigh.You look down to see Eddie’s pocket knife pressed into the meat of your thigh, right above the hem of your pleated skirt. Your breath hitched as you huffed a small smile at your boyfriend. 

“Better be careful, babe. Wouldn’t want this knife to slip” With the end of his words, Eddie’s knife pressed slightly into your skin to snag your tights. You squeaked out a moan from the surprise sting of the knife nicking your upper thigh. Eddie leaned in impossibly close, his lips rested right by your left ear.

“Ah, ah, ah… don’t want us to get caught, right, dolly? Who knows what kind of trouble we would get in.” His dark chuckle sent shivers down your spine. “Now sit back and behave for me baby. I want to celebrate. You nodded your head feverishly and looked around at the audience at a distance from you. No one was the wiser about either of your arousal, to the sweet nothings you whispered to each other. Fuck, you wished no one else was here so Eddie could take you right then and there. Your pussy quivered at the thought and you were suddenly hyper aware of how badly you needed the metalhead to touch you. You turned your head to the left and nuzzled yourself into Eddie’s neck, your lips finding Eddie’s sweet spot. You suckled at him while continuing your teasing assault on his throbbing cock.

“Eddie… please… touch me” you begged between kisses on his neck. You could hear a shaky breath escape him, and felt his Adam’s apple bob. He was losing control rapidly. He moved the knife away from your body and into his other hand, allowing his fingers to hook themselves into the hole he had made in your tights and tear. Luckily his actions and your moans in response coincided with the scream queen’s tits being splayed across the screen, resulting in a roar of laughter and cheers. Eddie’s spry fingers took no time to pull your soaked panties to the side. His digits entered you with minimal resistance. 

“Fuck, baby… you’re so wet for me already.” the boy growled in approval. “You tried to keep quiet, but your mewls couldn’t be contained by your bitten lips. Eddie moved the knife to the side of your ribs and poked you softly with it’s tip. “Now, dolly, we talked about this,” he chided as he added another finger to your pulsating cunt. “You make noise, we get in trouble, and then I gotta kill whoever the fuck snitches and then you get punished.” Eddie’s words went straight to your core and you could feel the heat in your abdomen growing molten hot. You could faintly hear the slick of your own essence being pumped in and out of you by Eddie’s fingers. You tried to undo Eddie’s jeans but he pushed the knife into your skin and you winced, a small bead of blood dripping onto the tip of the knife.

“I’m not done with you yet, dolly. You can’t have my cock yet.” Eddie raised the knife to your mouth, for the first time since the movie started, his eyes met yours. They glinted wildly in the light of the screen. He narrowed his eyes, demanding you to open your mouth and stick out your tongue. You obliged him and he rested the knife on your tongue, leaving you to the shock of tasting your own metallic blood. You cleaned off his knife for him without averting his gaze. Before you knew it, Eddie had removed his fingers from you and grabbed your elbow in a bruising grip.

“Get up. We can’t do this here.” Eddie pulled you down the amphitheater steps until you were back on the open field you had walked in on. Even though you slightly wriggled against his grip on you, Eddie didn’t let up. He pulled you down a corridor that led you to the backside of the projection screen. There was only a few feet for the two of you to stand before your shadows would interrupt the illumination of the slasher being played for you.

“It’s like our own private screening,” Eddie grinned at you. He pulled you into his chest and placed his lips on yours. What started sweet soon returned to the desperate need for each other that you had in the audience.  Eddie bit down on your lip hard, eliciting a cry to fall from your lips. Blood spilled from your bottom lip and Eddie was more than excited to clean it up for you.

“That’s it, my girl let me hear you. You taste as good as you sound.” Eddie backed you into the cool cement wall that helped support the screen. His lips traveled across you, covering your neck and chest in a constellation of purple and red bruises. You hitched a leg over his slender waist as your bodies were covered in a sea of red light from another fictional victim being slaughtered for the hundreds of people on the other side of the screen. Eddie’s pants are now hung low on his hips, allowing him to stuff his cock inside you. You grid into his thrust with a groan.

“Look what you did, Eds. Look what you started. This is all for you.” The curly haired boy hastily shoved up your sweater and bra, exposing your tits to the cool autumn air.

“No, dolly. We did this. People won’t fuck with people like us any more. They’ll get what they deserve.” Eddie spurred himself on and thrust harder and harder into you, keeping his gaze up at the screen above him. You cried out as his thick cock hit high into you and Eddie’s knife was back at your throat. With his other strong hand, he grabbed the one leg steadying you on the floor and fucked up into you to keep you on the wall. Your eyes rolled and your tongue lolled out of your mouth as Eddie thrust into you at an even deeper angle. 

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re gonna make me cum.” That was all the permission Eddie needed to hear. As screams of terror filled one side of the theater, behind the scenes, your screams of pleasure and pain filled the small backstage area. Eddie dropped your legs and flipped you, your face pressing into the cool concrete, knife now dragging up and down your spine. The sting of the cool metal threw you closer and closer to your climax. Eddie’s bruising grip on your hips gave him more leverage to thrust into you harder and he pressed you into the wall harder and harder. 

“Ahh, fuck.” Eddie pocketed the knife and his white knuckle grip that once was on the knife’s handle was now around your neck. Your vision went fuzzy and with a strained squeak, your orgasm flooded over you. Eddie pulled your body up to his while you shook on his cock. 

Eddie worked you through wave after wave of pleasure until you could barely stand up - your pussy throbbed around his cock deliciously and with the mix of watching his real life magnum opus being celebrated by this fucked town, his orgasm was hurling at him with no chance at him stopping.

“Get ready for me, babe,” Eddie barked. You whimpered and nodded at him, too fucked out for words. You guided yourself to lean forward on the wall, exposing your dripping pussy and tight asshole to him. You felt a cool ball of spit hit your puckered hole and you moaned, your whole body still so sensitive from your orgasm. You hissed at the unbelievable stretch of Eddie pressing into your hole. You had never felt so full. Maybe it was the movie, or maybe it was the unconditional devotion you had to your boyfriend (and he to you), but one small thrust of Eddie inside your asshole and you could feel the small heat of another orgasm creeping up on you. Eddie paused inside you, looking up to watch the final confrontation of the movie version of Chrissy Cunningham - Hollywood’s final girl, she was drenched in blood, tits see through in her white tank top, and her face tattooed with fear. She looked like that when he had slit her throat and she watched his masked face as she fell to the ground. Power. He held all of it. He held it with the seven teens he murdered, he held it with you, fuck he even Held it with Hawkins - even though he despised the town and almost everyone in it. He had the upper hand. He got his revenge. He got the girl. He got to live the life he wanted when those who tried to break him rotted in the ground. 

He shivered as a wave of ecstasy washed over him. He thrust into your tight hole, pulling all the way out and slamming himself back in. You swore you were going to have a bruise on your cheek with how hard your face was being fucked up against the wall. You could feel his impending finish, and you were desperate to feel the waves of pleasure with him. You ran your hand in between your legs and rubbed small, furious circles onto your clit. You were brutal to your own body, licking up any fiery bolts of pain you could, Eddie felt your pleasuring yourself and he felt the first shockwave hit him. 

“Fuck, doll I’m going to fill you up.” He could tell you were, again, on the brink of another orgasm “cum with me”. 

The only responses that you could muster was a sloppy babbling of pleases as you sent yourself flying over the edge again. Your skin was white hot and your asshole pulsed, milking Eddie of all the cum he had. Your vision went dark and you felt your legs vibrating. 

“Fuck!” Eddie yelped as he pulled out of your hole. He was flushed with adoration as you continued working yourself through your orgasm, spilling your clear essence all over the floor. You were totally spent, and Eddie knew better than to try and let you stand up fully. He grabbed you gently by the waist and spun you so you could wrap your arms around his neck. Eddie kissed the top of your forehead, his shit eating grin unable to be wiped from his face.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Eddie exclaimed. You pressed your forehead to Eddie’s chest and giggled in embarrassment.

“I didn’t know I could either… I was just so turned on… just thinking about how well you’ve done”. Eddie cupped your face in his hands and kissed you gently on the cheek. You helped him do up his jeans and he made sure to put your panties back over your spent holes.

“Let’s get out of here” Your boyfriend offered. “I heard they keep Chrissy’s character alive in the end… so not faithful to the source material.” The grins on your faces widened and with a giggle, the two of you began to trace your steps back to the entrance of the amphitheater, hand in hand. Before you reached the exit of the theater, you pulled Eddie to a stop.

“What’s wrong, dolly?”

“Umm… I had an offer I wanted to make you.” You murmured.

“What is it?” Eddie cooed. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to make a sequel with me.” You asked, eyes to the floor. Eddie lifted your chin with his large hands. 

“Darling, that is the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

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[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3

For the entirety of Arina’s life, she’d been destined to be the wife of a Vanserra. Lucien Vanserra to be specific. The ink on her marriage contract was dried before she herself was, likely still squalling in a midwife’s aching arms as her father lamented his poor fortune. Sons brought glory, daughters cost money. 

Arina might have been angry about her circumstances in a different life. In this one, though, Arina considered herself luckier than most other women she knew. Lucien was merely a year older than her—a seventh son, too, which meant he’d be sent off to some country estate, lord of the territory his father gave him. She would have no responsibility toward a vulnerable population nor would Arina ever be in danger of becoming queen.

After years of watching her father rule, a minor lord on the outskirts of the massive kingdom the Vanserra’s ruled, Arina thought that was a blessing. There was never enough gold to go around and what little money that could be scraped together, her father took in taxes. Arina felt shame every time she was paraded through the small city they lived in, dressed in finery while the people stared up, faces dirty, clothes threadbear. 

Beron Vanserra sent a chest of gold meant for Arina every year on her birthday. It was for her education and other frippery according to the notes—though in truth, Arina suspected it was a reminder that her father owed Beron. There was no backing out, no offering Arina up for better prospects.

There were no better prospects, to be fair. No one wanted the poor daughter of minor nobility nor did they want to inherit her fathers poor kingdom. Beron intended to subsume it into his own, allowing her family the rights to the land so long as they kissed the Vanserra ring. That was her fathers problem—not hers. Arina intended to waste her time drinking and dancing and whatever else the wives of Vanserras did.

Beron put the marriage off for a total three years past their original agreement. She should have married Lucien when she was eighteen—and yet Arina wasn’t officially called to the palace until the eve of her twenty-first birthday. Arina was instructed to come without a retinue. Only her father accompanied her, silent in the carriage as they rode. He didn’t need to speak to her in order for his will to be clear—if she did anything to mess this up, the consequences would be severe.

Deadly, even.

After all, Arina’s mother had not survived long enough to bring another child into her fathers world. No sons would save their family, leaving Arina to marry well and without complaint. She’d written to Lucien over the years and he’d written back. It was hardly some great love match but he seemed nice enough. Funny, when he wanted to be, and polite when he didn’t. Arina had decided long before now that she was satisfied with this man. 

Unlike her own home which seemed to be in a constant state of disrepair, the Vanserra palace was massive. Made of glittering gold and wild, old oak, the sprawling castle dripped with wealth. The city that surrounded it was just as opulent, though there was an aura of despair hanging in the air that tasted sickly sweet in Arina’s mouth. 

There was a clear and obvious divide between those with power and influence and those who did not. Arina had expected to see wealth equally which was perhaps naive. Beron had always seemed generous to her, sending gifts of gold and jewels on a whim. Why would his people fare any differently? 

That wasn’t her problem, she reminded herself. All Arina needed to do was fulfill her end of the contract, marry Lucien, and get on with things. Arina could simply turn her face from the fingerprint stained window and study the palace. It truly was beautiful, illuminated by warm shafts of spring light and framed just beyond by newly awakened trees crammed so tightly together it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. 

The palace itself was walled off, using both a gate that had to be opened for their carriage to pass through, and a bridge that caused the vehicle to lurch back and forth sickeningly. Beyond, Arina saw a white, ivory garden wall encircling at least the front of the palace, monitored by guards walking the length with sharp swords and a quiver of arrows against their backs. 

That didn’t keep people out—it merely kept them aware of the fate that would befall them should anyone decide to step out of line. As Arina disembarked, smoothing the wrinkles out of her rose pink skirts, her father was patted down for weapons. No one but the guards were allowed to be armed in the presence of the king, and Arina wondered if her father would get his sword back.

No one bothered to check her, which was lucky. They’d have found a small hunting knife tucked into her boot. 

Arina didn’t expect to need it—but it never hurt to be prepared. This was a new court with new men, and the ones back home were just handsy enough that Arina felt better with a knife. An old servant had taught her to use it—in exchange for a kiss she’d been all too happy to oblige him with—before her father sent him away. 

Arina was surprised by how busy the palace seemed to be. People moved around the drive, some making their way toward the front doors, open wide as butlers checked lists before allowing them through. Others, carrying heavy baskets covered in thin, white blankets, quickly walked around the palace toward some side door servants who were expected to enter and exit. There was an obvious and clear divide—neither groups looked at the other nor did they interact. It was as if neither was there.

A game of play-pretend, Arina supposed as she fell in step behind her father. Bowing her head ever so slightly, Arina clasped her hands in front of her body and began her own game of play-pretend. In this game, she was the obedient, demure daughter of her father and would become the obedient, demure wife of Lucien, too.

“This way, my lord,” a butler dressed in black with silver buttons, beckoned for her father to follow. What would her mother think of all this? Would she have been allowed to come, too? Arina barely remembered anything about the woman who had given her life—her mother had been sick more often than not, leaving Arina in the care of nurses and governesses. 

This was how her mother had been married, though. Back then their home had been worth something and her fathers name carried weight. He’d had the pick of the available ladies and had chosen her mother.

Arina had dared to ask him why, once. She was the most beautiful of the lot.

He’d said it so dismissively, like it ought to have been obvious to Arina. She knew she was too romantic—a dozen tutors had accused her of no less over the years. She knew her marriage was about practicality and not romance and still, over the years, she’d clung to those letters from Lucien and hoped that maybe there could be something between them. He seemed friendly enough. Nice, too, though of course she might have read too much into his careful, polite words.

Arina had been holding that hope for years, though. All of it was about to come to fruition as they stepped into a small study where Beron was waiting behind a glossy top wooden desk. Huge windows, framed with maroon, velvet curtains, allowed light to stream into the room.

Arina and her father bowed, though Arina found herself looking at the man leaned up against a bookcase with a sour expression on his face.

This wasn’t Lucien—she’d seen him a few times in her youth and what she remembered painted Lucien as a man with far darker skin similar to the shade of her own skin. His hair had always been long, his features softer. This man was fair skinned and tall, muscular like it was intentional versus the accidental effects of laborious work. His auburn hair was cut short, his eyes a cool, amber brown, his features sharp as though he’d been recently carved from marble. He was beautiful and cold in equal measure and Arina was grateful he wasn’t looking at her. 

“This is your daughter?” Beron asked, rising from his chair with gleaming brown eyes. There was no mistaking him and his son—they were so painfully related even if the other man’s features came from his mother, their expressions, their posture—that was all the same.

Cold men holding court. Arina took a small step backward without meaning to, instinctively looking for the door. This caught the younger man’s attention. His gaze flicked to her face, mouth sloping into a deep set frown. Why was he here? 

There was no escape. Arina’s father caught her wrist and thrust her forward like she was little more than a prized cow at auction. Beron looked her over dispassionately. 

“She looks just like her mother.”

Arina felt frozen right then, heart pounding in her chest. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. She’d pictured Lucien greeting her and spending the next month getting to know him outside the watchful eyes of their parents. Maybe she’d see the king once or twice as he arranged their little marriage and then sent them off. 

Not this. 

“Your letter said you wanted to discuss the terms of our original agreement?” her father said, taking the hand that had once been wrapped around her wrist to place it on her shoulder. At this, the younger man looked away again, his face unable to conceal his disgust. 

Beron sighed, turning his head toward the window for a moment. “My youngest son has been accused of compromising another lady of court.”

Oh no.

Beside Arina, her father became notably interested. His expression brightened, his posture just a little more rigid. This was good news, though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. Beron noticed it, too, if his own darkened gaze was any indication. Something in the original contract had stipulated for this and whatever it was, it clearly benefited her father.

“When we put the original agreement together, we accounted for this,” Beron began smoothly, picking up a neatly folded document to hand to her father. 

“We did,” her father agreed, taking that document without reading it. “I assume you’ve come to make an offer.”

“My eldest son,” Beron replied easily, gesturing to the man still leaning against the bookcase. “Eris and I have spoken and he’s agreed to fulfill his brothers place.”

Her fathers shoulders slumped ever so slightly as Eris finally righted himself, looking not at Arina but directly at her father. “It would be my pleasure,” he said in a voice that betrayed how little of a pleasure it truly was. 

It wasn’t what her father wanted, though whatever it was he’d been hoping to gain, Arina wasn’t going to find out. Beron, aware he had her father boxed in a corner, offered a slick smile.

“Why don’t we go over the terms together? I think you’ll find I’ve been more than generous.”

“You always have been good to our family,” her father gritted out through a syrupy smile. 

“Eris, show Arina her accommodations while her father and I talk,” Beron said, waving them both out of the room as though they didn’t matter. Eris had clearly been told of this ahead of time and Arina wished someone would have warned her. Nodding, Eris stepped from the room without looking at her, his shoulders tight beneath the brown of his jacket. She had no choice but to follow after him, fingers curled to fists.

Eris slammed the door behind them loud enough to rattle a nearby picture in its frame. So he was angry, too. She doubted he felt any solidarity with her—she could imagine he saw her as the enemy which was just fine, because he fared no better in her estimation, either. 

“You,” Eris barked at a passing servant, beckoning them closer. “Show the lady her room.”

“Your father said—”

“I heard what my father said,” Eris snapped, interrupting Arina before she could get the rest of her indignant words out. “Unless you think my staff can’t be trusted?”

Oh, fuck him, she thought. “Charming,” she replied, holding his gaze. Eris stared back, waiting for her to back down. Arina ought to have. If he’d been anyone else she might have looked away, but this was about to be her future husband and she’d be damned if she let him think she was scared. 

Though, she was. Arina was terrified of him.

Eris took a step back when it was clear Arina was prepared to face off with him, inclining his head to the side for a moment as though to study her. “You won’t survive a week in this engagement.”

And with that, he turned on his polished boots and left her to the nervous, near trembling servant. She wasn’t going to chase him down, nor was she going to beg him. He could be mad at her all he liked. It wasn’t until she was being shown a rather large apartment that Arina considered what it meant to marry Eris Vanserra.

Gone were her hopes of an easy, simple life. Suddenly Arina felt the weight of expectation, of a life she’d never been prepared for. She’d be the wife of a king, with all the stipulations that came with that. No matter how cruel Eris was to her, Arina would have to put on a brave face and manage it. She had to have children with that man. Arina tried to picture what it would be like before she forced the image from her mind entirely. Perhaps he’d be quick—she’d heard men were more often than not. She could grit her teeth and get through it and perhaps, if she gave him a son, he’d find himself a mistress and leave her be.

Exile her to a country estate, even, where she could run her own household and have her own life outside of him. It wasn’t the great love she’d been hoping for but it was better than nothing. Better than seven sons, like his own mother had given Beron Vanserra. Two seemed like enough. What Arina needed was a plan. 

Staring at the sitting room of the apartment she’d been given, Arina decided right then and there she would make the best of things. It wasn’t what she’d wanted, but it was still an escape from the misery of life with just her father. No more emboldened courtiers pawing at her, no more of her fathers advisors leering and touching when they thought he wasn’t looking. No more being screamed at—at least, by her father. Who knew what kind of tactics Eris might employ? 

Separate bedchambers. 

Separate lives. 

She’d smile and placate him, lulling him into a false sense of security and maybe he’d drop his attitude in favor of apathy. Starting with the dinner she was expected to attend. She’d show him right then and there he didn’t need to concern himself with her at all. Then she could try and make a friend at court who could show her around and help her acclimate herself. 

Arina was practically vibrating when she was summoned. She’d changed from pink to a robins egg blue that was entirely modest, from the high neckline to the long sleeves and she’d pinned her thick, long hair up off her face with little pearl pins that matched the ones dangling from her ears. 

She looked pretty and she knew it, just like Arina knew that men valued that above all else. When their own children asked Eris why he’d married her, he could tell them she’d been the prettiest woman he’d ever seen and it would be true enough. Maybe her children wouldn’t mind as much. 

Eris was waiting in the small dining room when Arina was shown in and to his credit, he rose from his chair the way a gentleman ought to. 

“Here,” he said, pushing out her chair with his foot. Arina forced herself to smile at him, smoothing her skirts beneath her as she sat. It was only once she was seated that Eris joined her, angled away as he fiddled with his glass of wine. Was he drunk? His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes bright but otherwise he had that same arrogant sneer on his face.

“You look nice,” Arina lied. He looked fine in the same jacket he’d been wearing when they met. 

Eris scoffed before downing the remnants of his cup.

“There’s no need to lie, lady.”

“Fine. You look miserable without the manners to even try and conceal it,” she heard herself saying, her good plan crumbling before her eyes. With raised brows, Eris looked over at her.

“Would you like to try that one again, my lady?”

“I was told I’d be marrying your brother,” she hissed, aware there were servants in the room and that gossip spread quickly. 

“A fate I’ve so graciously spared you from. Where is your gratitude?” Eris replied dryly. 

“Your brother seemed kind–”

“You would have been bored by the end of the month,” Eris snapped, clearly tired. “I thought all women dreamed of being princesses?”

Arina didn’t know what to say to that so she picked at the little beads on her dress if only to have something to do with her hands. 

“Well. Your father is certainly pleased,” Eris added seconds before the door opened. His goblet was refilled as her father, Beron, and a retinue of men she didn’t know or recognize strolled in. Their chatter was enough to drown out any remaining conversation between Eris and Arina which could only be a good thing. It was clearly too early to hope they might get along, and Arina needed to figure out a way to leash her temper before it got the better of her.

Again.

Arina was used to being treated as decoration. And as her father sat without acknowledging her—as Beron pulled Eris into a conversation with some of the other courtiers—Arina was left to sit there silently and eat politely. They were all covertly watching her, judging every movement, every whispered sigh, every scrape of her utensils. What would happen if they found her wanting?

She didn’t want to learn the answer to that question so Arina kept a pleasant smile pasted to her face just like she’d learned to do back home. With each new course, Arina made a delicate show of eating only a third of whatever was served to her which clearly pleased some of the older men at the table. She passed on wine in favor of water and whenever a compliment was paid to her, she made a show of dropping her gaze and thanking them demurely. 

Eris seemed to recognize her theatrics for what they were, smirking into his goblet each time she did it like there was nothing funnier to him. Arina had half a mind to kick him—and she might have, too—had something warm not begun crawling up her throat. 

She looked down at the bowl of potato soup in front of her, strangely fascinated as it warped from one porcelain bowl into two, to three, and back to a singular entity. The heat intensified, causing Arina to gasp for air. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she reached for Eris’s leg, digging her nails into the fabric of his trousers as she tried to get a grip on reality.

Something was wrong. 

She couldn’t breathe.

Arina blinked, intending to take a slow, controlled breath of air and then excuse herself. When she opened her eyes, however, she found herself laying on the floor staring upward into a pair of disinterested amber eyes. The commotion around her seemed to suggest someone was concerned—her father, maybe?

But right then, all Arina could see was the icy, bored expression of her soon-to-be husband.

And she was certain this was all his fault.

ERIS:

“What do you expect me to do about this?” Eris demanded furiously, staring at his father. He needed to get his temper in check before Beron punished him and yet Eris couldn’t help his aggrieved feelings. “If she’s so desperate to escape this marriage, let her.”

“And pay her bastard father to run his kingdom into the ground for another fifty years?”

“Why would you ever add that to a marriage contract?” Eris heard himself asking, furious that Lucien’s little dalliance with one of the Archeron’s had led him to this position. Arina was probably perfectly nice—she was certainly beautiful—and he didn’t want her. Didn’t want any wife his father picked out for him and had done a good job running them off. 

“I had seven worthless sons by then—all of whom would need wives. If not Lucien, someone else.”

“Then let Tanwen—”

“I’ll not hear another complaint from you,” Beron barked out, eyes flashing a warning. Eris forced himself to swallow his anger, to take a breath and let it go for the moment. It was clear his father wanted this to happen and his fathers will was an extension of his own. 

“She’s alive,” Beron continued, as if Eris cared about that. It was cruel, but when Eris had seen her convulsing on the ground all he’d felt was relief. She’d die and he’d be free of her, along with the entire marriage he didn’t want. “I want to know who's responsible for this and I want them punished. Quietly.”

“Consider it done.”

“Check in on your mother. She’d distraught,” Beron added by way of dismissal. 

Of course she would be. The mere words were enough to force some sympathy into Eris’s otherwise emotionless chest. Arina was merely a casualty in his fathers obsession with expansion. It should have been Lucien who arranged this deal, leaving Eris to ally with a princess who had, if nothing else, been born with the correct expectations. He’d been set on Nesta Archeron before Lucien went and mucked the whole thing up with the middle sister. Who knew Elain was her father’s favorite and he’d take it personally if a foreign born princess undressed his precious daughter?

Lucien had sworn he’d done nothing inappropriate but what was done was done. Lucien was getting a second born princess but nothing more—there would be no exchange of territory and a very loose agreement that constituted an alliance. 

And Eris was getting some rural, minor lords daughter that someone hated enough to want dead. Find out who it was, it could have been anyone. The arrangement was not popular at court and Eris considered it could be any number of lords who felt their daughters had been snubbed for Arina.

Would his father execute one of his favored courtiers? All for one woman they’d made a bad deal with? Her father must be delighted, Eris thought, to realize what had once been a decent marriage would now elevate him into the father-in-law to a king. He’d be given titles and wealth far beyond what he currently already possessed.

Eris felt his feelings harden toward Arina again. 

He found his mother in her private apartment, wringing her hands with tear stained cheeks. “Oh, Eris,” she breathed, wrongly assuming he must be upset over what he witnessed. Eris opened his arms to her all the same, pulling his crying mother against his chest. She cared, which made her far better than him in every measure that mattered. Too good for the Vanserra’s in general, though no one would dare say so. 

“Is she alright?” 

“I assume so,” Eris replied, earning himself a swat. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt nor was it malicious. His mother looked up at him with disappointment as Eris walled himself up to keep himself from internalizing her words.

“You haven’t gone to check?”

“I met her this afternoon and it didn’t go well,” he replied, following his mother to a little two seater couch facing the fireplace. “I think I can wait until tomorrow to offer my sympathies.”

“She seems like a nice girl,” his mother sniffed, dabbing her eyes on a handkerchief Eris had produced from his jacket pocket.

Nice wasn’t how he’d describe Arina. He had the sense she was more than the doe-eyed thing he’d witnessed at dinner, if her little snappish comments were anything to go on. 

“Did you know father would have to subsidize her fathers territory if she didn’t marry into our family?” Eris asked, already knowing the answer. Of course she didn’t—Beron didn’t tell his wife anything. 

“I know you’re upset about losing Nesta,” his mother began, misunderstanding what bothered Eris so much. Everyone kept assuming it was a love match between them rather than a practical understanding of the power they might wield together. Nesta had understood it, had even agreed right up until Lucien was caught with Elain. “But would it be so terrible to readjust your expectations, Eris?”

Yes, it would be. Without Nesta, Eris was still trapped under his fathers thumb and now responsible with keeping Arina from becoming trapped as well. There would be no money, no army, no powerful woman with a kingdom of her own to stand behind him should he fail. Just another powerless girl shoved at him and unlike the last one, Eris couldn’t send her back.

“Your projecting,” Eris replied. “You are nothing like her.”

“I remember how I felt when I was brought here. My own father was pretty quick to leave just as soon as our marriage license dried and I was on my own. You know how…busy…your father is. You could try to make her feel welcome.”

“You managed just fine,” Eris said, though as the words left his mouth he felt instant regret. His father was brutally cruel to his mother when the mood struck him, swinging between open devotion and clandestine violence seemingly on a whim. His mother had managed in spite of his father and he knew he’d just inadvertently told his mother none of it was a big deal. “I’ll talk to her.”

It was a compromise to wipe the look of hurt from his mothers face. She was the only woman Eris had ever loved and as far as he was concerned, the only woman he’d ever love. He wasn’t interested in caring for someone the way his father cared about his mother. It made him obsessive, controlling, and at times, violent. Eris didn’t want to lose himself that way and was terrified that it was in his nature to love someone that way. Not that he’d ever admit it—but it was useful information to know about himself.

Eris didn’t visit Arina until the next morning, busying himself at night with his favorite distraction: too much whiskey and Lady [whoever]. He wasn’t married yet, and Eris had never promised Arina anything, least of all his fidelity. Eris found her sitting in a window, knees hidden beneath a pale yellow dress. 

Eris had seen a lot of women in his life. More women than most men if he was being honest with himself. Since he’d come of age, women had thrown themselves at him and he’d allowed it, delighting in the attention and the ease with which he could get someone into his bed. And in the course of his dallying, he’d seen countless noble women with their hair unbound. 

And yet something happened when Arina turned her wan face to look at him. Her hair was long and thick, draped nearly to her waist as it fell in soft, brushed out waves. He might not have given it a second thought had she not turned her head just in that moment, allowing a rather bright beam of light illuminate the golden strands and warm her otherwise wan face.

Gods, but Arina was the most beautiful woman currently at court. Maybe in the world—Eris couldn’t remember seeing anyone more lovely even when they were as sad as she currently was. Eris found himself at a loss for words which Arina chose to interpret as mocking.

“Do you need something, prince?”

“I…” 

She turned her head away from him, rolling her eyes as she did. That was enough to remind Eris that she was merely a woman and not one he particularly cared about. Sexual attraction would help, if nothing else. “You’re well?” he asked, grateful to hear the sneer had returned to his words.

“No thanks to you.”

Eris pushed off the door frame he’d been leaned again, stepping into the airy, soft room she’d been given. It was fit for a princess and he wondered how it compared to her rooms back home. He’d heard stories that the estate was dilapidated, its staffing sparse. What it had was a good defensive position given its rocky landscape and the river that choked off other invasion points, forcing any army coming over land to take one specific path forward which made it easily picked off. 

Or, so his father said. Eris had never seen it, had never had any desire to. He’d been offered, but back then Arina was Lucien’s fiance and Eris had opted not to join in favor of remaining at home. What a waste given his current circumstances. Eris would have liked to have known exactly how to lord his wealth and power over his new wife, if only to keep her from snapping at him.

“Did you imagine me a physician?” Eris asked with some amusement. 

“I imagined you as someone with manners,” Arina shot back, drawing her knees closer to her chest. “Not the sort of coward who would delight in watching his betrothed die before his very eyes.”

“What did you say?” he asked, more taken aback than angry. No one had ever spoken to him that way. 

She didn’t even look at him. “I said you’re a coward and you were hoping I’d die. And I didn’t say this next part, but I don’t want to be married to you, either. I’ve heard stories about you.”

Eris’s heart thudded in his chest. “What kind of stories?”

“How you left a woman to die in your forest rather than marry her. That you’re capable of that kind of cruelty.”

Ah, Morrigan. How he’d never live that accusation down. Eris hadn’t bothered to try and had no intention of explaining the circumstances to Arina given what she was covertly accusing him of. She thought he’d tried to kill her?

Eris wanted to put that accusation to rest. “If I wanted you dead, princess, you’d be dead.”

He watched her press her lips together, saw how those mossy green eyes hardened with hatred. His mother was going to kill him the moment she got Arina alone and learned about this. 

“Then you should know if I wanted you dead, you would be dead.”

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “It sounds to me like you aren’t particularly skilled in that arena.”

“Are you daring me?” Eris asked incredulously. 

“Merely making an observation,” she replied, turning to look at him again. Eris found he preferred when she didn’t given how beautiful her face was and how stupid it made him. If she’d just pull her hair up, Eris could treat her like every other entitled noblewoman—just like he had yesterday.

Though, had he really looked at her? Eris had been drunk for most of the day. Maybe he simply hadn’t noticed what was now staring back at him. His wife was beautiful and the part of him that coveted such things liked that.

Not wife. Almost wife. 

“I came to see how you were doing,” Eris snapped, irritated with her and himself. 

“Your father came last night,” Arina replied, some of the spark leaving her eyes. 

“My father?” he asked, eyes scanning her form quickly. 

“To offer a sincere apology for the attack,” she said, hands twisting nervously in her lap. “And assure me you’d get to the bottom of it.”

“And I will,” Eris lied. For all he knew she’d merely had an allergic reaction to some new ingredient or the poison had been meant for him and not her. Eris very much doubted someone would be foolish enough to try again. 

“Yet here you are,” she dismissed, turning back to the window. Eris curled his fingers into fists to resist the urge to throttle her into obedience. His father had assured him Arina was the model of female piety, not the sharp-tongued creature he was currently looking at. 

“People clamor for my company at court, you know,” Eris said, unsure why he was bothering.

She smothered a smile. “Go bother them, then.”

“Maybe I will,” he bit back, annoyed.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

Arina merely waved him off, leaving Eris outraged as he stomped out of her room. He had half a mind to go complain to her father, if only to bring Arina into line. And then what, he wondered? Would she like him more or would it make her hate him more than she already did? Eris considered if he cared for just a moment.

And decided that he did care.

And he’d take her as she was.

#eris vanserra #the smut doesnt happen until chapter 4 #i am showing so much restraint

[leilanising-vault-of-knowledge]

Here it is (finally) the reference sheet for my au, "It's a Complicated Equation".

Plot

While this au is pretty similar to the original timelines, there are several noticable differences that sets it apart. Unlike other aus, events took place in such a way that the apocalypse never occurred. Meaning that the turtles were never traumatized, nor ever met Casey Jones.

Another difference is that Lou Jitsu never raised the children. Being a superstar for all his life, Lou Jitsu just didn't want or have what it took to be a parent. At a young age, the Turtle tots were just dumped somewhere in a rain soaked cardboard box, while Lou Jitsu set out to find new fortune and glory in the Hidden City.

(Still a work in progress. Im not going to give everything away just yet :3)

Character Bios

Donnie: Medical special needs child. Literally lost an arm in a fight or something, and now doesn't go on missions anymore with the bros. He does make inventions to help his siblings tho, and is actually best buddies with Kendra (they met at April's school when they were a lot younger, and ended up bonding over their shared favorite color, Purple, and their higher brain power. These two will literally kill for each other, lol). Even if he doesn't show it, Donnie actually wants to be hugged and/or loved and appreciated, he just doesn't know how to ask for it. He has a bad(?) habit of imprinting on parent aged adults. When he's attached to someone, he will do anything to make them like him.

Mikey: Sweet innocent child/master of psychological manipulation. Ever since he discovered his mystic powers, he has had a very good understanding and control over them. Donnie created him a pair of gloves to protect his hands while using his powers. They also limit and measure the amount of energy he is using, so that he doesn't use too much, or hurt himself. Lastly, they carry sedatives in the case that Mikey loses control and needs to be stopped. Mikey is loved by all his siblings. But he can be a real gremlin when he wants to, knowing that he can get away with it.

Leo: Due to the way this universe happened, the events leading up to the krang invasion happened in such a way that the key was lost, and never recovered. Meaning that Leo never had to really mature and take it leadership. Unlike many other poor Leonardos, Leo is able to be his carefree, joking, self-confident little self. He takes his big brother role seriously, being lovingly protective, and annoying, to his two little bros. Seriously though, he would do anything the protect the younger turtles of the group. If Mikey is hurt or sad, he's right there. If Donnie is getting picked on, he is more than willing to beat up who ever the jerk is. He loves his family with a passion.

Raph: When they were just children, Lou Jitsu ended up abandoning them, deciding the job of parenting was too much for a recently mutated actor. Besides, there was still glory to get in this new Hidden City. This forced Raph to take up the role of caretaker and parent at a very young age. He has successfully raised his three siblings all on his own, and although they still see him as their brother, the other turtles affectionately refer to him as 'Mama Raph'.

@tmntaucompetition

#tmnt #tmnt donatello #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt oc #rottmnt #tmnt mikey #tmnt leonardo #tmnt fanart #tmnt raphael #tmnt au #teenage mutant ninja turtles

[malice-ov-mercy]

Dangerous - Part 2

Part 1 here

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader

Content warning: 18+!, implied criminal organization, violence, details of a killing, fingering, oral (female receiving),

A/N: I’m still trying to work out content warning tags so if I missed something that should be tagged, please let me know! Also, this is the first time I’ve written anything smutty in…… I couldn’t tell you how long. So please forgive me if it’s horribly written. I tried my damnedest. I was determined to get that ending bit in this. Also I’m not sure how many parts this is going to be. It was originally gonna be just a oneshot, but now I wanna make it a thing so, we’ll see how long it ends up being!

Word count: 3k

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Noah had your bra half unfastened when his office phone rang. He tried to ignore it and focus on the much more important matter in his hands, but this was the third time it’s gone off. Whatever it was had to have been urgent. He reluctantly let his hands fall away and broke your heated kiss with a sigh. He didn’t want to look at you. He didn’t want to see your face because he knew he’d forget all about the phone again.

The gentle touch of your hands on his forced him to look at you. There was nothing but understanding and love in your eyes and the smile that he’d kill for. The smile that Noah would destroy his illicit empire for.

“You should probably take that.”

He sighs again and kisses your forehead. “You’re probably right. I’m sorry. I cleared my schedule but...”

“Duty calls.” You tease.

Noah laces your fingers together, dragging you behind him to his desk.

Do me a favor?” He glances back at you. “Finish taking your bra off.”

He chuckles at your salute. He lets go of your hand and plops down in his seat. You reach behind your back and finish removing your bra, dropping it on the floor at the front of his desk. He gives you an approving look when you flash him before answering his phone.

You had a vague grasp on what Noah did for a living. He’s never explicitly told you, and frankly you liked it that way. The less you knew the better. What little you did know left you constantly worried about him. There was always that risk he wouldn’t come back. He made you many promises and always followed through—but he never promised you to make it back safe, let alone alive. Every time you asked, you were always told “You know I can’t promise that”, or met with a sad apologetic smile. Noah hugged you a little longer and kissed you harder whenever he had to leave. His job was unpredictable after all, no matter how well prepared and to the second their plans were.

He told you all the time that he’d “slow down” and “leave the life” when he’d managed enough fortune and assets. You’ve seen his bank account and other riches. He was well beyond that. That man had everything.

If you were honest, you knew he’d never fully quit. He enjoyed it too much—though he says otherwise. You saw the way his face lit up every time he got a new toy. There was no mistaking that his smile could be seen from space when he was told that one guy had “suddenly” disappeared, when in reality, his head was crushed between Noah’s boot and the curb. A man doesn’t have that type of giddy, powerful, crazed look on his face if he doesn’t enjoy his work.

You had accidentally been around for that job. The two of you were on a date somewhere in Europe. He tried to one up Noah with a sneak attack and horrifically failed. Noah easily disarmed him and tousled the man to the ground. The sound of his skull cracking and splitting open against the pavement made you sick to your stomach. But how joyous and fulfilled Noah looked made your heart swell. Adrenaline can be a hell of an aphrodisiac.

-

“Oh he has, has he?” Noah said into his phone. The setting sun in the distance cast an orangey gold glow on Noah’s face, and you could see his sinister smile in all its glory. He pressed his boot further down on the man's skull, wondering just how much more force it would take to render his brains to mush.

You could count the number of times you had the unfortunate experience of seeing him work up close. This was the second time. It comes with the territory, you told yourself as you watched your sweet, loving Noah kill a man in cold blood. You hated what you witnessed, but damn if the self satisfied grin and elation radiating off of Noah didn’t make you want to rip him apart and devour him whole.

The breeze caught his now open button down. You shivered, staring at him and the way the fabric flowed around him. He forgot to put on his tank top. Noah noticed you shiver and shrugged off his shirt, handing it to you with a much kinder and soft smile. He looked back down to the person beneath his boot, darkness immediately returning to his eyes. The way the sunset’s light caught his tattoos and reflected off the chain you bought him earlier that day sent another chill down your spine.

“How unfortunate. I suppose he and I will have to reschedule then. Of course, thank you. Bye.” Noah shoved his phone in his pocket. “You hear that man? Something came up and we couldn’t have our meeting.”

He chuckled, then stomped his boot into the man’s skull once more. The man was dead the first time Noah curb stomped him. That one was just for good measure—or because he just wanted to. Noah gave him one more boot, this time directly to his face. You grimaced hearing the undeniable sound of a broken bone. If you had to guess, it was probably a shattered nose.

“Sneaky fucking bastards,” Noah spat—literally. He harshly used the lifeless body as a boot cleaner. He gave it one last disgusted look before turning his attention back to you.

His hand cupped the back of your neck gently.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft. You could see concern on his face. You nodded. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him, fingernails digging into his skin. He hissed, pushing you slightly away. There was another breeze. This time Noah shuddered, suddenly aware that he was shirtless.

“Ya know, I have a few ideas that could warm you up,” you teased, hooking your fingers just barely inside the waistband of his pants, “you’ll have to wait ‘til we’re back at the rental though.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as Noah threaded his hands in your hair, carefully tilting your head back so your neck was fully accessible to him.

“Is that so?” He husked against your throat, stealing any reply you could speak.

His lips closed around your skin. One of his hands started trailing down your back. It stopped at your hip. You wriggled your fingers a little deeper into his waistband and gripped it, pulling his lower half closer to you. You could feel a growing erection. Noah dragged his hand lower until he reached the hem of your dress. He pushed the fabric up and slowly brought his hand to your center. Your breath hitched as he started to trail a finger over your panties.

“I wonder just how wet you are beneath these.”

He licks up your neck to your jaw, then follows the trail back down with kisses. Noah pulls your hair ever so slightly and slips his hand into your panties. His fingers delicately glide past your clit to your entrance, then back again. You can’t help the whimper you let out when he removes his hand. You open your eyes as he pushes your head forward. He locks eyes with you.

“You’re soaked,” Noah rasped. He brings his fingers to his mouth. He closed his eyes as he sticks them inside and sucks them clean.

The satisfied sigh he makes almost tempts you to rip his pants off his body. He opens his eyes and stares right at you again. His hand comes to grasp your jaw. You can feel the saliva on his fingers. His lips hover yours. You can vaguely smell yourself on his breath.

“What I wouldn’t give to ravage you right now, (Y/N).”

His words send a shiver through you. He smiles, letting go of your jaw. He starts sliding his hand down, stopping at your breasts. He gives them a good squeeze. His grip on your hair tightens when he other hand reaches the bottom of your dress again. He bunches the fabric of your dress much higher this time. Your bottom half is completely exposed. The length of his shirt is the only thing keeping the world from seeing the backside of your panties.

“How much do you care for this set?” He asked, gripping the waistband tightly, “Would you care if I—“

Before he even gave you time to respond, he ripped them clean off. You gasped and he chuckled amused.

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy you more. Hopefully they’ll be made better.”

Noah then started teasing your clit. The grip you had on his pants tightened. Your knuckles turned white. You couldn’t pull him any closer, but you still tried. His fingers stilled their movements briefly before gliding down. He slipped two deep inside you.

“Oh, god,” you moaned loudly, gasping for breath as he slowly started pumping.

“I’m not God, baby,” Noah pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “But you certainly make me feel like one.”

-

“Yes Cecelia, what is it?”

Noah’s irritated voice pulled you from the memory.

“Am I busy? Yes I’m fucking busy. I’m trying to spend some much needed time with my girlfriend uninterrupted. I cleared my schedule for a reason, you know.”

You watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, and I told Jolly to fucking deal with it, so why are— well can’t Folio or— for fucks sake. Do they at least know the new route?“

He sighed heavily, defeat heavy on his shoulders.

“Well fuck. Tell them to do what they can. I’ll… try and brainstorm something later. I’m not changing my plans, so unless it’s a dire situation, don’t call again. That’s fine. Thank you Cecelia.”

Noah ends the call and groans. His head droops until it’s against his desk. Your heart aches seeing him so upset.

“(Y/N), babe, can you come here?”

You smile warmly, pulling yourself away from the cityscape and walk towards him. He sounded disappointed. You scoot his chair over so you can hop up on his desk right in front of him. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around your hips and settles his head in your lap. He sighs contently when you start running your fingers through his hair. You giggle as he gives you an awkward squeeze.

“I love you so much.”

Noah looks up at you, his chin diggin into one of your thighs. He was pouting.

“I love you too, Noah. Is everything okay?”

You smiled sweetly at him, cupping his cheek with your left hand. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. Noah stayed like for a few minutes, just soaking up the comfort of your soft touch. He hummed lightly when you stroked the top of his cheek. How this man could be such a violent and destructive creature baffled you sometimes.

When he opened his eyes and looked in yours, you were met with an overwhelming sense of adoration and love.

“What?” You asked softly.

“Hm, nothing,” he replied. He kissed the palm of your hand and grabbed it.

Noah leaned back into his chair. His grip on your hand was gentle. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, lingering on your ring finger. His eyes were glued on your hands.

“You know,” he spoke, bringing your hand to his mouth. He placed a feather light kiss across your knuckles, then a specific one to your ring finger. “We should think about getting you a nice ring.”

He intertwines your fingers as he moves closer to you. He lets go of your hand and spreads your legs just enough so he’s sitting right in the middle.

“Noah Sebastian. Are you asking me to marry you?”

You try to cross your legs, but Noah stops you. He places both hands on your knees and gives them a reassuring squeeze.

“Not officially. This isn’t a proposal.” He slides his hands down to caress your calves. “More of me throwing the idea out there. If you’re interested or not.”

You searched his face. His expression is serious. There’s an uncertainty behind his eyes. It pulled at your heart strings. Noah meant the world to you. You would do anything for him, and you knew he’d do the same. You cupped his face and smiled.

“Proposal or not, yes. I’d love to marry you.”

You’d never seen Noah grin so widely before. He turns his head to kiss your palm again. His hands move back up to your thighs and gives them a gentle squeeze.

“You’re gonna make such a beautiful bride.”

His words make you blush. He kisses the skin just above both your knees. Instinctively, you spread your legs a little wider.

“Oh?” Noah says, his tone playful. He wastes no time slipping his hands under your skirt, fingers massaging your thighs as they go high and higher. You feel him tug at the waistband of your thong. You shimmy so he can pull it off. There’s a mischievous look on his face. The light blue lace garment dangles from his index finger.

“Is this the set I bought you in Spain?”

Spain. That’s where you were. He drapes your underwear over the back of his chair. His hands come back to your legs.

“Why don’t you lay back for me?”

You do as he requests. You committed his office ceiling to memory long ago.

“That’s my girl.”

His breath was warm against your ankle, making you shudder. He softly peppered kisses up the length of your leg. When he got to your thigh, he nipped harshly. Each bite was followed by a tender kiss.

“You know,” Noah started, “It took every ounce of control I had that day,” you tensed as his lips graced your pussy, “to not take you right then and there.”

You moaned loudly when he licked into you. His tongue swirled and flicked your clit. Noah’s arms came up around your legs and pulled you closer, fingers digging into the flesh where your hips met your legs. You felt and heard him groan against you when his tongue dipped into your entrance. He lapped at everything you could give. He was relentless. You felt pressure building in your abdomen.

“Noah…”

His name fell breathlessly from your lips. His mouth moved back to your clit. He sucked and tongued the sensitive bud. Your back arched off the desk as one of his fingers easily slid inside of you. He pumped a few times, giving you time to adjust before sliding another digit inside. He curled them, going deeper and deeper until he found what he was looking for. Your mind went blank when he hit the spot. Your body shook as you came undone around his fingers.

Noah didn’t stop when he removed his fingers. His mouth stayed planted around your pussy. You writhed beneath him, gasping for air. He slurped every last drop your body could give him. You felt around for the top his head, pushing his face further into you when you found it. Your fingers gripped his hair and yanked hard. He groaned. You yanked again, getting a much deeper and louder moan from him. Noah pulled another orgasm from you. You tried to close your legs around his head, but his hand held your thighs firmly open. He kept his tongue and mouth buried until you physically pulled him away from you. You know he would keep going until he quite literally devoured you.

He placed a few tender kisses to your pussy before leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. You laid on his desk, still fully on display for him, and tried to catch your breath. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he wasn’t soaking up the sight of you splayed out before him. He loved admiring his work. You heard him shuffling around in various drawers.

“Ah ha!” He said triumphantly. You heard the familiar sound of Noah’s Polaroid camera snap a picture followed by the flash.

You threw an arm over your eyes and laughed. “Seriously?”

“What?” Noah said. “I didn’t get one in Spain.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could see him. He shook the picture and smiled innocently at you.

“We need more pictures of you in the album.”

Noah chuckled. “So start taking some.” He leaned down to peck your cheek. He looked at the picture in his hand. His smile spread ear to ear as he proudly showed it to you. You could make out some faint marks on your thigh from his bites. There was a sheen around your pussy, presumably your wetness or Noah’s saliva or a mix of both.

“That’s quite the photo,” you quipped, laying back down. Noah set the picture off to the side somewhere. He placed his arms on either side of you, leaning down enough so that you could wrap your arms around his neck. You smiled up at him and hooked your legs around him. He quirked a brow. Your hands trailed down to the collar of his shirt. Noah let you tug him down until you were face to face. You licked his bottom lip. His mouth parted.

“I’m hungry,” you whispered, crashing your lips to his.

He moaned softly. You could taste yourself on his breath. He loved kissing you after eating you out. It was one of his favourite things to do. You pulled his collar, urging him closer. Noah happily let you take lead. He shifted so his forearms were flat against the desk. His chest was now pressed to yours. His hands snaked their way into your hair. Your tongue slid into his mouth, begging to taste more of him and you. You sighed when one of his hands slipped under your shirt and cupped your breast. Noah took your bottom lip between his teeth. You moaned then returned the favour. He thrust his hips against you. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes were saturated with need.

“Fuck, I need you so fucking bad.” He whined.

You took a hand and placed it at the back of his head, bringing his face to the crook of your neck so you could whisper in his ear.

“Then take me.”

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #dangerous

[drsugarsweet]

Holding On To Smoke

Haunted Armor!Polnareff x Reader

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Synopsis: Through a stroke of good fortune, you have been placed in charge of an antique home. The former owners only asked that you kept the relics inside, and you agreed. If only they had mentioned that some of the relics aren't as lifeless as they initially seemed...

TW: Implied character death (not reader’s) Note: reader is GN, no pronouns aside from 'you' are used.

Masterlist ☆。*。☆。

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A/N: Polnareff is SUCH a sad grieving beast, this only felt appropriate for him.

The home that you've come to enjoy for so many months is old, much older than you. It's full of items you're scared to touch for fear of shattering their delicate nature, of spiderwebs that look too beautiful to break and rooms that you haven't even stepped foot into. There simply isn't enough time or motivation for you to cover all of that ground, and yet…

And yet you notice small oddities that you can't fully explain away. There's odd clanking in the halls that sounds far too consistent to be the pipes. After all, they only rattle when you draw water from them. The rooms you frequent are miraculously free of dust even though you haven't had the time to drag out the duster and rags yourself. It’s hard to chalk up the cold and pointed breezes as a simple draft, and you swear you’ve seen something glowing out of the corner of your eye more than once - only to disappear when you actually look at it.

Oh, and you can’t ignore the massive elephant in the room.

More specifically, the massive suit of armor.

Upon first entering the house, it looked like an odd decoration but hardly one you could complain about. Old houses have weird decorations, right? It made you feel like you were walking into a murder mystery set but your attention was so set on moving in that you didn’t think much of it. It looked regal and mysterious enough to make you ponder over its relevance though. The original owners never mentioned it, did they? There’s no plaque to reveal who may have donned it, who it may have shielded or when. You shrug and decide you’ll research it at a later date.

That later date keeps getting pushed further and further back however. The mysterious old house has its fair share of secrets to keep you distracted - a library packed with dusty old books, a kitchen full of secret panels, not to mention the many, many nooks and crannies you weren’t told of. The only times you ponder about the armor again is when you pass its dulled surfaces in the hallway. It isn’t until you finally decide that a heavy cleaning of the home is in order lest your lungs fill with dust bunnies that the armor finally has your full attention.

How does one clean a suit of armor? You’re not sure. I’s not like it’s been in any books that you’ve read before. A wet rag should at least help with removing the dirt and dust, and you assume that the kind of polish used on metal surfaces in your kitchen could work. It’s a large suit and you know you’ll have your work cut out for you, but something draws you in despite the eeriness of the relic. It feels strange. It feels… Melancholic , somehow. Maybe you’re too wrapped up in the idea that this once belonged to someone, that someone could have lived, breathed, died in those iron plates. Maybe it’s the way the chestplate and helmet have engravings of broken hearts on them that tug at your own heartstrings. Whatever the reason, you feel like it’s your obligation to give this old thing one last hurrah in the way of cleaning it up.

As the rag glides across the faded surface and carries away the countless layers of grime, you start to see the former glory restored. The armor truly does look uncared for, though you aren’t surprised given the state of the house. It only spurs you on as more of that gleaming silver comes to light. There’s so many small details to pay heed to; engravings of hearts and chariots must be carefully detailed, and the sections of overlapping plates require a special amount of focus. At the very least there isn’t any corruption or rusting. It takes hours to clean with the occasional break for refreshments in-between, but pulling away from the now clear (albeit dull) suit sends a wave of relief through you. The low evening sunlight streaking through the stained glass windows of the foyer reflects in a beautiful kaleidoscope on the iron. For just a breath, a brief moment… You could almost swear that the suit of armor is glowing.

The moment passes as the clouds of kicked up dust finally force you to sneeze, and when you look at the armor again the glow is gone. It must have been a trick of the light. With that, you nod and set aside the polish to be done the next day. Perhaps the sheer amount of time or the curiosity that you’ve poured into the armor play a role in why you suddenly feel a sense of longing and connection towards the suit, almost as though you’re leaving an old friend. It’s odd, but you shrug the thoughts away and retire to your room for the evening. The next day will surely be brighter.

Downstairs, the darkness of the dusk is broken by a soft glow.

Weeks pass after your restoration of the armor. The oddities start as subtle movements at first. A hand shifts slightly or the helmet seems to perk in the direction of your favorite armchair; the dust settled around the suit’s base is disturbed, or is it just your imagination? As the house becomes cleaner in more miniscule ways, even that starts to make you wonder if it’s all in your head. You only start to think something is up when you come home from work to find the armor set at the foot of the stairs to the second floor, its gauntlets set against the scabbard of its rapier. It’s not like the suit froze when you entered - you’re sure you would’ve heard the clanking, and it’s just a suit, right? If you weren’t constantly swamped with work you’d almost be afraid of the potential haunting. You know it isn’t some mischievous intruder breaking in just to mess with you; the doors and windows are always the same as they were, and it’s not like anything is missing. There aren’t handbooks on how to deal with haunted houses like this and so you stand in the house’s entranceway, eyes glued to the relic posed mere feet away.

It feels like an eternity that you wait with bated breath for something to happen. When it does, there is no loud scream or rush of metal and pain; no ghastly beasts lunge for your throat, and as you stand gaping like a fish out of water, you realize that the movement of the armor is almost unnoticeable at first glance.

The visor of the helmet minutely tilts towards you and you know for a fact that gauntleted fingers twitch at the scabbard’s handle. The gig is up. You take one step back, and the armor jerks to face you further. Another step, and the helmet is facing you fully, its hand never leaving the hilt of the razor sharp rapier. The door is closed and solid against your back and you’re certain that this is where you will die.

The clanging of metal grows closer and closer with each step of the suit of armor. Even behind your eyelids - when did they close? - you can’t miss the icy blue glow painting the backs of your eyelids in dim light. Your eyes peel open just enough to witness the armor come to a still before you in its pale glowing glory. The finger guards on the scabbard have lifted away and now the suit stands before you motionless yet again, its gauntlets stiffly held at its side. The icy terror that initially held you in its grasp melts into mute confusion and unease. Why isn’t it attacking you? What could you have done to inspire this thing’s movement? Or…

Has it always been on the move?

Your racing thoughts are interrupted by another sudden jump from the suit of armor, but this one catches you even more off-guard. In one quick and jerky movement, the suit tumbles down onto one iron poleyn, its other knee bent as it bows its helmet before you. You have no idea what to say, what to do as the massive suit freezes yet again. There’s a moving set of armor in front of you. Holy shit , there’s haunted armor in your house.

For a minute, the two of you stay there in frozen time. The armor doesn’t move but it glows and pulsates with faint blue light. You don’t move aside from the slowing rise and fall of your chest. There’s a tension so palpable in the air that it surely could be cut through like butter with a hot knife, but you have no idea what to do or say to your unexpected housemate.

The first noise to break the room isn’t from you. It starts out so quietly that the rush of blood in your ears drowns it out. Slowly and drenched in uncertainty, a noise no louder than a whisper seems to fill the room. There’s a pause, and then the noise again, and again, growing louder with each confused blink it draws from you. The moment that it grows loud enough to register properly to your ears is the moment that you realize that it’s a voice echoing around you. The voice is hoarse and strangely hollow, but it sounds almost like a man. It echoes again from the suit of armor and you realize that it is speaking to you .

“Please… Give me an order.”

The stunned silence plaguing your voice is hard to break. Break it you do, but only because the tide of questions thrashing against your skull threatens to consume you.

“Who are you?”

Perhaps the right question would be who it - he - was. You begin to regret not looking up the source of the armor sooner. The voice goes silent and the glow swirls in a mesmerizing miasma of dull silver and ice. Whatever haunts this armor seems to form the strongest beneath its chestplate and helmet, and for the briefest of moments you wonder what you would see beneath the visor. As though it can sense your innate curiosity amidst the waves of confusion and fear, the being raises its helmet a fraction as though it were looking at you. The feeling of eyes becomes strong and yet oh so familiar.

“I am Jean Pierre Polnareff. You have laid claim to this land. I pledge my loyalty to you, to protect you and honor your every word.” The helmet drops again and the regal being donned in iron waits ever so patiently for your words. With its hand on its scabbard and that plasmic echo fading in and out like a heartbeat, it truly bears the visage of a noble warrior. 

Okay, what the hell are you supposed to do about this? 

There’s a fucking ghost knight in your house.

After a very rational and intense moment of thinking on the matter, you do the only thing that sounds right when confronted with such a ghostly specter. It doesn’t matter that it hasn’t made a move to harm you. You reach behind you, feeling around until you can grab the doorknob to the front entrance. You throw open the heavy door before hauling ass into the chilly night air, refusing to look back once lest the point of a rapier be the last thing you see.

You’ll find a hotel or stay with a friend for now. There’s no way in hell that you’re going back to your house, no way that you’re reenacting some stupid horror movie scene.

You go back to the house two days later.

Maybe it’s the twinge of pain in your shoulder and neck from sleeping on an uncomfortable futon. Maybe it’s the reminiscing that you’ve had time to do on the whole matter. You’ve never felt unsafe in the house; melancholy, sure, pensive if you stood in the right spot. You never felt afraid though, so why is the memory of the one that called himself Polnareff lingering in your mind?

The old home looms over you as the gray skies threaten to douse you in rain. Despite the being that you know lurks inside, the building itself doesn’t feel ominous. It feels like a rundown old manor and you can’t come up with a good reason to avoid going in any longer. The stone steps are slick beneath your shoes and with a mighty groan, the door swings forward into the foyer.

You aren’t really sure what you expected. Images of torn tapestries and broken mirrors came to your mind at first, like a raging beast rampaging in a bout of anger. The light of the day floods the foyer, and you breathe a sigh of relief to see that there is no such damage. As a matter of fact… There is no sign of the suit of armor at all. It isn’t at its base in the middle of the foyer. You know you should be on high alert, but the lack of surprises lulls you ever so slightly.

It feels silly to call out for another person in your own house, so you decide to take your chances and look around instead.

The den is free of the suit. You find yourself oddly disappointed.

The kitchen likewise lacks any spectral beings, and so too does the rest of the first story.

The memory of the first time that you saw the armor moving towards the staircase comes to mind, and your eyes travel up and along the mahogany banister towards the silent second story. If there were anywhere that your unassuming houseguest would be, you have a strong suspicion of its intended destination.

The doors to the library creak open as you peer inside and to your unexpected relief, a flash of iron catches your eyes. You push further in to be greeted by the broad, shining form of the suit of armor. Its helmet has tilted slightly back as though to acknowledge you but it has not moved. That glow remains but it is more dull than last time, the colors barely touching the dusty books and desk it stands in front of. That acknowledgment is all that you need and you take a deep breath of the stale air.

“I’m… Sorry. Sorry for how I acted last time. I wasn’t expecting you and I was scared, so I ran.” It’s an apology you never felt that you would make, but it feels wrong to leave things as they were. This thing has likely been here longer than you have been alive; the aura of sadness and mournful longing around it tinges your heart in a way you never expected.

The armor turns to look at you further with a set of clangs and you catch a glimpse of what its broad form was hiding. You haven’t had time to get a good look at the library beneath all of the blankets of dust, but the crest hanging on the wall is one you don’t recognize. The symbols of hearts and horse-drawn chariots bear a striking resemblance to the engravings on the knight’s armor. You startle as you realize that the very same insignia was on the paperwork that you signed to properly take ownership of this house.

The suit turns fully to face you and you swallow down your nerves. This could either go really well or really poorly based on how good you are at offending ghosts.

Its visor tilts to one side, then the other. It takes a step forward, and this time you stay where you are willingly rather than freezing in fear. Another step is taken. Another. By the time that your distorted face is reflected in the large breastplate of the armor, you realize just how cold the room has gotten around you. That visor leans down to look at you and you look up into it as icy tendrils of mist curl from beneath the edges. When the gauntlets reach up and towards you, it’s a miracle that you don’t feel fear. All that you feel is the strong wave of melancholy that you first felt upon stepping into this house, and you wonder just what this soul has suffered to exude such strong feelings of sadness.

The gauntlets do not reach for you, though they do briefly cradle your own hands in chilled metal before continuing upwards. The guarded fingers come to rest at the edges of the visor. Tendrils of ghostly energy curl at the iron knuckles, and it freezes like that. It’s as though it’s waiting for your order. With a flashback to the last meeting, you blink away crystals of iced tears that you didn’t even realize had appeared and answer its unspoken question.

“Show me your face. I want to see the knight of this house.”

You aren’t sure what to expect. There are no rules that could have prepared you, no pictures or carvings or films. The glide of the visor up and into the iron helmet is silent as it reflects the light. Whoever this man was, he is nothing like you expect, and that’s a pity because he is refined and elegant and somber in the way that only a lost soul can be.

Your hand shakes as you reach towards the visor. Crystals of ice gather on your fingertips as your eyes roam over the misty face of the man that once was. Sad eyes like faded seaglass stand out amidst shadows of sharp cheekbones and shroud-like silver hair that dances like spider silk in the wind. He speaks of tragedy and heartbreak without saying a word, and the brush of your fingers on the frigid iron of his helmet finally breaks what fear remains in your heart. 

“You’ll protect me?” The words are barely a whisper, but you don’t have it in you to speak any louder.

The ghost - Polnareff - nods. Somber as he may be, you swear that the corner of his lips turns up for just a moment. That air of melancholy lifts ever so slightly from your heart, the glow of the being before you so much more vivid than before.

“I swear to you, as is my purpose. You’ll never be alone.”

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #Doc's Fics #jean pierre polnareff #jjba x reader #monster au #teratophillia #stardust crusaders #jjba polnareff #sfw #polnareff x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader

[trans-cuchulainn]

hello and welcome to the niche corner

hello i'm néide and this is my blog, which mostly consists of me being grumpy about niche things. i have multiple degrees in medieval irish literature and while sometimes i use these to be vaguely educational, more often i use them to write incredibly specific fic about characters nobody else cares about, and this fic can be found on ao3 (for logged-in users)

so this is a guide to my incredibly specific fanfiction, which i feel also gives a reasonably good introduction to the kind of thing i'm likely to be yelling about on this blog

i am reliably informed that you don't actually need to know anything about the source material to have fun with these fics (or suffer from the angst), but also they can be more fun if you do. some have bibliographies/refs/explanations so i also know a few people have used them as a way to get started with medieval Irish lit which will never not be extremely funny to me

current WIP: chasing someone else's dream (16k, WIP): a cú chulainn/láeg reincarnation fic. they have been reincarnated, not for the first time. they've also been cursed, and thus, unlike in every life before this one, they've never met. ngl this fic contains some of the best prose i ever wrote, please read it

group chats of the ulster cycle, or, the in loco parentis series

a modern AU of the ulster cycle. sort of a college AU, turned into a ballet AU halfway through. consists of:

in loco parentis (135k, complete): my magnum opus. cú chulainn and láeg are university flatmates; group chats featuring all your favourite ulster cycle characters and also some you probably never gave a shit about; cú chulainn as a tiny trans ballet dancer and ferdia as his pas de deux partner; baking; everybody hating on conchobar; nobody dies; way more feelings about both ballet and shostakovich than anybody was expecting, including me; and much more. comes with explanatory notes / bibliography because i'm just Like That

getting the dee (9k, in progress/abandoned): a prequel to ILP, sort of a longes mac nuislenn fic except nobody dies and there are more sex toys. naoise/deirdre with guest appearances from conall. one day i'll go back to this but also i'm a coward

valentáin's day (4k oneshot, complete): a prequel to ILP, featuring láeg and cormac in the pub on valentine's day making fun of all their friends in relationships. they make out, fortunately their friendship survives the experience.

and when you move, i move (2.5k oneshot, complete): a sequel to ILP. just a horny lil cú chulainn/ferdia oneshot set a few months after ILP wraps up.

miscellaneous ulster cycle oneshots

i will be honest, most of these are sad fics of oidheadh con culainn ("the death of cú chulainn") because i just love writing angst, but there's a couple of others in there

to walk this world alone (6k): extremely niche fic featuring láeg after cú chulainn's death. some otherworldly happenings. sad but not as sad as it was originally going to be.

counterweight (3k): cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. this one's pretty sad too.

dindsenchas (3.5k): missing scenes between cú chulainn and láeg during táin bó cúailnge. narrated by the landscape of ulster and addressed in second person to cú chulainn himself because the best sex scenes are the ones narrated by a tree.

in one dwelling place (2k): láeg/cú chulainn/emer. vaguely smutty, vaguely fluffy.

we'll say goodbye, today (2k): cú chulainn and láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. big sad hours.

glorious as the sunrise (3k): this is just angst. cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn again. not particularly shippy but they love each other very much.

a marriage of inconvenience (3k): modern AU. cú chulainn wants to marry emer but unfortunately never bothered to get divorced after he married láeg for househunting purposes. a very silly fic.

of grief and glory (1.7k): cú chulainn deals with the aftermath of táin bó cúailnge, especially fer diad's death. more sad times lol.

flight risk (2.3k): teenage cú chulainn and láeg steal a spaceship. they get caught. fun scifi AU.

other medieval lit fics (non ulster cycle)

patron saint of toasties (2.5k): finn cycle fic. oisín took time out of uni to travel and now all his friends have graduated and he's lonely enough to text the christian union's "text a toastie" hotline. which is how he meets patrick. very silly modern AU gen fic mostly taking the piss out of st patrick

two birds of a feather (2.8k): yonec (marie de france) | togail bruidne da derga crossover fic. bird dad support group. conaire and yonec hang out and bond over their dads having maybe been birds. stupidest thing i ever wrote and i adore it.

quiver and shake (1.8k): fourth branch of the mabinogi fic. gwydion and gilfaethwy's special brotherly bonding time. canon typical content warnings apply.

other

absent thee from felicity (11k, WIP): hamlet | romeo & juliet crossover modern AU in which horatio and benvolio attempt to deal with the aftermath of their respective tragedies. sad at first, will gradually get sillier. haven't updated in a couple of years but that doesn't mean it's permanently abandoned, i'm just busy

if you've never read any of my fics before and are wondering where to start, i firmly believe the reincarnation fic (current WIP) is a good one because it has a solid mix of angst, shenanigans, and weird fuckery, so you can experience the tonal whiplash of the rest of my fics all in one place! but it is a WIP and i make zero promises about upload schedule, it happens when it happens, so not so good if you're impatient haha. plenty of others to get you started though

#my fic #medieval irish #ulster cycle

[sapphire-drawings]

Hey Sapphire! In your adult Webber/ Wendy au, could you please describe and talk about Wendy’s statues. Because, not all the survivors know her, and that is like the way they see her beyond the radio’s voice. And, I imagine, she portrays herself different from how Maxwell portrays herself, because she isn’t seeking fame and its greatness. Also, your Au is great, and I pretend to write about it, so, do you have any problems if I post it?

Quick-ish reply cuz you got me thinking and the truth is... I've no idea what's Wendy's role in the Au

But first

Anyone's free to write, to draw or whatever they please with this Au. I'm not the owner of the originals, this is just something I came up with for funsies and obsession

Just don't put things in my mouth for "what's canon and what's not" and tag me so I can see it!! ^^

Although if I like someone's idea I'll ask to make it canon lmao

Now get ready for some random nonsense.

Or don't read it and just enjoy the drawing, whatever please your eyes

The original idea was for her to be a magician just like canon Maxwell and Abigail would be her assistant. Carter Sisters' magic show or something

But my Au is weird and not planned at all

Abby is also Jack and Will's mother (weird, I'm aware) so, How is she the assistant/Next-Constant-Queen and mother mourning her "dead" sister and children?? (well, Jack is the only one dead for real)

...I'll be rambling from this point forward, sorry but not really

Abby HAS to die thanks to something Wendy did

What if... Wendy's show is the medium type? She "contacts" spirits and fortune telling stuff. She's a failure until the codex appears. By this point she lost contact with the family, (hence why William and Jack don't recognize her at first glance (A simple "she looks like mom but not quite")) focusing in what the canon says, fortune and glory seeking evolving into greed.

Then Abby goes after her??? For some reason???

They reunite and Wendy is too stubborn to go back and then They cause an accident that takes Abby's life but as far as she knows it was Wendy's fault??

And her last act before everything goes down to hell is an attempt to bring her back through the codex?????

Or something different I can't think of??????????

...

...................

...Few on the only things I know is that I want Wendy to still be involved in spiritualism to decipher the Codex while baby William got into dark arts as an attempt to bring Jack back. "Why would you? that doesn't makes sense" you may think

1.- None of this makes sense so shut up. I can't think that far

2.- I want William to still being able to create shadow puppets cuz I have a comic idea where he spawns one by accident and Jack haunts it and "gains a body". Mr. Webber puts a painful stop to it to prevent any possible danger or corruption and blah blah blah-

Ssssoooooooooo yeah

Everything's a mess but I'm glad you guys are enjoying the ride

I'll update you if I ever come up with a "canon" timeline)? and what not (I won't get mad if you come up with ideas to help either.....)

#ok so how do I tag this monstrosity?? #And I still have to do other characteeeeeeeeeeeers #someone said something about Wanda swapped with Wortox and I'm also thinking hard about it #dst wendy #dst au #dst adult wendy #dst #dont starve #dont starve together #Remember all of this started for 1 ask I replied??? This is your fault All. of. you. .......... Thanks!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rollo-senpai,

First of all, I wish you a happy birthday. May it be a good time for you to reflect and improve even further.

I remember you expressing an interest in some of the books in the library during your past visit of Night Raven College. While it is indeed impossible from your current location to borrow them -- and, more importantly, return them-- I thought it appropriate to give you something along that theme.

So, here is a collection of 11 books, telling the story of the Righteous Judge, in pristine condition. I found it to be an interesting read back when I borrowed them. It is not the edition available in the library, but hopefully it will be to your taste.

On another note, I would like to compete with you in an equestrian race someday.

Give my regards to your vice-president and your aide for me.

Riddle Rosehearts.

If anyone is wondering why Riddle specifically gifted Rollo 11 books, I believe it’s because the original written version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame was contained in 11 volumes of varying lengths. Anon was most likely making a reference to that.

Anyway <3 I love writing passive aggressive dialogue... (It's not much of a fun reaction from Rollo if Riddle isn't actually there, so I decided to change the ask from a letter format to Riddle being present and speaking to him.)

"May it be a good time for you to reflect and improve even further."

Rollo pursed his lips.

Riddle was straightforward with his wishes, but there was no mistaking the underlying sternness to every syllable he strung together. After all, he had been present when the City of Flowers was burning. He and Rollo exchanged strained, knowing looks as the tower of tomes changed possession.

"Thank you for the new reading materials. I've been looking everywhere for this series," the birthday boy said, setting the books down on a nearby table.

He was just as selective with his own choice of words as Riddle was with his. The room and everything in it was glass, and he and Riddle, the occupants tiptoeing to avoid shattering any of it.

"I was not aware that you too had an appreciation for history."

"Of course I do. Learning history is vital to ensuring that we do not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors--or our own blunders," Riddle emphasized. "... I'm certainly no stranger to the concept."

Mistakes?

Rollo bristled.

He didn’t make mistakes. He was staring at one—a miscreant that had toppled his grand plans. Boiling venom rose up.

"How fortunate for you that you have access to Night Raven College's extensive archives," Rollo purred snidely. "You have ample opportunity to study its materials to reflect and improve even further."

Riddle's face collapsed into a frown. "Well! Perhaps it would do you some good to study a bit more yourself."

"Bold words coming from the man who claimed to have the equestrian abilities to outperform me--only to fall short. Now you come back challenging me a second time in hopes of regaining glory. Before making such demands of others, might I suggest partaking in the act of introspection?"

"We were neck-and-neck in dressage, and you know it!!" Riddle snapped, his cheeks heating with anger. "You were no more or less skilled than I! We stood on equal grounds. Next time, I swear to defeat you and demonstrate the strength of Night Raven College's Equestrian Club!!"

"Fufu, I would like to see you try." Rollo smirked, spreading his arms out. To the layman, it may have appeared like an invitation for a hug--but no, Riddle saw it for the taunt it truly was. "I refuse to be defeated by the likes of villains like yourself."

“Villains…!” Riddle huffed. He aggressively shook his head. “I almost feel sympathy for those in your student council. They’re blinded by whatever heavenly light they’re convinced you exude. You are nowhere close to reaching that pinnacle!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #Rollo Flamme #Riddle Rosehearts #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Rollo birthday takeover #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst

[sixofravens-reads]

re: 2023 new releases. hope you're ready for a long message because there were a lot.

hot new releases/things that were relatively popular

He Who Drowned The World, Shelley Parker Chan (Chinese mythological historical, very gay, very stabby a la Baru Cormorant. Book 2 of 2. A particular favorite of mine from this year)

Witch King, Martha Wells (New fantasy book by author of murderbot fame. I didn't actually click with this one but I'd be remiss to leave it off)

House With Good Bones, T Kingfisher (Southern gothic rose horror by the very talented Ursula Vernon)

Translation State, Ann Leckie (high sf alien horror regency romance. Wheeeeee. I had a lot of fun reading this. You can read it as a standalone, but you get deeper context if you've read the ancillary justice series, also highly recommended)

Will of the Many, James Islington (futuristic roman empire aesthetic rigged murder school. Not precisely good but appallingly catchy, I read all six hundred pages in pretty much one sitting. If you liked red rising you'll like this, if you hated red rising you will Not)

OH YEAH THE ACTUAL NEW MURDEBOT NOVEL (System Collapse)

A Power Unbound, Freya Marske (book 3 of 3, magic alt edwardian romances with murder. This is more romance proper but it's about equal with the action plot and Marske is very good. I don't think you've read these so you'd have to start at book 1)

Some Desperate Glory, Emily Tesh (The book that absolutely knocked my socks off, my pick for the best sff release of the year. I forget if I've already told you about this one)

Starling House, Alix Harrow (Southern gothic house drama. Similar feel to Ninth House or The Book of Night)

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi, Shannon Chakraborty (Divorced lady pirate adventure-drama a la Arabian Nights.)

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries, Heather Fawcett (Charming, heavily fairy tale trope themed, vaguely reminiscent of the Lady Trent books)

more obscure new releases from this year that I thought were cool, but not in the Hot New Reads You Can't Miss Because Everyone's Read Them category

Under Fortunate Stars, Ren Hutchings (sf timey wimey space shenanigans with aliens. Immensely cool premise.)

Small Miracles, Olivia Atwater (fallen angel sent to tempt a too good mortal. Extremely charming)

The King Is Dead, Naomi Libicki (vaguely persian flavored fealty romance, very heavy to the fealty. Original, thorny, and intriguing)

The Deep Sky, Yume Kitasei (What if we terribly traumatized everyone going on a generation ship by making them go to viciously competitive boarding school together and then act surprised when a murder mystery occurs. Heads up that it's more interested in the human drama than the SF worldbuilding)

The Saint of Bright Doors, Vajra Chandrasekera (early modern fantasy world anti-imperialism fever dream narrated by a cult survivor. Brilliantly written, spectacularly original, one of the best books I read this year)

Things for 2024, content warning for being (obviously) things I haven't read and thus without quality control

The Warm Hands of Ghosts, Katherine Arden

The Familiar, Leigh Bardugo

The Dead Cat Tail Assassins, P Djeli Clark

Long Live Evil, Sarah Rees Brennan

Goddess of the River, Vaishnavi Patel

The Woods All Black, Lee Mandelo

Exordia, Seth Dickinson

A Sorceress Comes To Call, T Kingfisher

Running Close To The Wind, Alexandra Rowland

Wow tumblr just lets me keep writing words. I didn't think they let me have this many in asks. Oh, and pro tip-- keep an eye out for tordotcom's most anticipated upcoming books for the first six months of 2024. They should be publishing it within the next week or so and I always add masses of books to my tbr from there.

oh holy crap, thanks!! I'll have to check these out!

thoughts on a few of em:

He Who Drowned The World - still have to read She Who Became the Sun lol but hopefully I'll get to em next year!

Witch King - Martha Wells has been recced by like All my sci-fi mutuals now lmao I REALLY gotta get into her!

House With Good Bones - THIS ONE IS ACTUALLY ON MY SHELF!! I just didn't fucking read it this year whoops. Very excited for new Kingfisher

Starling House - I was on the fence about this one since I really didn't like Once and Future Witches, but those comparisons give me hope! I'll add it to the library list!

Some Desperate Glory and Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries are 2/3 of the books published in 2023 that I actually managed to read (the 3rd is The Woman in Me lmao), I can't remember if you recc'd Some Desperate Glory, but it was SOOOOOOOO GOOD OMFG

Small Miracles - my aunt has been trying to convince me to read Atwater for quite a while, I'll have to give this one a try!

The Saint of Bright Doors - I have this one on hold!! Saw a post for it a week or so ago and it sounds absolutely delightful!

The Familiar - SO SO EXCITED for this one! I hope Bardugo is maybe...slowly....extricating herself from the Grishaverse and going to write more books not related to it... (not that they're all bad, I loved the Six of Crows duology, I'm just not into it anymore and I reeeealllly like her adult books lol)

Running Close To The Wind - oh yay new Rowland! I still haven't read her last book (the one with the guy on the cover who looked EXACTLY like my boss to the point where it became an Office Meme that [Boss] Is A Gay Romance Cover Model, still meaning to get a UK version of it but haven't yet) but I'll have to look this one up!

#seriously this is SO MANY RECS THANK YOU!!

[sleeplesssmoll]

The Poussiere: A town reclaimed by by Critters

There is a story in the stage descriptions. I summarized it and added the original text under "Keep reading." Note: the Dust mentioned in the story is this:

Once upon this time, there was a town that specialized in broom-making. The brooms were used to sweep away high concentrations of Dust and chase away Critters attracted to the Dust. However, everything changed when the youngest son of one of the workshops built a flying taxi out of scraps. He sold it and made a fortune. The town shifted its priorities. Over 253,000 vehicles were sold globally every year. However, because the town switched to manufacturing flying vehicles instead of brooms, Dust accumulated and the Critters returned. The town ignored them and focused their resources on making more profit. Eventually, the Critters grew strong enough to conquer the town. Now They live as royalty among the rubble. They took no interest in the finer things left behind and like to wear rubbish.

You can actually see the abandoned vehicles and a TRAIN trying to escape the wilds that reclaimed them.

I interpret this story as being led astray by greed and losing sight of the important things. Ignoring problems doesn't make them go away and money can't solve everything. Original text below.

LP 1 (stages are labeled LP for some reason)

This was a paradise for humans. I remember its glory was as dazzling as a sun that drops to the ground.

LP 2

A broom-making town. Brooms are made to sweep the high concentrations of Dust as well as the constant skirmishes from the critters attracted by the Dust.

LP 3

Changes always arrive out of the blue. The youngest son of the broom workshop's made a flying taxi with a pile of scraps and sold it for a whole bucket of gold coins.

LP 4

Over 253,000 vehicles leave this place every year for various destinations around the world without coming back.

LP 5

No one cares how those little monsters stuff their bellies with stolen Dust. You can see how common they are.

LP 6 (Final Stage)

Now it belongs to them. These filthy, crazy little things dropped the fancy dresses and jewelry and put on abandoned cans and tires. They are squeaking aloud, like a king and a queen.

#reverse 1999 #revserse 1999 lore #im on a critter binge

[sailor-aviator]

LIZ. I WAS WATCHING THE MUMMY AND IT HIT ME...JAKE SERESIN AS RICK O'CONNELL???? AND NOW IM WATCHING THE REST OF IT WITH JAKE IN MY MIND. ACFSGAG 😭💕 LOOKIT!!

Itty!!!!!

You are not the first person to suggest this lol When I announced Fortune & Glory, several people suggested a Mummy AU and ngl I originally thought of doing it with Bradley as Rick, but so many people have said Jake! This sparked the realization that I am, in fact, a Jake blog apparently lol At least in the eyes of the fandom. I haven’t decided if I would ever do a Mummy AU. Do people want to see it??

#answered #Liz speaks #I wouldn’t mind doing it I don’t think #at least a collection of concepts and one-shots #anyway #what do y’all think?

[magpiefngrl]

2023 Book Review

Photo Credit (original): Ed Robertson

I read 95 books this year. Here's some of what I enjoyed and what I didn't, in genre or arbitrary categories:

Fave SFF books

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (Susanna Clarke)

Spinning Silver (Naomi Novik)

All Systems Red (Martha Wells)

The Library at Mount Char (Scott Hawkins)

Mammoths at the gates (Nghi Vo)

Gideon the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir)

Amberlough (Lara Elena Donnelly)

Fab m/m romances

Seven Summer Nights (Harper Fox)

The Lodestar of Ys (Amy Rae Durreson)

The Scottish Boy (Alex de Campi)

Magician (KL Noone)

Heated Rivalry (Rachel Reid)

Also Role Model and The Long Game (Rachel Reid)

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen (KJ Charles)

The older ones

(recently published books can feel very samey after a while. The irony of these being old books but feeling like a breath of fresh air)

Tam Lin (Pamela Dean) (1991)

Swordspoint (Ellen Kushner) (1987)

Wise Children (Angela Carter) (1991)

Chronicle of a Death Foretold (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) (1981)

(more books under the cut)

Best atmosphere

The Likeness (Tana French)

The fun rereads

Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (MXTX_

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MXTX)

The King of Attolia (Megan Whalen Turner)

Empress of Salt and Fortune (Nghi Vo)

The Ruin of a Rake (Cat Sebastian)

The unexpected delight

(it's a biography, and I never anticipated feeling so engrossed in one of them)

The invention of Angela Carter (Edmund Gordon)

The one that hurts so good

Checkmate (Dorothy Dunnett)

Didn't quite love the books but adored the characters

The Dreamer Trilogy by Maggie Stiefvater (my typical experience of her stories)

The meh

Bardugo's Nikolai duology

Schwab's Darker Shades of Magic

The dreadful and my only DNF

A Taste of Gold and Iron (Alexandra Rowland)

Most bitterly disappointing

The third installment of Hall's billionaire series How to Belong with a Billionaire.

Biggest book hangover

Seven Summer Nights and Heated Rivalry

Best book boyfriend

ILYA ROZANOV

Most bonkers book

The Library at Mount Char (Scott Hawkins)

The "not sure I liked it but it'll definitely stay with me"

Some Desperate Glory (Emily Tesh)

The writing craft book that actually offered a new insight

The Heroine's Journey (Gail Carriger)

Overall, a decent year. My goal of completing series I'd started in the past and hadn't finished meant I subjected myself to some less enjoyable books, but I also read some excellent romances and fantasy novels, and I really enjoyed reading some older books, a practice I plan to continue.

#books #2023 books #year in review #2023 in review #posted early bc I'm ill and I doubt I'll finish another book before Sunday #i'm prob going to read fic or binge netflix #booklr #reading

[maid-with-sunset-in-her-hair]

Etymology of the Stark’s Names

Eddard, Ned: misspelling of Edward, a name of Anglo-Saxon origin composed by the words ēad (wealth, fortune, prosperous) and weard (guardian, protector). His name could be a reference to Edward the Confessor, patron saint of England, the monarchy of England and difficult marriages, or to Edward the Martyr.

Catelyn: a variation of the Irish name Caitlin, which derivates from Katherine and has long been associated with the Greek word katharos (pure, immaculate). Her name could be a reference to Saint Katherine, the patron saint of unmarried girls, maidens and spinsters, craftmen who work with wheels (potters, spinners, millers, knife sharpeners, mechanics), dying people and nurses, jurists and lawyers, educators in general (scholars, archivists, students and schoolchildren, philosophers, librarians and libraries), secretaries and preachers.

Robb: from Robert, a name of proto-Germanic origin composed by the words hroth (fame, glory, honour, praise, renown) and berth (bright, light, shining).

Jon: either a misspelling of John, which is the transliterated and contracted form of the Hebrew name Yehochanan (Yahweh is gracious, merciful) or a shortening of Jonathan (Yahweh has given). There are a lot of saints called John, but the most important is John the Apostle, patron of love, loyalty, friendship, writers in general (authors, scribes, editors, publishers), burn-victims, poison-victims, art-dealers, examinations, scholars and theologians. There's also a Saint Jonathan, whose attributes are bow and arrow and who represents friendship and honesty.

Sansa: most likely named after the stanza, a group of lines within a poem, usually set off from others by a blank line or indentation.

Arya: most likely named after the nymph Aria or Areia, which in Ancient Greek means "warlike." In music, an aria is a self-contained piece for one voice, with or without orchestral accompaniment. Given that all the metaphors for songs and dances being battles and wars in the series, her name could be foreshadowing some crucial role in the War for the Dawn 2.0.

Brandon, Bran: it could be a variation of the Irish name Breandán (prince, king, chieftain) or the Anglo-Saxon surname Brandon, composed by brōm (gorse shrub) and dūn (hill) or brant (deep, steep) and dūn (hill). I'm pretty sure there was a variety of gorse called the lupine, but don't quote me on that. In Old Welsh, the word Brân means "crow, little raven." It could also come from the surname Brand (sword) which derivated from the Old French word brandon (burning material to set fire).

Rickon, Rickard: Rickon is a surname which means “son of Richard.” Rickard is a variation of the name Richard, a name of proto-Germanic origin, composed by the words rīk (ruler, leader, king) and hardu (strong, brave, hardy). Maybe foreshadowing Rickon becoming King in the North? There's also a Saint Richard patron of Wessex.

Benjen: from Benjamin, an Hebrew name which means "son of the right (hand)" although it could also means "son of my days." Often used for the youngest son of a family, specially if the parents are unlikely to have more children.

Lyanna: most likely a misspelling of Eliana. In Hebrew, the name can be literally translated to “my God answered me” or “God answered my prayer.” Eliana could also come from the Late Latin name Aeliāna, the femenine form of Aeliānus (of the sun), or from the Greek name Helen or Helene. Lyanna's name was probably picked to parallel her to Elia, both victims of reproductive abuse at Rhaegar's hands, and as a reference to Helene's abduction.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #my meta #ned stark #catelyn stark #robb stark #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #bran stark #brandon stark #rickon stark #rickard stark #lyanna stark #benjen stark #anti rhaegar targaryen #elia martell