#Dusty Strings Harps

[emilystheories]

The Throne of Glass world no longer exists.

It was destroyed by the Asteri to create Midgard.

[Spoilers for Throne of Glass, ACOTAR, and Crescent City]

Many thousands of years ago, and prior to the Asteri's invasion of Midgard, there existed another civilisation. Part of this civilisation lived in a place called Parthos.

More specifically, when asked what the Crescent City world was before the Asteri's reign, Tharion noted that "ancient humans and their gods dwelled here."

An exact description of the Throne of Glass world.

Interestingly, despite the Crescent City books mentioning other continents (such as Pangera), readers are only given a map of Lunathion.

This is particularly strange, as all other SJM books have provided a full world map.

So, why would this be hidden for Crescent City...?

As such, I theorise that Midgard is actually the Throne of Glass world; hence why a full map has not yet been revealed.

Thus, I believe that following the events of Kingdom of Ash, some years later, the Asteri showed up and destroyed their world. The result of this was the creation of Midgard, and subsequently Lunathion - the world Bryce inhabits today.

The Timeline.

Evidently, this theory suggests that the timeline between the ACOTAR, CC and TOG worlds are not simultaneous, but rather that Throne of Glass occurred in the past - many thousands of years ago.

When considering this possibility, some rebut that this cannot be possible, as Aelin fell through worlds - right past Velaris and Lunathion. However, there is nothing to suggest that Aelin didn't also fall through time.

In fact, there are a multitude of hints throughout the various SJM books to suggest that time travel, or time manipulation, is indeed possible:

When the Asteri lured people into Midgard, it is said they offered a hand through "space and time."

The Harp, when used, can transport people through "space and eons." In fact, the 26th string is time itself - but what happens when a full melody is played?

Merrill straight up suggests that all of the worlds overlap - sharing the same space, but are separated by time. Almost as if it suggests that ACOTAR, CC and TOG are in the same 'world,' but manifestations of differing time periods; the past (TOG), the present (ACOTAR), and the future (CC).

Most importantly, when Bryce lands in Prythian, she starts to wonder if she had travelled in time; or, if this new world occupies a different time period (the exact concept that Merrill just suggested...)

Further, in her most recent interview, SJM was asked whether time travel would play a part in future books. SJM mysteriously replied, "no spoilers."

Thus, if this theory is correct, and Throne of Glass is indeed set in the past, then it is perhaps no coincidence that "Midgard" is the Norse name for "Earth."

And that "Terrasen" means "Old Earth."

Parthos.

As previously mentioned, a portion of the civilisation that used to inhabit Midgard (and as this theory suggests, the TOG characters) resided in an ancient city called Parthos.

As readers, we are first offered a glimpse of Parthos when Apollion takes Bryce to a "dream world" - a landscape in which the Great Library of Parthos used to be.

When in this dream world, Bryce notes that what remains of Parthos is a "DUSTY plain."

Interestingly, in the ACOTAR world, the Bone Carver mentioned that the world he (and his siblings) came from is now nothing more than "DUST drifting across a plain."

As the Bone Carver mentions this, Feyre notes that he draws three interlocking circles into the ground.

This is the exact symbol of Bryce's Archesian necklace - which is also the symbol of Parthos.

If this theory is correct, then the Bone Carver originated from Parthos - from the Throne of Glass world.

Considering the similarities between the Bone Carver and the Sin Eater (the absent God-like being in the TOG world who quite literally carved bones, and was known as the 'God of Truth')... it makes perfect sense.

However, the most telling clue of all, that connects everything together, is this;

Knowing that Parthos is referred to as a "dusty" plain, consider Rowan's words to Aelin:

"I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a FORGOTTEN WHISPER OF DUST between the stars, I will love you."

Why would the world Aelin and Rowan inhabit ever turn into a "forgotten whisper of dust"? Just like Parthos?

Because IT IS Parthos.

It is the world the Asteri destroyed to create Midgard.

Asteri Archives.

As even further proof, recall that when Bryce entered the Asteri's archive rooms at the end of CC2, she found notes on how Midgard came to be.

These notes stated that the "indigenous life was not sustainable" for the Asteri.

If this theory is correct, this suggests that the "indigenous" lives were the Throne of Glass humans, and that they did not possess enough magic (or first-light) to feed the Asteri.

We already know this is true, as it was a similar problem that the Valg previously faced.

Additionally, on the exact same page of the notes that detail the Asteri's invasion of Midgard, there is a sketch of both a wolf shifter, and a mer.

The wolf shifters and the mer are the two species confirmed to be the Throne of Glass fae.

So, it begs the question; why were the Throne of Glass fae explicitly mentioned on the Asteri's Midgard (pre-colonisation) notes...?

The Southern Continent.

If Midgard is built on the ruins of the Throne of Glass world, then I believe that Lunathion is situated on the Southern Continent (the setting of the TOG book, Tower of Dawn).

More specifically, as Lunathion is said to be modelled after an "ancient city," I believe it is modelled after the famed Southern Continent City - Antica.

In Tower of Dawn, Antica is described as a city surrounded by a wall, lined with "olive groves" and "wheat farms" bordering the city.

Lunathion is described in the exact same way:

Further, both Lunathion and Antica have "arid" climates:

Lunathion:

Antica:

And, most notably, both are surrounded by deserts; a unique geographical feature that is not prominently featured in other SJM settings.

As such, this suggests that the lost library of Parthos, is the Torre Cesme.

Perhaps the most sacred building in the entirety of the Throne of Glass world, the Torre Cesme is home to a huge library - one that is said to be the oldest.

In the present day, Jesiba Roga guards the remaining books that were once held in the library of Parthos (or, in the Torre Cesme library).

Prior to the end of CC1, Jesiba kept these books locked away in her store, Griffin Antiquities. Interestingly, a set of "glaring owl eyes" had been placed on the store to Jesiba's shop.

Owl's are the symbol of Silba, and the healers of the Torre Cesme.

Further, considering that Yrene's healing abilities are the exact same as Bryce's Starborn powers - could this explain why Jesiba looked like she had "seen a ghost" when she first beheld Bryce's Starborn light?

Such a notion makes even more sense when you consider that Hypaxia's tutor was brought back to life using necromancy, and was originally an inhabitant of Parthos.

Hypaxia states that this tutor specifically trained her in healing magic; just like the healers of the Torre Cesme.

In fact, the scene of Hypaxia removing the Kristallos venom is near identical to Yrene removing the Valg parasite from Chaol:

Lidia Cervos.

Speaking of necromancy, knowing that Hypaxia's family dabbles in such magic calls into question the identify of Lidia, Hypaxia's half-sister.

Is she Aelin Galathynius, brought back to life?

Or, perhaps she is a child of Aelin and Rowan, brought back to life?

Not only do Lidia and Aelin look near identical,

Not only is Lidia represented by flame (Aelin's power),

But her shifted form is that of a deer; that sacred animal of Terrasen. Even her last name "Cervos" is a type of female deer.

Lidia is also seen wearing a "gold ring, crowned with a square, clean-cut ruby." This is the exact description of the ring Aelin have to Rowan when they married.

Further, Ruhn also suggests that Lidia must be an Asteri, or as old as one, given the way she uses language. However, as Lidia is only 47, this makes no sense.

However, it makes perfect sense if Ruhn is actually talking to Aelin, or Aelin's child; someone who, according to this theory, existed many thousands of years ago.

(And, as a side note - given that Lidia looks like the "spitting image" of Luna, and that Luna's sacred animal is the Stag... could it be that Luna is Aelin? And that Lunathion was named after her?)

Connections.

Is it then perhaps no coincidence that one of the houses of Lunathion is the "House of Flame and Shadow." Aelin was known as the "Queen of Flame and Shadow."

In fact, Throne of Glass being the past world of Crescent City explains a plethora of connections:

The "Stag King" of Avallen.

Ruhn being named after the Ruhnn mountains.

Why so many CC places sound like TOG places (Morrah = Morath, Korinth = Orynth).

The witches worshipping the same "three-faced goddess."

Why wyrdmarks can be found everywhere (especially underwater, where some of the ruins of the "ancient civilisation" are said to lie).

It also explains the "World of Throne of Glass" book, which to this day, mysteriously remains unpublished.

According to SJM, the World of Throne of Glass is an "encyclopedia" that documents the full history of the Throne of Glass world. Written by a "grumpy librarian," SJM stated that it will "feel like a book you can pull off the shelves of an ancient library."

It's almost as if the World of Throne of Glass is a Parthos book in itself...

Is that why it remains unreleased?

Future books.

If this theory is correct, some may wonder how SJM could possibly include TOG characters if they are indeed dead.

I believe there are two viable options:

The "rewrite history" route:

In a future multiverse book series, the main characters of CC and ACOTAR would team up, and using the Harp/Horn (or perhaps the full power of the Dread Trove), they would go back in time. In doing so, they would join forces with the TOG characters, and stop the Asteri from ever overthrowing their world.

If successful, it would mean that the Dusk Court was never destroyed. At present, Bryce is hinted to be the ruler of this court... but it doesn't exist (and there isn't a lot of time to rebuild an entire city). However, if time manipulation was used... no rebuilding would be necessary.

It would also explain why the Oracle told Ruhn that the "royal bloodline will end" with him - as Midgard would never be created, the same applies for the Autumn King's reign.

The "escape" route:

Alternatively, perhaps when the Asteri arrived in the TOG world, some of the main characters were able to escape into other worlds - such as Prythian.

This would explain why so many of the characters in the ACOTAR and TOG worlds share many similarities (for example, Tamlin as the ancestor of Aedion and Lysandra...)

This would also explain why so many of the ACOTAR character's last names have been hidden from the reader.

Some characters may have escaped elsewhere too, such as Hel...

(^ This is more of a crack theory, but there's only two characters in the SJM universe who have "freakishly" blue eyes, can shape shift into any form they choose, and have powers that manifest as cold...)

However, no matter the method of saving the world, or storyline adopted, Aelin said it best herself:

"This world will be saved and remade by the dreamers."

#sjm theory #sjm crossover #sjm multiverse #acotar #acotar theory #crescent city theory #throne of glass #aelin galythinius #feyre #rhysand #bryce quinlan #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #azriel #sarah j maas #crescent city

[acommonanomaly]

Maglor for @feanorianweek.

Inspired by a scene from my fic, What Fades Away.

Excerpt:

...Now he made his way toward his brother’s room, and he let his anger from the day before rise up again to burn away his regret at having fought with the younger brother who was also one of his closest friends.

Makalaurë was careless, so often lost in his own thoughts that he gave no thought to others, or to anything around him. It was something that Maitimo found endearing at times, but just now he resented his brother for his eagerness to escape into his music, leaving everything else behind. Though he would never dare to say so out loud, he felt that Amil gave her second-born too much leeway in this regard.

Coming to Makalaurë’s room, Maitimo balanced the tray with one hand and flung the door open, his recent bitter thoughts easing his shame over the spitefulness that made him want to startle his brother.

The door came to rest silently against a small pile of laundry—something Amil would certainly have scolded him for—and any noise Maitimo did make was lost beneath the waves of music that washed over him.

Maitimo came to a stop.

Caught despite himself, he quietly closed the door and moved deeper into the room. He set the tray down on the chest of drawers against the wall, cringing at the tinkle of glassware despite his attempt at noise a few moments before. He walked on light feet around the bed to the spot near the window where his brother sat with his harp.

He felt a pressure building in his chest at the poignant tenderness of the melody, earnest notes that tumbled forth in a hopeful spill. It was wistful, light, and so beautiful that at first Maitimo could not reconcile the sound of such moving music with the sight of his disheveled younger brother. But then Maitimo’s eyes began to really see, and his heart skipped a beat. The thick, dusty drapes had been thrown open, and the golden light of Laurelin had set his brother aglow. 

Makalaurë’s partially unlaced blouse hung off one thin shoulder, and his silky dark hair was a tangle down his back, carelessly tied at the nape of his neck with a stray bit of ribbon. Maitimo’s eyes lingered on the slender fingers that danced over the strings, but then his gaze lifted to Makalaurë’s face. 

The pressure in Maitimo’s chest squeezed around his heart in a painful grip.

Makalaurë did not tend to fuss over his appearance when he was at home, as caught up as he often was in his creative pursuits, so that Maitimo’s impression of him was most often of frayed braids, an expression too often pinched in thoughtfulness, and gangly limbs swimming in awkwardly fitting garments. Maitimo had allowed himself to forget the ethereal beauty of his brother when consumed by music. He studied Makalaurë’s face now and was filled with love for him.  

Makalaurë’s eyes gazed somewhere beyond the confines of the room, and the ugly bruise that had formed over his pale, high cheekbone made something dark and fearful stir in Maitimo. 

Maitimo suddenly had the inexplicable urge to keep his brother close at his side so that he might guard him against harm, and he moved nearer. He stopped though, surprised at himself for such strange thoughts, for what possible danger would they ever encounter here in the safety of the Blessed Realm?

#tolkien #the silmarillion #maglor #feanorianweek #feanorianweek 2024 #What Fades Away #my art #my writing #I'm really going to try to get one more drawing done #but so far life has not been cooperating lol #I loved exploring the bond between maglor and maedhros #and reading back over the posted chapters of WFA #makes me really want to start writing it again #my favorite boys

[slytherizz]

Secret Melodies - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Below the Hogwarts music room Sebastian discovers his friend has been keeping a dirty little secret

Prompt for @twitchydownfall kinkmas: Melolagnia (music kink) + Smug

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, Melolagnia (music kink), dubious consent (if you squint)

Sebastian noticed the inclination first at the Christmas feast. He was squeezed beside her on the long benches along with the rest of the students with nowhere else to go over the festive season. Professor Ronan had wrangled what was left of the choir to perform carols for the straggling student body. Just as they’d begun their first song she’d burst into a fit of nervous giggling and quickly excused herself to go to the loo only returning fifteen minutes later when they’d finished. For a moment Sebastian thought someone had spiked her pumpkin juice but when he sniffed her cup when she wasn’t looking, he found nothing was amiss.

His suspicion only grew every day at twelve o’clock. When the bells would chime out their merry tune her cheeks would blush and an inviting shade of crimson. It didn’t matter that she was bundled up in her heavy woollen scarf and thick tights under her skirt, a shiver would spread down her spine as if fresh snow had fallen down the back of her cloak and ice was sliding down her spine the chill electrified her nerves down to the tips of her fingers. Each time it happened she'd look rather flustered and quickly start prattling on about lunch, charms homework or any number of inconsequential things, desperately trying to hide the pink of her ears behind her hair.

Then came her disappearing act. Five to Six. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Like clockwork.

Sebastian was beginning to doubt his hypothesis, perhaps it was all just a coincidence, and he was beginning to feel rather foolish. If she didn't come, he'd have to wait until the entire orchestra had left to save himself the embarrassment. He'd be stuck, hunched over in the dusty eaves of the bell tower for another hour. He'd already been here for one not wanting to risk scaring her off or running into her outside and have to explain what he was doing so far from his usual haunts.

The orchestra were due to arrive in less than ten minutes and his back muscles were already beginning to ache from his stoop position, the low ceilings not nearly high enough to accommodate his full height. Sebastian was just about to give up and admit defeat when he heard the scuffling of a singular pair of feet on the floor above his head.

She came.

Sebastian slunk back further into the dark hiding himself from her view as she quickly clicked the small door behind her. She leased a shaky breath, carding her fingers through her hair she looked almost alight with anticipation. She walked unsteadily over to a crate folding her cloak neatly and placing it on the floor to her left. She ran her hand over her backside, smoothing out her skirt as she perched on the edge of the crate her back to him.

Sebastian could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, his pulse quickening in anticipation, devouring her greedily with his eyes like how a fox watches a chicken coop. 

For a while, she just sat there silently her ankles crossed the low light cracks from the floorboards illuminated her in a streaky spotlight. A hidden star in a show ready to perform for a solitary audience.

The floorboards began to creak overhead, dust shaking loose from the rafters as the muttering crowds above their heads took their positions, strings whined as they were tuned. She looked so serene and for a moment Sebastian thought he'd been entirely wrong and perhaps she did just come here to listen merely as a patron of the arts.

Any doubt in Sebastian’s mind dissipated as soon as he heard the first pluck of a harp string. Unaware of two keen eyes watching her from the darkness she didn't suppress the violent shiver that rolled down her spine.

Much to Sebastian's delight his theory had been correct, but then again, he was rarely wrong.

As the string section purred into life that familiar shiver rattled through her but unaware of his presence she didn't hide its effect on her. A rosy stain painted her cheeks, her fingers ghosted across the heat in her face and Sebastian had to stifle the guttural groan from his own lips as he watched her follow that flush down as it as it spread lower. Her hands traced down the flush along her throat to loosen her tie and the top buttons of her blouse. The flush spreading along her clavicle, she left goosebumps in her wake.

He knew if he could see himself, Sebastian would see a similar effect staining his own skin. She was drunk on the sounds that poured in from above but he was drunk on triumph and the sight of her increasingly dishevelled appearance.

She made clean work of her buttons, and as the tempo increased from the orchestra above, she seemed emboldened with need as the wind section called out to the strings. Her shallow breathing called out to their song in an intoxicating whimper.

Her nimble fingers slid down to her ankles, and she hitched up her skirt. Lifting her hips she peeled her winter tights down her legs, exposing the soft skin of her thighs. Sebastian loosened his own tie around his neck the only thing to distract his fingers from reaching for her too soon and creating valleys in her flesh with his hands, imagining what it might feel like to sink his teeth into them.

Patience was truly a virtue, and his mouth went dry as her fingers dip tentatively between her thighs. She shuddered in time to the swelling of the brass. The noise that escaped her lips, a delicious little whine as her fingers teased her secret place was enough to break his composure. Sebastian had proved his theory right, and he felt he’d earnt a reward for his troubles.

He stepped out of the dark, on silent feet drowned out by the hum of music above he snuck up behind her. Her eyes were shut tight, too wrapped up in the song and her ministrations between her legs to be alerted to his presence towering above her. Leaning in close he could smell the fresh mallowsweet on her skin, muddled now with the heat radiating off her skin. The tempting swell of her breasts underneath her stays rose and fell with her shuddered breaths.

"You know if you wanted some help all you had to do was ask?" he purred into the shell of her ear.

Her eyes snapped open. She hurried to pull down her skirt back down her legs, but Sebastian caught her smaller hands in his. Wrapping his hand around her wrists as she stammered searching for words that wouldn’t come. Stradling the back of the crate to take the position behind her, his groin pressed against her back securing his legs astride her hips. She wriggled against his hips, jostling to get away now not only flushed with arousal but embarrassment. Sebastian couldn’t suppress the slight moan that escaped his own lips as her incessant movements brushed up against his own hardening arousal. She stilled a sound escaping her lips halfway between a horrified gasp and a needy moan. Sebastian knew she must have realised how the sight of her touching herself had affected him, feeling the stiffness twitching against the small of her back.

"Seb- I don't know what you think is going on but your wrong-" she flustered but she cut herself off with a groan as the twittering sound of flutes joined the chorus of string and brass. Her eyelashes fluttered and her thighs jerked to rub together instinctively. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who you ask, Sebastian was quicker. He wrapped his free hand around her thigh, forcing them apart in his iron grip suppressing her ability to allow her any relief.

“Don’t be coy with me, pet. Or I’ll make you beg for it. I know I’ll find you dripping under here,” he cooed teasing the hem of her knickers. She whimpered. A godly sound perfectly tuned to his own primal needs that sent the blood rushing to his cock and it twitched approvingly against the small of her back.

He knew she'd beg for it.

"You know, if you’d asked, I would have been more than happy to help with your little problem," he smirked running his hand along the inside of her thigh.

“It’s really not what you think-” she began, the quiver in her voice betraying any confidence she tried to muster. She was still twitching in his firm hold, knees pressing inwards against his hands as she tried to seek relief and he admired the dips and valleys her motions created as they pressed against his long fingers.

“We can sit like this all night if you want,” he mused “Or if you’re a good girl and ask nicely and I will help.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to control her breathing, desperate to get her racing pulse that he could feel fluttering in her wrists under control. He rolled his hips against the small of her back and she sank back against him her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip as she suppressed another whimper.

“Seb…” she began just as the swell of the music broke the last shred of her resolve to resist him. “Please-” she bit out. He chuckled against the shell of her ear, nuzzling his nose through her mussed hair. She impatiently shifted her hips as he trailed his finger along the inside of her thigh. Her breath came out in hot little pants as she practically vibrated with anticipation at his torturously slow pursuit towards the apex of her thighs.

"You're soaking," he hissed, as his fingers traced her folds through the damp fabric of her bloomers "Dirty little witch, aren’t you? Coming up here to touch yourself in secret thinking no one would notice."

A small whine escaped her bitten lips and her hands had at last ceased resisting in their pursuit to break free from his grip around her wrists. Her head had lolled back against his shoulder her eyes tightly shut. Rewarding her submission Sebastian gently pressed his thumb against her clit through the soft material.

“Oh Gods,” she murmured as he began tracing soft circles. He pressed soft kisses in time to the beat of the drum behind her ear, her collarbone following the slope of her neck to her shoulder lulling her into softening her still stiff limbs in his hold. He wanted her boneless, pliant, but mostly he wanted her keening and begging for more. The deep and vibrant sounds of cellos elicited soft panting, she ground her hips against his fingers in search of more.

Satisfied she was to overcome to break free he released her wrists to loosen the ribbons of her stays. Wrapping his arm around to bring her flush against his body, pressed firmly into his chest now her arse creating a divine friction against his own throbbing need for her to rut shamelessly against her. Before she could register he’d released her hands he grasped her breast in his left hand. Kneading the soft flesh through her chamise her nipple pebbled. She moaned her now free hands wrapping around his neck to knot painfully in the back of his hair.

"Tsk, tsk. If you want more you have to ask nicely,"

"Sebastian-"

"That’s it, good girl. If you want to come, you have to say my name,” he growled his voice a deep baritone “Now tell me is this how you touch yourself when you're up here by yourself?”

"No. More-" she whined. Gone was the earlier apprehension replaced with a primal need for music and Sebastian to fill her.

"More what,” he hummed, increasing the speed of his teasing against her clit in time with the allegro.

"Touch me…”

"But I am touching you?" He chuckled fastening his mouth against her fluttering pulse to mark her skin like a composer signing his greatest work. "I wonder do you put your fingers in that pretty little cunt of yours? Hmm?"

She buried her face in his neck, the rosy stain across her cheeks deepening her gasping breaths tickling the sensitive skin below his ear. He felt her nod her head reluctantly that white-hot desire the music instilled in her body winning out over any shame she felt for her dearest friend to be the one eliciting such confessions.

"Your fingers are much too small,” he mused, releasing her breast to stretch his free hand over hers. He ran his nails across her knuckles dwarfing her smaller digits “If you say please I'll let mine stretch you out."

"Please Seb-" She practically sobbed only muffled by the deep hum of the cellos above sending her further into a frenzy. She squirmed against him desperately in search of more pressure practically aching for release. His hot breath chuckle disturbing the hair now wild framing her face.

How long had he yearned to see her like this? No longer his cocky friend but needy and desperate.   She groaned slightly at the loss of his fingers on her clit but Sebastian swiftly dipped his fingers below the waistband of her bloomers and past the sparse hairs between her thighs to tease her soaking folds.

"You're soaking. Are you always this wet or is some of this for me?" If it was possible, her cheeks went an even darker shade of crimson. Before she could bury her head away in embarrassment, he caught her chin in this hand no longer clutching her breast her eyes snapped open to meet his and he grinned wide at her victoriously before plunging one finger inside her. She released a strangled cry at the intrusion into her warmth so much larger than her own slender digits. He began to slowly pump his finger in and out of her.

"You'll spoil the song if you're too loud pet. Do you think you can keep quiet? We wouldn't want anyone else to find out your little secret now, would we?"

She nodded, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her needy moans. Incredibly aware of his own aching need pressed firmly into the small of her back twitching as her body wriggled against him, he released a grunt of his own against her hair. Her hips rutted forward desperately against his finger, craving more relief only he could give her.

"So needy,” he chided, sliding his middle finger to join his index in her tight heat. Her slick walls fluttered against his fingers unfamiliar to the intrusion as they stretched to accommodate him. Her keening mewls became throaty groans. He relished in the knowledge that only a few feet above their heads students played on unaware of the fact he was turning their ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ into a boneless mess beneath their feet.

"Admit you wanted me to find you up here?” he purred against her ear.

“No- but…” she trailed off. Not wanting to lose this opportunity to draw confessions from her lips in regular circumstances she would keep bottled up. But with his hand between her legs, and the ebb and flow of music fogging her mind it wasn’t just her body that was pliant under him but her tongue.

“If you tell me, I’ll make you feel so good,” he promised curling his fingers inside of her to tease that sweet spot inside of her that would make her legs tremble. Her tight little body clenched around his fingers before relaxing further into his touch, receiving him deeper.

“I think about you,” her breathless confession plucked out of her like a string of a violin.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

“Ah- yes,” she panted. Her eyes at last opened to look at him fully, her pupils blown so wide he could barely distinguish the colour of her irises as she stared lustily at his freckled face.

“Naughty girl, keeping secrets,” he hummed. Despite his mocking scolding, he rewarded her confession by adding his thumb to press circles over her clit. She bit down hard on her lip trying to maintain her composure despite how every pump of his fingers and swirl of his thumb was reducing her to a moaning mess. Her arm gave her stability still wrapped around his neck as her spine rounded, as she at last released her bruised lip from between her teeth a rasping moan escaping her lips. He knew they were running out of time and his own need would have to wait but that didn’t stop his hips rocking against the small of her back, desperately seeking out friction on his cock. Her fingernails dug in harshly into his neck creating half-moons in his flesh as she desperately clung to him craving the rutting of his hips against her.

The music swelled around them to an almost deafening degree and her cunt began to flutter and clench.- Her slick coating his fingers allowing him to push his fingers in deeper, increasing his tempo she rutted shamelessly down onto his fingers, in time with his own motions to keep pressure on her sweet spot. She was rising to her own crescendo and with one final crook of his fingers inside of her, she climaxed. Her scream of ecstasy created a mesmerising symphony solely for him drowned out by the ear-splitting crescendo above their heads. Her orgasm racked through her as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her prolonging her bliss. The music coursed through her and his fingers stretched her cunt in perfect harmony. Sebastian didn’t think the finest musicians in the world could create a sweeter sound than she released when her earth shattered. 

She slumped bonelessly against his chest breathing heavily as he removed his fingers from her tight heat, keeping his thumb pressed against her clit to slowly coax her down from her high. She chuckled at the satiated hum she released that sent vibrations through his body.

“Next time you think about keeping a secret. Remember we make the sweetest music together.”

#hl kink fest #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #Sebastian sallow x female reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #kinkmas HL

[2apples-tall]

a short blurb about what Muriel did and discovered being left on their own

The first thing Muriel did, finding out they would be staying on Earth, was throw out that Inspector Constable costume.

Maggie and Nina had both provided a list of shops, mostly thrift or antique places, for Muriel to look for clothes that fit them and wouldn’t get weird looks walking down the street. Muriel went to each shop on the list in the order they had been written down and loved each shop.

Muriel discovered many loves the first few weeks on Earth, they loved the smell of old books and dust and loved the smell of things called cinnamon and cloves that Aziraphale had left in the kitchen. They loved thick wool socks and warm sweaters. And Muriel really really loved any small cute thing they could get their hands on. Small trinkets had become Muriel’s forbidden fruit.

Muriel, in choosing their own clothes, had stuck to mostly light colors but branched out to darker browns and very occasionally pale yellow. They had taken to wearing a small watch on their wrist, which had taken a while to get working and then used to reading. But it helped immensely in tracking the obscure opening and closing times listed on the shop’s door.

Muriel found lots and lots of baking supplies in the kitchen and found quite a few books about baking in the shop, so they found out they loved to bake. Muriel was still hesitant about eating their baked goods so they carefully wrapped any bread, cookies, brownies, or cakes they had made and delivered them to Nina, Maggie, Mrs. Sandwich, and any customers that wandered into the shop.

Muriel found flowers growing outside in small boxes and small fluffy creatures floating around them that they later looked up and found to be bumblebees. Muriel really loved the bumblebees, they were adorable as they floated around and bumped lazily into flowers. Muriel and done a bit of reading about flowers and found out all they needed to live (and they were alive!) was water and sunlight, so they picked some carefully and put them in a mug in the window in hopes to invite some of the bees inside. They never came and the flowers died by the end of the week, but always the optimist, Muriel replaced the flowers ever week and discovered they quite liked the routine of it.

The best thing Muriel has found was an old dusty violin, tucked back in the corner of their favorite antique shop. Muriel asked the shop owner what it was and it was fairly cheep so they bought it. Muriel read about violins and stringed instruments and orchestras, learning as much as possible about the instrument before trying to play it. Aziraphale had some sheet music in folders on a shelf towards the back of the shop and Maggie had given them some newer music as well. Muriel was hesitant the first try, it was very different from a harp, but took to playing fantastically and would play for days at a time completely forgetting to open the shop. They loved this small instrument and the beautiful sound they were able to make. The smooth wood and firm bow felt wonderful in their hands as they played their way through all of the sheet music they had collected.

Muriel loved being on Earth and it wasn’t hard at all for them to understand why Aziraphale and Crowley had risked existence to stop armageddon years ago. Muriel wondered if they would ever understand why they risked existence for each other, but hoped that was something that came with time and they were plenty happy to enjoy baking and playing their violin for now.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good ineffable omens #muriel #muriel good omens #muriel is a cinnamon roll

[itzroboticgirl]

Ripslinger x Dusty Crophopper Headcanons

*Humanized*

Gift for: @ask-shu-todoroki

Dusty Crophopper:

- Dusty saved Ripslinger from the fire when they first met again.

- Dusty asked Maru to help him out.

- Maru always has this smug shitty face when Dusty and Ripslinger were with each other. (He ships these two people together-)

- He's Bisexual

- Ripslinger and Dusty's relationship went from Enemies to friends to Boyfriends to a Married couple.

- Dusty was helping Ripslinger with his broken arm and leg from the crash during the fire, and he was Ripslinger's Physical Therapist.

- Dusty is Submissive (But can fight, he's kinda like Nicole Watterson) (When he cusses that means he's pissed, and annoyed.)

- Dusty wears his wedding ring on his golden necklace.

- Dusty grew up in New Orleans before he moved to Propwash Junction, Minnesota with his step father.

- Had an abusive mother named Wind Whistle Crophopper. (His real father Vicky Crophopper died in an army plane accident) (Skipper witnessed the murder of his best friend Vicky Crophopper getting killed by The Red Baron, and Skipper had PTSD.)

- His mother was homophobic and transphobic. (Oof-)

- Can play an assortment of string instruments. (Cello, Violin, Viola, Bass, and Harp) (Ripslinger loves it when his husband plays the Violin)

- Has high metabolism.

- Sees Skipper as his father figure.

- Scars from his crash on his face, shoulder, and has a scar on the border of his nose. (Aka, Planes: Fire and Rescue)

- Was the smartest kid in class, and he was proud of it.

Remington "Ripslinger" Tornado Baron:

- Was shocked that his father revealed his secret of him killing Dusty's father.

- Ended his friendship with Zed and Ned. (Ned and Zed were PISSED)

- He was secretly attracted to boys. (Yup- You're welcome Dusty~)

- His Brother Bullet was a bitch and he is Ripslinger's little brother.

- Hated Dusty on the outside, but loved Dusty on the inside- He was a simp!

- His dominant (But can get scared when Dusty is pissed.)

- Wears his wedding ring on his finger.

- Can sing like an angel when Dusty plays his instrument and they can cover a song that they want to cover.

- Dusty and Ripslinger adopted three kids Called: Daisy (Second oldest), River Rush (Male eldest), Red Velvet (Youngest daughter)

- Kisses Dusty on his scars and it warms Dusty's scars.

- Dusty and Ripslinger dances with each other with their favorite songs in the living on Friday nights.

- Confessed to Dusty first when they were friend/crushes

- Proposed to Dusty at Piston Peak after the fight. (Plot: Dusty said yes and kissed him while the fire rangers looked at them in shock, Blade was so damn proud of Dusty)

- On Valentine's Day they always drink until they get tipsy. (And they spice it up in the bedroom)

- He is Pansexual.

#pixar planes #ripslinger x dusty #dusty crophopper #ripslinger #lgbtq #biseuxal #pansexual

[insult-2-injury]

Taking the Shot

A gift for the lovely @x-amount-verbs- a massive, 6.5K smutty one-shot inspired by her brilliant story, A Helping Hand. (If you're not reading it, I don't know what you're doing). Big thanks to her for allowing me to put her OC, Ivy, into some very compromising positions.

[Silco x f!oc (using helping hand reader/OC)] [6.5K WC] [NSFW MDNI] [gun range setting] [Mirror Sex] [Fingering] [Facefucking] [Praise Kink] [Manhandling] [dom silco] [Lots of teasing] [Dirty talk] [Fluff at the end]

Note: gun target practice, no gun violence, no gunplay

Bang.

The gun recoiled in her hand.

An almost deranged smile stretched from where she’d bitten down on the center of her plump lips, joy rampaging through her chest like a wildfire as she hit her target dead center. An almost painful relief. Such a delicious welcome from the depression, the feelings of uselessness that had tightened their iron grip around her heart like a vise since the accident.

She could still do this.

Could still close her eyes and feel those subtle vibrations in the air, shifting like the plucks of tiny harp strings, carrying her bullet forward and straight into the heart of her victim. Which, in this case, was the top of a soup can, painted crudely in a neon green.

She was in a run down, abandoned textile warehouse on the outskirts of Zaun. The roof had caved in a long time ago. Decrepit place. Standing mirrors, dusty furniture, piles of unused fabrics were scattered haphazardly.

But Jinx had helped fix this movable target practice up, the funny little mastermind. She smiled to herself, thinking about the way the girl had sat there comically with a blowtorch and giant goggles, grinning ear to ear.

She’d hesitated when Jinx had proposed the idea. Had thought maybe this was too big of a step and too quickly. Mostly worried about her own self-doubts. Whether she would cripple when she found out she wasn’t that same talented sharpshooter as before.

But no. No. She was still good. Hadn’t lost a lick of that talent.

She revved up the machine again, transferred the gun to her prosthesis, closed one eye and watched the little targets rise, whir past. Adjusted her grip until she got that feeling.

And making quick work of it, she hit three more consecutively, something devilish about the way her stomach flipped and her lips curled.

“Impressive.”

She choked on a gasp, body stiffening. She would be able to recognize that crooning voice out of a line-up of hundreds. Thousands. How could she not when the sound had utterly consumed her thoughts as of late.

Like a rocket ship seconds before liftoff, her heart rate picked up to a swift patter before she even turned.

How long had he been standing there?

Silco was supposed to be out for the day on shimmer business. No therapy, no planned contact. She’d already mourned over the minor loss, for Janna’s sake. Something oddly indignant had her lips forming a thin line and, clutching the gun with a suddenly damp hand, she spun around finally.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she stuttered, feeling immediately stupid.

Silco’s lithe form leaned against the splintered door frame, hands in his pockets, something she’d come to recognize as dark amusement glittering in his eyes. He must have just returned from a business engagement because he was wearing that damned coat.

His gaze dropped sharply to her prosthesis.

“On the contrary, my dear.” Silco’s eyes flicked back up to hers. “I go wherever I please.”

He shouldn’t be out alone, without protection. No, she disciplined herself, not for the first time. He could take care of himself. She knew that.

“Jinx helped me set this up,” she offered, at a loss for words.

“She is who directed me here,” he said, brow quirking as he peeled from the door frame, beginning a slow saunter toward her. “And curiosity, I suppose.”

Oh, he was wearing gloves, she noticed right away, a blush beginning a heated track across her cheeks. She tried not to let her shameful gaze wander as she fought off every instinct to take a step back for each one of his forwards.

Because this wasn’t his office. This was entirely new territory.

“About?” she asked lightly, turning from his approaching form, lest he spot something in her expression that he shouldn’t.

It was supposed to be a surprise, she thought, that she’d taken to practicing. Well, with her gun, of course. She wanted to pout. She wasn’t a child, she didn’t need to perform tricks for the man.

But she wanted to, didn’t she? Wanted to impress him. Hated that she ached for that praise.

“Your progress, of course.”

She nodded, swallowing down the sudden dryness in her throat as he inspected the area, eyeing the crudely made moving targets, dragging two sinful fingers across the surface of a nearby table until he came to a halt in front of a gold-plated, full-length mirror, contemplating.

There was something… excitable about him tonight, a feverish energy prickling the air around him like a live wire.

Hm.

“Your meeting go well?”

Silco’s head canted just enough for her to see the slow, evil curl of his lips from the shadows.

“More than well.”

His crimson eye sharply tracked the movement of her violent shudder from over his shoulder before he turned on his heels, making his way back.

She couldn’t feign indifference anymore when his boots stopped inches away, looming over her.

Silco’s voice was soft, but the glint in his eye was a knowing one.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

She peered up from under her lashes and shrugged. Elected, instead, to stare intently at the silk tie that cinched his thin neck.

“I was planning on it.”

“Were you?” he asked, studying her a moment before stepping back, arms gesturing wide, flippant. “Demonstrate.”

Demonstrate… again?

She stared, unnerved. It was a pretty simple request, really, and it wasn’t as if it were the first time she’d been asked to perform for him. It was just different somehow,when these strange new boundaries seemed to be evolving, mutating by the second.

“Show me,” he repeated, eyes steady on hers, brooking no room for argument.

She turned to the whirring machine, a single target remaining. Her body felt alight with jitters, tremendously aware of the way his gaze stripped her down to her center, capturing and devouring her uneasiness like a cat with a mouse tucked beneath its paw.

She had 12 rounds. Nose twitching, she released a cleansing breath and took aim.

“Ivy,” he chided, and she grit her teeth.

They weren’t in his office. This wasn’t therapy.

She felt his searing satisfaction as she begrudgingly switched her gun to her prosthesis.

Closing one eye, she lined up her shot, peripheral vision blurring until the only thing down her sight was the moving target.

Her finger tightened on the trigger and-

She practically leapt out of her skin as something brushed across her back lightly, sending her shot firing upward. Whirling, she found Silco on her other side now, feet away, looking entirely unapologetic, fixing his glove.

“So sorry, do try again.”

She stared, unblinking, something irreparably destabilizing in the light touch of his hand, a cold shudder clanking down her spine.

11 rounds.

She could do this. Silco knew it, too, had been watching her for Janna knows how long before announcing his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathed, adjusted her stance.

And shuddered. It never worked. Never. Whenever she had to try. No, she had to feel it. But all she could feel right now was that paralyzing gaze, much too close as it darted across the angles of her profile.

Squinting in concentration, her shot fired out, skimming just outside the little target.

10 rounds.

“Try again,” he commanded harshly from her side.

She bit her lip, took a deep, quaky breath, trying to dispel the odd tremble in her limbs, the slow, crawling heat that was blooming softly in her belly. She raised the gun once more.

And missed.

She’d just done it. He’d seen.

9 rounds.

“You’re rushing. Again.”

Her throat constricted.

Was that excitement in his tone?

Another miss.

8 rounds.

“Again.”

She lowered the gun limply to her side, glaring pointedly ahead.

“I can’t,” she muttered, thoroughly humiliated.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that.”

And again, there was something… volatile in the chime of his voice. Like he was playing with her.

He stepped forward, tapping her bicep.

“Up.”

She jolted at the contact and with an almost embarrassing speed, did just as he asked, heating blooming across her cheeks at her unconscious submission.

With a low, approving hum at her side, he altered her grip on the gun, scarcely touching her, the hem of his coat brushing ghostlike across the backs of her knees.

Heart clattering like a tin can, eyes squeezed shut to try and lessen the quivering in her limbs from his proximity alone, she waited for him to release her wrist. But he didn’t, instead dragging his firm grip upward to rest on her elbow.

“There you are,” he said breezily, “Now, try again.”

The shot rang out.

Went completely stray, wood shattering somewhere in the recesses of the room.

7 rounds.

“It wasn’t but five minutes ago you were hitting every one.”

She let out a stuttering gasp when his arm progressed upward to wrap almost painfully tight around her upper arm.

“I wonder what it is that has Ivy so unsettled.”

Silco was hardly touching her. And she was melting, desperately trying to center herself from the crashing wave of almost nauseating desire that swelled from the single point of contact.

“For one, I can see a few improvements to be had,” he tsked, “One being your stance. Too stiff.” A booted foot wedged between her legs, kicked out her back foot, bringing his heat that much closer to her wobbling form.

Breath lightly caressed the shell of her ear, tone holding a cunning note of underhanded bemusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?”

Because she wanted to impress him.

“Hm?” he prompted after a prolonged silence.

“I wanted to get back into shooting,” she exhaled, “That’s all.”

A rumble of disapproval hummed through his chest.

“Try again,” he commanded.

And she carried out his orders, how could she not? Squeezed the trigger, hardly aiming anymore, the shot once again going wide.

6 rounds.

A hand lightly grazed up her side, paused, almost in permission, and she found herself leaning back on her heels just slightly, searching for the heated planes of his stomach. Finding empty air, his body circumventing hers, always withholding.

His movement resumed as her breathing hitched, his knuckles just barely brushing the outside curve of her breast before traveling back down, fingers bracing almost tenderly around the soft skin just above her hip bone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been practicing?” he asked again, voice lethally quiet.

“I wanted-“

She stopped. It was too much, too humiliating. Because he was just going to mock her, step away and she’d have to go home, suffer the lonely consequences.

But then his nose brushed the curve of her ear, tracing the shell. And one of her knees buckled as she choked out a telling gasp. His palm slid around to her abdomen, splayed there, not so much bracing her up as just resting lightly, taunting.

“What is it? What did you want?”

She grimaced, couldn’t help the way her head drooped in embarrassment. Her voice was small, weak. Just like her subsequent words.

“I wanted you to be proud.”

Silco’s dark chuckle in her ear was practically a purr, sent a flurry of tremors racing down her stiffening spine.

“Did you?” His pinky moved a fraction, brushing just slightly across the top of her waistband. Her knees locked, nails latching onto the wrist of his offending hand. “And do you think I’m proud of you?”

Her lips thinned and she turned her glare away from his line of sight,

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, humiliation scorching like a wildfire across her cheekbones.

“Allow me to rephrase. Do you need more attention?”

All she could manage was a quick, indecipherable jerk of her head.

“Your words,” he commanded.

Another rough swipe of his pinky across her navel and she squeaked, pressing desperately backward, trying to escape the hot shock of desire that accompanied the miniscule motion and only managing to entangle herself further into him.

She let out a string of garbled nothings.

“What was that?” he taunted, nose grazing her temple. “Is it my attention you want?”

The gloved hand gripping her bicep traveled upward slowly, across the gentle curve of her shoulder, up the slope of her neck and into her raven hair, where it expertly massaged her scalp. She vibrated against him like an overheating engine, breathing shallow and head clouding with a heady lust.

“Yes,”she panted, eyes closing at the sensation. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he crooned, exhaling a quiet laugh as she clenched her thighs together, the words traveling lightning quick to the pooling wetness between them. Just as he knew they would.

And she’d just begun to relax into the gentleness, into something almost resembling a lover’s embrace, when his hand fisted roughly in her hair, yanking back until she had to arch her back to accommodate. Her hoarse cry echoed obscenely across the empty warehouse.

Silco’s words were ragged, hissed into her cheekbones, his knife-bladed nose pressed tightly against her hairline from where her head now lay across his shoulder.

“Have you considered, Ivy, the implications of holding my attention?”

Of course she had.

“Y-yes.”

And he tightened his fist further. The unoccupied gloved fingers dipped just beneath the hem of her pants, sitting there unmoving, and she bucked in his grip, eyes blurring with a heady mix of pain and pleasure.

“Make the shot.”

Her jaw slackened when he responded to her hesitation with an agonizing tug, the nails of her flesh hand digging red crescents into his forearm.

No, came a stubborn little voice inside her head.

But Janna, she wanted to hit that moving target for him. And she hated that she did.

“Hit the target, Ivy.”

Perhaps, she thought, a compromise.

With a frustrated cry, she locked her arm, fixed her sights elsewhere, finger pulsing like mad against the gun trigger until she’d unleashed all 6 rounds, the empty chamber clicking furiously several times before she finally relented on it.

Her arm dropped limply to her side.

And what followed was the purest form of silence, with only the weighted sounds of their oxygen intertwining as they both stared at a now busted dress mannequin with six perfect bullet holes in its chest.

See? She was fully capable.

She listened, with a subtle, growing anxiety, to Silco’s increasingly ragged breath fanning across her cheek, his fingers having loosened in her hair.

Had she messed this up?

She turned, painfully slow, afraid of what she might find, of the devastating, smirking outcome. But as the tip of her nose brushed his, she found it was the lack of humor that terrified her the most: a crazed intensity there that nearly consumed the beautiful teal of his right eye.

“Sir?”

He attacked. Hauled her wriggling form backward like she weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you,” he snarled into her ear, “That wasn’t what I asked for at all, was it?”

She clung onto him for dear life.

“Complying just enough to strike innocent.”

She was propped up dazedly in front of the stand-up mirror, feeling very much like the ruined, lead-filled mannequin lying prone behind them.

“But do you want to know what I think?”

A gloved hand wrapped the front of her throat, pressing just enough to make her dizzy, the other traveling up the muscled planes of her abdomen.

“I think you tremble when I’m near,” he spat, emphasizing with a brush of his thumb across the fluttering pulse of her neck, pulling a pathetic whine from her.

It was near impossible to comprehend the mirror’s reflection, Silco’s chin resting on her shoulder, his calculating, frenzied eyes holding hers in a perilous deadlock.

“I want you to see yourself, Ivy, just how desperate you really are.”

As if on a mission to prove his point, she pressed backward dazedly, seeking out his heat through the small gap between their bodies.

She couldn’t be the only one.

She reached behind, trailing up Silco’s thigh.

And cried out in fresh pain as the roaming fingers on her stomach shot upward, locating and twisting her nipple hard through her t-shirt, serrated nose driving into her temple as he harshly reprimanded.

“When did I say you could touch?”

She entrenched her claws hopelessly into the smooth skin of Silco’s forearm, as if he had her dangled over an active volcano. Fingers dipped beneath her waistband, thumb brushing teasing strokes across the sensitive inner junction where thigh met groin. Each narrow pass of his digit left her trembling, just as he’d said, the pulsing between her legs fringing on painful.

She protested. “Why don’t I get to tou-“

Silco squeezed her windpipe, lips quirking villainously in the mirror as he choked the span of two breaths, her back bowing mechanically, backside grinding backward into an impressive erection.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said, “So long as you beg for it.”

Ivy was never one to sulk. She took life’s abuse with a hard glint in her eye, with her jaw clenched firmly against the storm. Therefore, the fact that the man was able to elicit such a quivering pout out of her was alarming to say the least.

Spotting her growing petulance, his thumb swiped once, hard, across her clit. A throaty cry cracked through the air as her knees buckled, head thrown back against his shoulder, resting on the wide lapel of his coat.

Panting, she desperately tried to paddle back to shore through the crashing onslaught of blood rushing through her now ringing ears, hardly catching Silco’s theatrical sigh through the haze.

Silco’s breath tickled the exposed column of her throat as the fingers around her throat dipped into the V of her shirt.

“I’m undecided as to what to do with you, Ivy,” he crooned. “Such a good girl for practicing on your own.”

Something delightful and warm snaked through her chest at the praise.

“But to keep such progress from me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” she rasped, voice tight.

“Oh, I know you are.”

Silco pinched a nipple between two fingers, paired it with another hard swipe across her clit, wrenching another moan from her throat.

“Look at yourself.”

Hesitantly, she cracked her eyes open, peering dazedly at the salacious scene.

Silco hunched, one hand lazily massaging her breasts, the other one down her pants. Her cheeks ruddy, chest heaving with fruitless gasps as she clung to him like a cat on a high branch. And he lay in wait below, arms splayed, a gold and crimson-tinted thorn bush.

“All I need you to do, Ivy, is beg.”

She knew he’d spotted it, that emblematic precipice she stood on. It reflected plain as day in her lust-filled eyes, how he’d won her subservience.

Something victorious and equally vicious quirked his lips into a devilish smirk.

She would beg. She would do it. But she was dragging him down with her.

And he did falter just the slightest when her nose brushed his jagged cheekbone as she turned to ghost her words hotly across the lobe of his ear.

“Please,” her breathlessness entirely genuine, chest heaving against his palm. “I need- I need you to touch me.”

And at the tattered, uneven breath in response, she surrendered, loading the final bullet in the chamber, pressing her damp forehead into the lapel of his coat, sighing into his neck.

“Please, sir. Please, Silco.”

Like a hot stove, she was released suddenly, and there was a long moment where her stomach free fell in anxiety.

Clearing off a nearby table with a ferocious swipe of a single arm, he yanked it in front of her, its legs squealing raucously across the concrete flooring.

With a shocking, cobra-like speed, he had her torso driven into the surface, one hand on her midback, the other going to work on her pants. Dexterously, he unclasped the buttons with a single hand, tearing her pants and underwear down to her ankles in one fell swoop.

Two gloved hands smoothed across the globes of her buttocks, spreading her to the cold air, exposing the wetness she knew full well was glistening on her inner thighs.

She dropped her forehead in a sudden wave of embarrassment and was quickly reprimanded with a tight fist in her hair, his eyes scorching into hers from where they hovered over her head.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look away from this.”

One hand gave her backside a rough thwack and she instantly pushed backward, shamelessly seeking him out.

“Look at you,” he breathed almost reverently.

Silco hardly allowed her the time to feel self-conscious as he released her hair, his now free hand hovering for just a moment in front of her panting mouth before she found herself suddenly invaded, leather fingers pressing inward, exploring the cavern of her mouth, scissoring, shoving slowly across the pad of her tongue until she gagged, eyes watering.

He slipped them out again.

“Bite,” he commanded.

And it took her a few dazed seconds to understand, vision misting. She quickly closed her teeth around the tip of his middle finger, allowing him to tug backward, to free his hand from the glove.

The second it was unencumbered it dove between her legs. Once again, her head thudded onto the table with a vulgar moan, quickly morphing into a whine of despair when his hand disappeared, clapping again at the soft flesh of her backside.

“What did I say?” he reprimanded, and she raised her head obediently.

“Good.”

His fingers danced across the backs of her thigh, kneading softly up to the place he’d just spanked and she bit her lip, hardly caring about the smugness twisting his features, nothing else more important than getting his fingers between her legs again.

“You said you want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where, exactly?”

Her eyelids fluttered in frustration as Silco’s warm digits danced across her inner thighs, merely outlining her throbbing core.

“Touch m-“ she stuttered, nearly incoherent, “Just touch me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, dear.”

“Put your fingers inside me,” she snapped, and was rewarded with a third, sharp spank. Another painful fist in her hair.

“So shameless, so ill-mannered.”

But she didn’t miss the way his erection dug into her side approvingly.

“Please, sir” she pleaded.

Silco chuckled darkly, hinging forward from the waist, booted feet on either side of one of her quivering legs, lips tracing the shell of her ear.

“Remember this, Ivy,” he said, voice dangerously soft, as he kicked her insole, successfully widening her stance. “I’m not without mercy.”

And two fingers bee-lined to her clit, performing a quick circle around the sensitive bud. A shattered gasp tore from her throat and she only just managed to catch her head from dropping in pure, sanity-shattering bliss.

Silco dipped his fingers carefully between her wet folds, eyes wild and calculated as he drank in her reactions like a fine wine, chin coming to a rest atop her head.

“You are a needy thing,” he murmured quietly, and she shuddered at the feeling of his jaw working, at how docile she remained, pinned beneath him. “Perhaps I should have paid you better attention.”

He spread the growing slick, wanting her to feel how wet she was for him.

“Alleviated you sooner.”

Silco relented to her whining pleas, pushing two fingers slowly inside her, hooking them in a way that had her jaw dropping in euphoria, a low, satisfied groan puncturing the air, her nails digging into the wood from where her arms framed her head.

“You are under my supervision after all.”

He soon pumped with a third finger, refraining from speech, forcing her to listen to the sounds of her arousal, of just how drenched he’d made her.

Silco’s gloved hand released her hair, forging a lazy trail down the center of her back.  The gentleness sent shivers of pleasure through her already quaking form as he stroked across each vertebra until he reached her tailbone.

Bending, arm encircling her hips, leather-covered fingers located her aching bud, and she jerked forward, grinding against the unmoving digits.

He withheld any compassion, instead watching with a predatory head cock as she struggled against him in a desperate bid for friction.

“I suspect this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself writhing against my glove, is it?”

And her stomach dropped, frenzied, lust-filled eyes connecting with his own in the mirror. It should’ve been shameful, the recognition, and it was certainly there, that twinge of embarrassment. But more than anything, it was a freeing acknowledgment of the tension that had been building over the course of a week and a half.

And she felt oddly fine with him knowing exactly what he did to her.

Her chin squeaked against the surface of the table as she jerked her head back and forth, finally tilting it to the side so she could speak.

“No. It’s not.”

Silco’s expression dripped in a villainous self-satisfaction and he finally moved, dragged another tight circle around her swollen bud, paired it with a particularly deadly hook of his fingers within her, sending her hands clawing forward.

“And would you ever have told me?”

He began a steady rhythm, working her, each pass of the ridged seam of his glove across her clit coinciding with a desperate moan.

Silco repeated the question, she shook her head fervently, unable to speak.

“It seems to me you’ve been awfully withholding,” he crooned, breath fanning across the small of her back, eyes fixed to hers in the reflection. “First your little set-up here, now admitting you’ve been fucking yourself with my glove.”

The sound of the spat curse from his lips had her clenching hard around his fingers, a familiar heat stoking in her lower belly, coiling insidiously slow.

“Perhaps I should stop.”

“No, no, no.”

Voice so tight it was practically a screech, her fingers scrabbled for purchase as the heat continued to build, as the tidal wave quickly approached.

“Hm?”

Any semblance of control she’d had was far gone. All she knew for certain was that he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop. Not when she was this close. So, snatching the string of a single, coherent balloon floating by, she babbled the only word she could come up with, muttered it like a prayer.

“Please, please, please, please.”

“Are you going to cum, Ivy?” he purred into the dampening skin of her lower back.

“Please,” she nearly sobbed, stomach tightening like a pulled back rubber band.

“Then, cum.”

The climax smashed into her devastatingly hard, her back bowing violently as that band snapped.

Mouth opened in a silent cry, brows knitted in ecstasy, she determinedly held his evil, gloating gaze until she couldn’t any longer, that tidal wave of pleasure finally crashing through. The weight of it dragged her forehead to thud against the table as she released a strangled moan, stars bursting across her vision.

He drew it out forever. Fingers hooking in time with each violent, perfect convulsion, thumb still circling her clit slowly.

He eased her gently through, not stopping until she was a shuddering, boneless heap on the table, twitching from the overstimulation.

Hair stuck sweaty to her forehead as she pressed it to the cool wood, breath coming out in short puffs, the post bliss of release tingling across her skin. And she thought, if she could, she’d fall asleep right there.

But a light brush of soft lips to her tailbone brought her dazed thoughts back to the man behind. Who still very much had his long fingers pressed inside her.

She raised her bleary gaze to his.

With a slow deliberateness, he pulled his fingers out of her, and she twitched violently as she was hit with an aftershock, clenching around him, the resulting squelch obscene in the otherwise quiet room. At her low groan, the hard outline of his cock twitched against her outer thigh.

For a man so chatty just thirty seconds ago, he was unnervingly quiet now.

She propped herself up with shaking arms, eyed her prosthesis, tried to force away that surge of familiar, venomous self-doubt.

She crawled up onto the table, ignoring, as best she could, his sizzling gaze as it flicked across the side of her face. Swinging her legs up, she tugged her pants the rest of the way off and pulled her boots off one by one, socks to follow, discarding them on the floor with a dull thud. She took a deep, cleansing breath, despising that he could see her fumbling hesitation, the way her eyes kept darting to her hand.

The wetness weeping from her cunt reminded her of what he’d done, how he’d touched her. That he’d wanted to touch her.

 She scooted to a kneeling position before him, butt resting on her heels, knees spread slightly, looking down uncertainly.

A gloved hand tipped her chin up, held it there while three curious fingers came to rest at her lips, waiting, and she darted her tongue out, catching the bitter taste of herself. Sucking his fingers greedily into her mouth, she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Good girl,” he whispered, thumb brushing with uncharacteristic tenderness across a small scar near the crease of her lips before he pulled away.

Fabric rustled as he bent, and two hands were skimming up her hips, stopping at the hem of her t-shirt. She jerkily raised her arms for him to draw it up and over her head.

Until she was entirely bare to him.

Silco swatted at her when she instinctively attempted to cover herself.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

She frowned, blinked curiously at his phrasing.

“Be still. Hands atop your thighs,” came the reprimand again as she curled inward. “Let me look at you.”

She could feel his eyes as they slid across her naked form, felt that golden ribbon of arousal curl between her legs once again as he cupped two hands beneath her breasts, thumbs rolling slow, tantalizing circles over her pebbled nipples as she squirmed and whined.

“It’s hard to be the only one without clothes,” she rasped finally.

“Oh,” he paused his ministrations to taunt, “That must be so difficult.”

Only fair to allow her a remedy.

The table creaked beneath as she redistributed her weight, reaching toward that intimidating erection in his pants. And he struck, quick as lightning, seizing both wrists, yanking her toward him, her knees sliding forward until they were flush against his upper thighs, chest thrusting upward in order to lean decidedly away from his face, suddenly so close.

“What did I say about touching, Ivy?”

It was a long moment before his words from minutes ago emerged through the thick fog of lust clouding her mind.

“That I’d get my chance,” she said, “So long as I begged.”

Silco rearranged her wrists into one long-fingered hand, snatching her jaw in the harsh, punishing grip of his other.

“Yet I haven’t heard so much as a please.”

An honest attempt was cut off with a hiss as her teeth scored into her cheeks.

“What’s that?” he murmured, half-lidded eyes dropping to her wet mouth. “If this is what you want, you’re scarcely trying.”

If he let go of her, she would fall. In more ways than one. She was lost. Lost in the familiar, smoky scent of him. Disappearing in the orange swirl of that obsidian eye. And she hardly thought she’d make it out.

“Can I touch you, please?”

His gaze drank her in from up close, eyes darting, and she beat him to it, knew exactly what he was opening his mouth to ask. Where?

“Your cock. I want to touch your cock, sir” she said, words strained from her awkward positioning.

Silco’s teal eye twitched.

“May-may I?” she stammered again in the silence.

A look of genuine, dare she say fond amusement crossed his features before he balanced her, pulled forward until her hands twisted into the stiff fabric of his coat, until their lips were inches away.

“Off the table. On your knees.”

He gave her hardly a body’s worth of space to do so, but the approval ignited a fire under her skin, and she eagerly wedged herself between him and the table, slid down his front until she knelt on the floor below him.

With a flourish, he shoved the table out of the way, giving him full view of her backside in the mirror.

Her flesh hand reached forward tentatively to meet one of the buttons of his pants, eyes falling to the strained fabric at the front.

“Both hands, Ivy,” he said, her name stretched into a soft, breathless exhale as she brushed across his clothed cock, moving to undo his buttons with remarkable speed, despite her quivering form.

She reached for the other side and found her wrist in his stern grip once more.

“I said, both hands.”

In a sudden bout of frustration and shame, her forehead pressed forward against his hip flexor, nose nuzzling inward, his skin twitching as she warmed the fabric there with her hot breath.

How shameful. Couldn’t she be allowed to forget about her disfigurement, her defect, just for a moment in time?

Fingers tangled gently in her hair and her eyes rolled to peer up at him, her core pulsing wildly at the feral edge he tried to contain within that impassive expression, crooked teeth visible through his slightly parted lips.

She’d use her prosthesis. She’d do anything if he continued to look at her like that.

I’m doing this for you.

Her pleading expression urged him to understand as she struggled with the final two buttons, her captured wrist released to her once finished with an uttered praise from Silco.   

She ran her hand along the hard bulge, feeling it twitch against her palm.

Appeasing him finally, she tugged at his waistband, releasing him, eyes widening a fraction at the generous length.

She took him into palm, prosthesis planting against his hip, thumb swiping teasingly against the sensitive skin around his cock. A tattered breath was released above her and she looked up again, hungrily devouring his reactions.

Her lips were so close. She could taste him if she wanted, was sure he wouldn’t mind. Maybe flick out her tongue a bit.

She met his gaze questioningly, pumping her hand slowly up and down his shaft, swiping her thumb across the head, gathering the beads of precum there, adoring the way his tongue pressed against his teeth in response.

“Do you want to take me in your mouth? Is that it?” he asked, words holding a serrated edge.

She nodded, biting the plush of her bottom lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

Nothing anymore. She darted her tongue across the tip, groaning softly when his hand tightened painfully in her hair, and even more when she wrapped her lips fully around the weeping head, tongue swirling lightly.

Taking deep, calming breaths through her nose, she eased him slowly into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth, and he expelled a ragged, drawn-out groan in tandem with her own as the sound of his pleasure shot straight between her legs.

“You’ve wanted this since the very beginning, haven’t you?” he grit out, and her eyes shot to his. “Pleasured yourself to my fingers between your legs, to your lips wrapped around my cock like this.”

She moaned out an affirmative yes around him and he hissed.

“Dirty girl.”

As she found her rhythm, his straying hands found their way to her face, pushing the sweat dampened hair back, clearing his line of sight, calloused thumbs dragging frenzied patterns into her temples as he began to take control, fucking steadily into her.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice strained.

The praise warmed like fine liquor in her chest, his groaning satisfaction pushing her to take more of him with each thrust, to please him. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he hit the back of her throat, as she struggled to breathe, relaxing her jaw, eyes rolling upward as his pleasure intensified her own.

Her hand released her grip on the base of his cock, snaking its way between her legs instead.

“Look at you,” he panted, thumb swiping gently at her tears, “Working yourself so good for me.”

She keened around his cock as she worked her clit furiously, provoking a ragged growl out of Silco that was positively sinful.

“Let me see you.”

She lifted her wild gaze to his, cunt clenching around nothing at the equally untamed glint in his eye.

Let him see you.

She spread her knees wider, and her thighs burned as she pushed her body slightly upward, arching her back so he could see the outline of her fingers pumping, palm grinding as his gaze honed on the mirror’s reflection.

And all the while he uttered crooning, breathless praises to her, petting her hair as he increased pace, eyes darting between her and the mirror as if she would disappear any second.

Pleasure ripped through her and she cried out, throat widening just that last amount to push her fully forward, both hands flying out to grab his legs in support as her nose smashed into his abdomen, fully encasing him inside her humming throat.

With a shattered groan, he followed suit, his release spilling down her throat, fist tightening so excruciatingly in her hair she would have squealed if she could, eyes rolling back as pain and pleasure formed an exquisite concoction.

 She rode out the cresting waves of her orgasm with her hands wrapped tightly around the backs of his thighs until she was a twitching mess beneath him.

The blackness that had begun to take hold at the edges of her vision had her smacking his fingers on her head with increasing desperation, and he finally released her, gasping for air.

She slumped forward against him.

She breathed him in, wanted it to freeze itself, this strange moment in time: her forehead pressed reverently against his thigh, his fingers rubbing gentle, absentminded circles into her temples. She didn’t know when she’d grabbed the wrist of his left hand with her prosthesis, but it gripped there all the same.

“Clothes on.”

The tone of his voice was cryptic. Quiet.

Her body sagged and she allowed herself one final moment to mourn what may well never transpire again.

Then, swallowing dryly, did as she was told, not looking at him as she dragged her clothes back on, wondering what the hell happened now.

Grabbing her abandoned boot from in front of the mirror, she paused, eyes on her prosthesis as another wave of venomous self-doubt washed over her, brought a swell of angry tears to her eyes. At how utterly broken she was.

Tearing her gaze away, she laced her boots, standing up straight only to find Silco beside her.

Turning slow, she faced him fully, uncertainty wrinkling her brow as she dared to look upon his face, fearing something smug. Finding only a searching softness.

Ironing out the space between her brows with one thumb, he took her prosthesis in the other, eyes darting across her features as he raised it, cupping it gently across the scarred side of his face.

“We don’t hide, Ivy.”

<3

I think, with this being my first smut piece, I may have gotten a little carried away, but there you have it folks, 6.5K words of my filthy, rotten brain.

Again, I highly encourage everyone to check out @x-amount-verbs A Helping Hand, although I know most of us are obsessed with it already :) I have heart eyes for her OC and for the complex way she writes Silco. And on top of that, she's also just a lovely person.

AO3 Link if you want to toss me a kudos or a comment. It makes my entire day :)

I don't have much under my belt yet, but am starting a master list and am always looking for requests if anyone wants to send em' my way. Or just send me any and all of your unhinged thoughts, this fandom is hilarious.

Much love! <3

#A Helping Hand #silco #Silcoxreader #silco x oc #silco arcane #smut #silco x f!reader

[izupie]

Writing something for a writing exercise in a fun writing discord server I'm in and I really really liked how it came out!! If I had the time to write this into a whole original story I would.

The focus was specifically on dialogue and the prompt was a picture of a large ornate door, but the rest was completely up to each writer.

I chose to write fantasy (ofc) with a sassy fox spirit

The door loomed large and ominous before her. She wiped the sweat that threatened to drip into her eyes from her brow and felt her whole body nearly sag in relief. “I made it,” she said with a weak breathy laugh. “I made it.” The fox at her feet made a sound as if he were clearing his throat and curled the lips of his muzzle into something resembling a smile. His fangs flashed in the shaft of light illuminating the door. “Uh-huh. Congratulations,” he said in his strange multi-layered voice. “Thanks to who?”  “Oh, come on. You’ve got just as much to gain from escape as I.” She pursed her lips. “Don’t pretend you’re doing any of this out of the goodness of your heart.” “I would wager the scales tip much further in your direction, human. So maybe we could sweeten the deal…” She snorted a laugh. “You can’t possibly think I’ll accept you raising the stakes now, just because we actually made it here and you thought I’d die on the way.” The fox had the audacity to look contrite, his ears flattening down as he said, “Hey c’mon, I wouldn’t have made the deal in the first place if I didn’t think you could do it…” “Liar,” she accused, the hint of a smile entering her voice. She took a hesitant step towards the door. “I just… I mean- I can’t believe it really exists.” “It certainly is a real door. Large. Impressive. A little dusty.” The fox sneezed and flicked his tail. She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “There’s a handle here.” She nearly reached out to it before she stopped herself. “What? Come on, it’s right there. I’d do it myself if this form had thumbs.” “It just seems… too easy.” “Too easy? We’ve been in this maze for months! What was easy about that?” His tail flicked with impatience. “Either way, the longer we stay here the more likely it is the guards will catch up to us.” After a moment she sighed. “Okay. You’re right. Come on then” -she opened her arms wide and inclined her head, motioning for the fox to jump- “we go together, you creepy little spirit. Escape or die trying.” The fox looked up at her with unreadable dark eyes, shining with something otherworldly, but his whiskers twitched with fondness and amusement. He hopped up into her arms. “Escape or die trying,” he echoed, his multi-layered voice like the plucked strings of a harp. The fox felt warm and solid in her arms as she reached out with one hand and pulled down hard on the handle. “Let’s go,” she said, as a bright whiteness overtook her vision.

#dialogue is my weakest area of writing so I hope this worked out okay! I had fun with it anyway <3 #original writing #writing tumblr #writeblr #original fiction #my writing

[activatebutterflyshield]

Revisiting an old, old concept from the dusty depths of the World of Light and Darkness with this WIP. Also actually trying to do colored digital art again.

Angels are one of the five Fallen races, descendants of Celestial-born who left the Firmament and became mortal. Their cousins, the Long-bodied and Element-born dragons, descended willingly to help and guide the various people of the World in the ways of magic and fate, sacrificing eternity for their love of Creation. But the Angels, alongside the Demons, were cast out of the Firmament for their actions. The Demons were once Dark-born, the Celestials of Empty Space, who nearly destroyed the Created World in the distant past. Their siblings the Angels were once Light-born, the Celestials of Stars, who tried to replace the Firmament with the Created World. Thusly they were cast out, and their grief at loosing their immortality warped them into caricatures of their former selves.

Angels have the forms of Light-born taken to the extreme; nothing but wings and eyes and raw warped magic. They lack mouths or proper limbs, vocalizing through jagged movements and moving like fire on the wind. Their half-corporal bodies seem to stretch and shrink not at the will of the Angel, but at the will of Fate. These pitiful, horrible beings can be found drifting among the desert sands of Ravai and Lyardia, their forlorn cries sounding something like trumpets and the crashing waves of the sea. But they are not to be trusted. Angels cannot control their urge to create, and anything they come into contact with will warp beyond imagination. It is said that when the first Angel Fell into the desert, it created towering spires and everlasting sandstorms in its despair.

Their former Dark-born counterparts, whom I may or may not ever draw, are similarly bent and twisted reflections of their former selves. Spiked and fanged, they are nothing but claws and mouths and the lack of light. They have no eyes nor proper body, feeling with endless tongues and stumbling about with tearing talons. These Fallen live in the icy north of Baru and Lyardia, hissing something similar to cracking ice and untuned harp strings. As the opposite tragedies of Angels, Demons have an unrestrained need to destroy, twisting and erasing parts of Creation at the will of Fate.

But when they Fell, some of the new Angels and Demons actually managed to keep fragments of their sanity. Knowing that their kind were doomed to wander endlessly, never satisfied and never at rest, they resolved to create something that might be able to restrain them from total destruction. And so the Fae were born, living embodiments of the disparity between Light and Dark. They are shifting, inconsistent mortals that may appear however they please, though most look like combinations of Demon and Angel traits. Because the Fae were born, they will die, but their mortality also keeps them freer from the strings of Fate than their immortal and everlasting parents.

#worldbuilding #the world of light and darkness #twolad #digital art #art wip #angel design #going for a mix of biblically accurate and incomprehensible lovecraftian terror with these folks #demons will probably be the same way #just with more teeth #its been bloody ages but the high fantasy bug bit me again and i cant stop thinking of these tragic horrors beyond mortal comprehension #guess what kids the eldrich abominations have depressing backstories

[star-studded-whales]

another mutual with a harp?! I am spoiled^-^

What kind of harp, maker (Lyon Healy, Dusty Strings etc.), number of strings? What style/genres do you like to play?

Ah! I rented a Dusty Strings for the longest time. It was a Ravenna 34 (34 strings lever harp.) I'm in between places right now so I'm saving up for a brand new one. I'm really into Scottish and Irish folk music and I also compose some of my own pieces. I also love anything that sounds dark and haunting, but I'm known to enjoy some Bach as well. I've never actually met another harp player, so this is exciting for me!

#asks <3 #mutuals

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 1: Sleeping Harp

Narrated by Ophelia.

Narrator: Sunlight shines through the stained glass windows, lighting up the old court storeroom for the first time in a while.

Narrator: Tiny particles of dust drift in the air as though they've just been woken from a deep dream.

Mary: What is this, Your Majesty?

Narrator: Mary asks. To her, the heavy, arabesque wooden chests, dusty mirrors, and carefully framed art are all new and exciting.

Narrator: Mary is a human child, and the age of all the objects here exceeds any human's lifespan.

Mary: Is this it, Your Majesty?

Narrator: Mary waves me over, whispering.

Narrator: I follow her voice to the harp lying quietly in the corner under a delicate velvet sheet, of which Mary is lifting a corner.

Ophelia: I really found it...

Narrator: The beautiful harp is exactly like I remember it.

Narrator: Mary helps me move it outside, getting dust all over her dress.

Narrator: The dust is so thick... so much time has passed.

Narrator: Gently, I caress the harp strings. Its voice has subdued, but as its sound lingers, I hear that familiar, faraway tone.

Ophelia: Please ask someone to move this out of storage and into my quarters.

Mary: Your Majesty, why don't you order the craftsmen to make a new harp instead of using this old one?

Ophelia: It's no ordinary harp.

Ophelia: The Pigeon Art Festival is around the corner. I want it to make its comeback at the ceremony.

Choose "The Pigeon Art Festival?"

You: The Pigeon Art Festival? What's that?

Narrator: It used to be our kingdom's special festival, but somehow, these days, people have lost interest in it.

Narrator: Mary still seems confused, but nods, and drapes the velvet cover over the harp once more.

Mary: Wait, "comeback"? Has it appeared at the ceremony before?

Ophelia: Yes.

Narrator: Back when the Art Festival was still an important event, this harp brought a miracle to the palace for everyone to see.

Narrator: On that day, a musician played a sweet melody, and a beautiful bird from Pigeon Forest flew into the capital.

Narrator: Its feathers were like an ethereal rainbow. Following the music, it landed on the spire of the Church of Glory.

Narrator: The crowds were buzzing. No one had ever seen this kind of bird. It resembled a pigeon... yet its feathers were so beautiful.

Narrator: The bird swooped down from the roof, bringing with it a beam of rainbow light.

Narrator: That was when everyone noticed a four-leaf clover in its beak.

Narrator: The priest said it was a holy pigeon, a mythic creature that only belonged in the legends.

Narrator: It appeared the day the kingdom was founded, following music and bringing a rainbow. It left behind a four-leaf clover.

Narrator: The priest raised the holy goblet in his hands and led the crowds in thanking the gods.

Narrator: The priest said, it must have been a messenger of the gods, sent to commend the kingdom's dedication to the arts.

Narrator: Amidst the crowds' sincere gratitude, the holy pigeon circled endlessly in the skies.

Narrator: Perhaps, if this harp is played again, the holy pigeon will appear once more and instill faith in the hearts of our people.

Narrator: Perhaps at that time, the whole kingdom will be breathless.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

#ophelia #shining nikki #ssr designer #chapter 1 #sleeping harp #transcript #pigeon #pigeon kingdom #music #art #festival #miracle

[cherryfinolahobbes]

The brownstone house was still full of wonder for Cherry. She did her best to come in and help her new friend as much as she could. Wong was busier than ever it seemed and while the Sanctum tended to mostly care for itself, she had noticed some of the rooms seemed more neglected than others.

“Please be careful,” Wong had told her before he leaving for another trip to his home of Kamar Taj. “And don’t go snooping. Remember what happened last time,”

Cherry wrinkled her nose at the other man. She may or may not have gotten lost in a seemingly never ending corridor. It had been unnerving and eerie and she’d hated it. She promised she wouldn’t go snooping, but she had already made plans to straighten up one room in particular that day. It was one she’d noticed several mornings ago and had been itching to go back to it.

The room was very similar to most of the relic rooms in the Sanctum. it was full of different glass cases and displays but all of these objects seemed more musically themed. She’d asked Wong about it once and he’d never given an answer of more than he didn’t have that kind of talent.

But she did.

“A lady isn’t a lady unless she can cook, dance, and play an instrument,” Her mother had hammered into her at a young age and Cherry could do all three. Despite her impoverish upbringing her mother had made sure both she and her younger sister could play an instrument a piece. Flora learned violin and Cherry learned piano and the sounds of their practices and duets and holiday dinners filled with carols and music and food had colored her very short childhood.

She found the room again easily enough, like the Sanctum was tempting her. It was dusty and filled with cobwebs like it hadn’t been used in many years. There as a window that lead to some garden that Cherry was very sure wasn’t anywhere in New York. One wall seemed to be reflective, like a mirror, but it was so coated with grime she wasn’t sure it was glass or metal. There were stands that held stringed instruments of all shapes and sizes and colors and materials, several wind instruments of impossible configuration that looked like they belonged in a Dr. Seuss novel. There was a harp, large and impressive and looked like it’s strings were glowing weakly as some strange vegetation seemed to be overtaking it, and then there was the piano.

She was nervous at first, looking this was and that, half expecting Wong to come barging in at any moment, but no one stopped her. It was a grand and aged looked thing, yellow like old bone with elegant flourishes and sea green inlays and gold leaf detailing. Her mother’s piano had been a second hand thing that was well worn and loved and often fell out of tune with its constant use. Cherry had never seen anything quite this opulent organ before.

She’d brought a little bucket of cleaning supplies but set it down, quickly forgetting it as she lifted the lid to where the keys rest. They were dusty, clearly not in use for a long, long time, but the ivories seemed to have a sheen of green to them. Cherry bit her lip, curiosity burning through her like a wildfire.

“Please don’t curse me,” She whispered to the piano before she pressed a key, letting the deep, rich sound reverberate through the stale air. The hair stood on end along her pale arms. She hadn’t played since she lived in the Avenger’s Tower…that was years ago. She pressed another key and then another and before she knew it she had taken a seat on the dusty stool as her fingers picked their way along the keys, haltingly remembering the notes to an old Mozart sonata she remembered her mother used to love. It always seemed to make the small house sparkle like the watches her grandfather used to fix.

@mehrere-musen

#well this got very long #I hope you don’t mind #I never get to write about Cherry’s ability to play piano and I could not pass this chance up #If anything needs tweaked let me know :)

[vampiricgirlboss]

𝔏𝔦𝔩𝔶'𝔰 𝔞𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠 dark cottagecore, car rides, dusty furniture, exotic eye makeup, Florence Welch songs, overgrown gardens, falling in love with your best friend, dark nail polish, salty air of the beach, the colors of fall dawns, spiderwebs, a dusty old organ, black tea, a lace parasol, bats flying at dusk, eclectic styles, hearing the rain fall on a porch roof, embroidery, a cozy kitchen, the soft strings of a harp, rock records, flowers growing in a graveyard, gauzy gowns, pets snuggling against you, potlucks, band tees, love poetry.

#a warm exotic flamboyance * . ✦ . ˚ (aesthetic) #like a stake through my dead black heart * . ✦ . ˚ (musings) #the munsters #lily munster

[greenjudy]

Ensemble Sangineto in the Dusty Strings Harp Workshop

#youtube #good music fam

[idk-imrambling-idk]

Im not done vibing Becquer

Since I’m passionate about this masterpiece, lemme share it in English for you:

“From the living room in the dark corner,

of its owner perhaps forgotten,

silent and dusty

See the harp

How many notes slept on her strings,

like the bird sleeps in the branches,

waiting for the hand of snow,

who knows how to tear them off!

Oh, -I thought-, how many times the genius

so sleep in the depths of the soul

and a voice, like Lazarus, waits to

tell him: "Get up and walk"! “

Og ver:

“Del salón en el ángulo oscuro,

de su dueño tal vez olvidada,

silenciosa y cubierta de polvo,

veíase el arpa.

¡Cuánta nota dormía en sus cuerdas,

como el pájaro duerme en las ramas,

esperando la mano de nieve,

que sabe arrancarlas!

¡Ay, -pensé-, cuántas veces el genio

así duerme en el fondo del alma

y una voz, como Lázaro, espera

que le diga: "Levántate y anda"! “

[wardaehn]

The God Plague

Prompt: island of dolls

Summary: As a survivor, the fate of the world is now in my hands. Make a deal with God, at any cost.

Everyone nails their eyes on me.

Everyone in the World Isle sits silently with hands neatly folded on their laps. I must have passed at least ten thousand emotionless people, all dressed in grey and frills, yet still the end where the island meets the sea is difficult to see.

Their bodies convulse simultaneously from time to time, and I sometimes don't know whether to be happy or frightened. I walk on by, determined to see the remains of the world.

The farther I go, the more peeled everyone's eyes seem, but perhaps it's my imagination. I try to summon hope, however meager. Maybe I'll find another man like me who survived the Sleeper's Purge. Maybe this is all just a bad dream, and I'm the one who's sleeping. Maybe, through this preternaturally palatial opera house, the God would be kinder than I thought, even if it has gone insane.

My thoughts crumble at the sight of it. Without a strip of clothing, it is all white from the top of its glowing head of long delicate hair, down to its porcelain ankles which grew endless wings that have come to yoke it onto the floor.

It laughs softly. It looks at me. It doesn't blink. But it's not still.

It beckons me.

Surely there's nothing else to be done but observe it from a distance. I have never been religious nor been taught how to deal with God, sane or not.

It wails loud enough that I hear a few sinister cracks from the silenced audience, so I conceded by approaching it from behind the stage, and find another flock of wings that grew from its great spine: spinning wires and threads that appeared to resemble no harps that have ever belonged to human dwelling.

At a great height, its tears start swelling at the ends of its colorless dusty eyes, but its uncannily smooth, grooveless lips are turned upwards.

It has lost its ability to speak, and perhaps also, to think. Nothing rouses it to restore life anymore—not words, not worship, not wrath. Not light, which no longer came except at scarlet dawn. Not time, which I don't have.

". . ."

I am bone-weary. My eyes sting and my only wish now is to sleep. The hard-earned mettle to keep myself awake for the sake of world reconstruction had been a mistake.

Never mind. I strum the final lullabies the last man on earth will ever hear from the very strings that sprout from God itself. I don't mind that the tips of my fingers start to bleed and break and dry faster than God's tears. Don't care anymore. The world will know rest, and perhaps that's for the best.

#writober #CtrlSWritober

[kpellinore]

Another old and very pretty harp I spied down at the Dusty Strings workshop.  (I think it might be an early Clark harp). 

#Celtic harp #harp #Dusty Strings #pretty pretty