#it lurks in the mist
knotted-oak · a day ago
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Galveston, 2022
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sinnhelmingr · 3 months ago
got a day off tomorrow but will be going to a doctor’s appointment + taking my mom to lunch + shopping so. interactions are likely to happen tonight, feel free to chat w me on dms or discord. i am definitely open to plotting : ) if it helps, here is my relationship call to break the ice/give me some idea of where you’re going or what you can see happening.
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idlestories · 3 months ago
while unsurprisingly much of the mists of avalon does not vibe with bbc merlin at least bisexual legend lancelot persists
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lonelyvomit · 8 months ago
I would die to know why Taz keeps zooming in on the vans in his stories. Is he aware of the pain and thinks it’s funny? Does he just really love those shoes? Does someone he knows hate them so he’s punishing them?? We need answers sir (I would not be shocked to find Samy or even Taz himself lurking here tbh, much like I wouldn’t be shocked to find Joel lol)
Taz if you see this 🔥burn the Vans🔥
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jeks-tgs · a year ago
Keep Quiet - 1: Unfortunate Company
Robert sighed as he stepped out of the coach, pausing a moment to help his wife down, before approaching the Society reluctantly. The crowd was smaller today, and Brokenshire had at least managed to keep a path clear, but the constant yelling wasn't getting any better. Ever since those creatures had been spotted closer and closer to cities and towns, the general public had been scrambling for a scapegoat, and mad science seemed to be the majority vote. Still, he was a Lanyon, and he held his head high even as insults and threats alike were hurled at him.
"Chin up, Robert," His father hissed at him, and he lifted it even higher with a slight glare at the older man. It lacked it's usual venom; ever since the man had started accompanying him to the Society, they had begrudgingly started actually talking to one another. The only good thing brought about by all these accusations and fear-mongering was the lack of fighting during family visits.
"God, the nerve of those people!" Lisa huffed as she took her hat off, hanging it by the doors. "As if a group of scientists in London could have had anything to do with what's going on! It started in Wales, for God's sake!" Robert nodded in agreement, his father merely letting out an equally annoyed sniff.
"I honestly don't understand what the fuss is about," Hastie said as he hung up his coat. "We have bloody werewolves in London, and from what I've heard, those pests from the woods are easy to kill. There haven't been any more reports from Wales since last month. Clearly, they've handled it on their own." A sudden noise caught their attention, and the three Lanyons looked over to spot a familiar terrier rushing towards them, claws clicking on the marble. Lisa grinned, crouching down and allowing the little church grim to clamber into her lap, laughing as he licked at her face.
"What, no kisses for me?" Lisa rolled her eyes as Emma pouted at her, holding her arm out to bring the blonde into a hug, kissing her cheek. Hastie shifted a bit, still a tad confused by his son and his wife's relationship dynamic with the Jekylls, but he wasn't one to turn on his family and get them arrested for something as simple as love. He watched idly as Zosi rushed around Lisa's feet, lifting his little paws as if to say 'down here!!' It was quite adorable, and, ever the sucker for dogs, Hastie knelt down and gave the little scamp some attention.
He stood up, following his son, his daughter-in-law, and one of their lovers to the office of their other partner, biting back a laugh at the sight inside. Henry Jekyll, the founder of the Society, one of the most brilliant minds in London, was currently standing on one foot with a wine glass raised high above his head. Clinging to his lifted leg was a scraggly kitten with only one eye, peeping irritably at being denied the alcoholic beverage.
"Lithium! No! You can't have wine!" The Scot desperately tried to reason with the six ounce ball of black fur, but Lithium was having none of it, and kept trying to climb higher. Finally taking pity on him, Emma strode forward and scooped up the angry little thing, the black cat still meowing squeakily. "Thank you, darling. She's getting to be far more bold in her demands." Emma shook her head with a laugh, holding the irritable kitten to her chest.
"Reminds me of a certain blond urchin," Robert teased playfully, and Henry shot him a grumpy scowl. They all found their places to sit, Lisa and Emma chatting and leaning on one another as their husbands bustled about working on papers and signing things. Hastie busied himself with going through some of the more recent death threats targeted at the Society, chuckling occasionally at the outlandish claims. He paused for a moment, squinting at the paper.
"Robert, this letter says here that your little organization is to blame for.. 'the mist'?" He asked with a huff of amusement. "What, does your lot control the weather now?" Robert made a disgruntled face, letting out a flat, "Ah, 'the mist'. It rolled through Wales a month ago, around the same time they must have figured out their mess. Of course, those bastards out there are all taking it to be some sort of omen, and blaming us for it." The Lanyons shook their heads, exasperated, and Emma rolled her eyes as she started picking through the letters as well.
"Oh, this one's rich!" She giggled, holding up a letter.
"Um.. hey..?" Henry's voice held a note of concern to it, but he was ignored in favour of the gossip.
"They say Henry is a madman and Robert is some demon from hell, and that they've both dragged Lisa and I into a pact with satan!"
"Everyone.. t-there's, um.."
"Ha! Read this one, Ems," Lisa held up another letter, eyes twinkling.
"Ah, now we're succubi dragging two honest men into sin? Goodness, we seem to switch our roles in these tales frequently!" Emma laughed. "Talk about inconsistency."
The sound of Henry staggering back into his desk quickly caught their attention, and they all fell into an uneasy silence. Outside the large windows in Henry's office, the world was obscured by a dull cloud, though no water droplets formed on the window.
"S-Something ran past.." Henry whispered into the tense quiet of the room. "Something big..." Lisa grabbed Emma's hand tight, but before she could reassure her, they heard a commotion outside the doors. Henry rushed to poke his head out, letting out an alarmed sound before hurrying into the chaos that was now his entrance hall. "Everyone, please! Calm down!" He fruitlessly tried to enforce peace, but those who had run in from the outside were too busy demanding explanations. Henry stepped back, fearful that the agitated crowd might advance on him.
"Alright, what the hell is going on!?" Robert demanded, moving to stand in front of Henry. "Why are you in our building? I thought a majority of you swore you'd die before stepping foot in here? Well?" There was a brief moment of silence, before a young woman with a baby in her arms called out, "I-I was just passing by, sir, when the mist rolled in.. I.. I h-heard something awful out there.. people screaming.. I saw everyone rushing into the nearest buildings, a-and this one was the closest to me." Robert's expression softened, then furrowed in concern as he began taking note of how many people with children were present. He swore under his breath, then motioned Rachel over.
"Right, those with children, infants, or pregnant, please follow Ms. Rachel to the kitchens. If you need anything, let her know," He watched as people moved to group up with the cook, and Henry couldn't help but marvel at Robert's natural leadership. "Those with ailments, the elderly, and injured, Ms. Lavender will take you to the infirmary." Lavender rushed over, having been watching the chaos from around a corner, and began leading her group to the appropriate rooms, slightly larger than Rachel's. That left a majority in the main hall. "Now, calmly, explain what you know of the situation. And before anyone decides to theow accusations, we here at the Society are not responsible for this. Yes, you sir?"
"There's something in the mist," A middle-aged gentleman explained. "I heard it. Caught a few glimpses, but it's hard to see out there. Could barely see the folks around me." The others murmured their agreements and own confirmations of spotting something in the mist.
"Alright. There's something in the mist," Robert swallowed, voice tinged with worry. "Is it dangerous, or just frightening? Did it harm anyone?"
"I heard screaming," A woman said shakily. "Not normal screaming, it was dreadful. It.. i-it sounded like someone was being torn apart out there." This sent a burst of renewed panic through the crowd until Robert shouted for their attention.
"Okay. So, we know there's something in the mist, and that it is potentially deadly," He began to pace, thinking. "Alright, everyone away from the doors and windows. Henry, fetch the Lodgers, tell them to start covering and blocking all outside doors and windows. Emma, Lisa, help me with getting these people into rooms. Father, you've still got—"
"My revolver, yes," Hastie nodded, lifting his vest enough to show the handle. "I'll start looking for more weapons, I take it?"
"Yes, we need to be able to defend ourselves incase anything gets in."
They all split off to managed their own tasks, and Robert couldn't help but worry as he took in the amount of angry signs and aggravated faces amongst the people they were soon to be locked in with.
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abbuniverses · a year ago
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teaveined · 2 years ago
Tag dump.
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Tag dump please ignore!!!
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freuleinanna · 11 days ago
It's always trauma o'clock somewhere! Especially for these kids who had to come home and lie about why they returned from the camp a day later. They hardly had a chance to unpack the recent trauma, but I think this is how the HQ massacre affected their lives afterwards.
Jacob, as many others, chose a half-truth and told his parents that some jerk broke the car to stay with his girlfriend. He omitted the part where that jerk was him. Couldn't bear that guilt.
He was a decent swimmer and wanted to maybe take it professionally, but the next time he found himself at the pool, he completely froze at the signal. He never dived in that day. He stared at the blue-tiled water, and he saw the chains and the overblown body.
He found Emma on Instagram and, for a while, he was checking it obsessively, hoping she'd talk about what happened or mention it in some way, any way. He wanted to stop being so alone in knowing the truth and living with it. Emma never did that.
Emma, actually, fell silent for almost 2 months after her return. She'd speak the bare minimum, but never an actual conversation, never a joke. The happy, bubbly girl simply wasn't there. Her parents even took her to a teen therapist with little to no result.
Emma had stopped streaming for a while, although she still kept her Insta. One time she almost posted a selfie from that day, before the nightfall. Almost.
Some time later, she set up a really non-Emma-esque live stream. She was sitting in silence, looking at the sunset, the comment section was overflowing, and sometimes Emma would pick a question to answer from there. Many thought she was doing some sort of spiritual cleanse. She only spoke without a prompt for the first time when she saw Abi joining the stream.
For Abi, it was nightmares. That simple, that efficient. Dark forests, mist, dangerous beasts lurking around. What else to screw with the sleep of a sweet, tender person?
Movies on the background didn't help. Music didn't help. Drawing made everything worse, because in every shape, form, and shadow, beasts were lurking. Whenever she'd pick up a pencil to sketch, she left monsters on the paper. Wherever she looked, she saw monsters. Monsters always looked just a little bit like Nick.
It went on until the night she looked Emma up on Insta and, by pure coincidence, got to her live stream.
Nick blocked most of it out. There wasn't much to remember, but some memories still bled through.
He became the snack guy, the guy who always had something to chew on. It was a small quirk nobody was really paying attention to, but its trail led back to the only thing he did remember: hunger.
Whenever he emailed, Abi never replied.
Ryan, on the contrary, was replying to and receiving a LOT of emails. He was the one to send all the evidence to the Bizarre Yet Bonafide studio, and he also kept in touch with a few other Hacketteers, including Kaitlyn and Dylan.
Another thing he did is meticulously go through all his favorite media (TV & films mostly) and unbooked/deleted everything that dealt with guns being shot or vivid descriptions of wild animals (or their victims). This took him several hard days, but he finally felt safer when he did it.
He only watched something new if Dylan watched it first and gave him an okay.
Dylan, as opposed to Ryan, consumed horror content like his life depended on it. At some point, he even had a special notepad with details of how to defeat or protect yourself from all supernatural dangers and their mother. He kept this notepad on him at all times and often re-read it.
Getting used to not having a hand was slightly easier than he expected. What wasn't easy? That one time when his dad asked him to bring him sth to work. His father, a crane conductor on a construction site, did not expect his grown son to have a full-blown panic attack over a pb&j.
On the other hand (his joke, not mine), he got really close with Ryan and Kat, and they were planning a getaway together.
Kaitlyn was the one to propose the getaway. Despite the general total mindfuck, she managed to keep a cool head on the night of, and, surprisingly, it didn't cost her a hand and a leg (her joke, not mine!)
Thus, she became a healer. Reaching out, making sure. Helping. She didn't make it her sacred goal to help all others, but she tried, and that's what counts.
She kept tabs on Jacob especially. She knew he'd never ask for help. He didn't have to ask. That's what best friends are for.
Max never met any of those people, except Emma. That one time he bit his lip and nearly puked because he thought he remembered the taste of blood.
He topped his steak-cooking up to inventing the well-well-well-done steak without any possibility of there being blood.
Mostly, he just wasn't sure if he knew his own nature anymore. As the whole night was blocked in his mind, he could only trust Laura. And he did. The fact that she looked at him even more lovingly than before told him that if she trusts him, if she loves him, than it's okay.
Laura did trust him and loved him. But she also ran a gazillion of drills per week and kept at least two take-and-run bags in the house, and one in a special place. Clothes, flashlights, crackers, compass, you name it. She was an amateur that last time. Now she was ready for anything.
She took up running as well. She continued with vet studies. Even years after, the first thought that sprung to her mind if someone was butten by an animal was: CUT THE FUCKING LIMB.
Max kept her grounded with his laugh and his honest, sincere warmth. She could have gone really cold inside if it wasn't for him.
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just--space · 4 months ago
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Clouds of the Carina Nebula : What forms lurk in the mists of the Carina Nebula? The dark ominous figures are actually molecular clouds, knots of molecular gas and dust so thick they have become opaque. In comparison, however, these clouds are typically much less dense than Earth's atmosphere. Featured here is a detailed image of the core of the Carina Nebula, a part where both dark and colorful clouds of gas and dust are particularly prominent. The image was captured in mid-2016 from Siding Spring Observatory in Australia. Although the nebula is predominantly composed of hydrogen gas -- here colored green, the image was assigned colors so that light emitted by trace amounts of sulfur and oxygen appear red and blue, respectively. The entire Carina Nebula, cataloged as NGC 3372, spans over 300 light years and lies about 7,500 light-years away in the constellation of Carina. Eta Carinae, the most energetic star in the nebula, was one of the brightest stars in the sky in the 1830s, but then faded dramatically. via NASA
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knotted-oak · 7 months ago
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early morning fog on the charles bridge, prague
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tokoyamisstuff · a month ago
La douleur exquise - (n.) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable
Sinister! Doctor Stephen Strange x Reader
!MoM Spoilers Ahead!
In exchange for the Darkhold, Strange has to give his evil counterpart something that holds a way more emotional value.
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Warnings: Not Proofread, Mental Illness, Mentions of past Death and Murder, Self-Loathing, Hurt/Comfort, just me casually defending a Mass murderer Words: ~2000 A/N: Obviously you're replacing Christine in this Storyline, being a Researcher of the Multiversum and having been dragged into Stephen's mess.
"Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." - Master Yoda from Star Wars
"What did he say?"
You spoke before your mind could catch up on what you saw, however the strained expression on Stephen's face told you that the bargain did not went well.
The sorcerer hurried out of the ruins that once pridefully called themselves the Sanctum Sanctorum, his sentient cloak frantically moving with the all-surrounding mist of this forsaken universe.
"There's no other way but to fight him" he declares hastily and without further explanation. "Y/N, you need to leave. Hurry!"
"Just go!" the doc snapped at you, uttering some curses only for him to hear in between gritted teeth. After everything that had happened it might be just natural for him to behave this way, but something told you that a different reason was causing this internal struggle.
"Stephen..." you cooed with your most balming voice, knowing very well he'd be unable to resist it. You might not be the Y/N of his universe, but you did have an effect on the man that perfectly resembled your deceased husband nevertheless.
"Please, be honest with me. If this Dr. Strange has the Darkhold, he has the upper hand anyway. It's too dangerous to fight him alone. We can work this out together!"
"...what he wants is you. Are you happy now?!"
There was a long break of silence between his question and your response, but the answer was a clear and firm "Yes."
Strange blinked heavily, shook his head in confusion but your decision remained unfaltering. You took a deep breath before sighing deeply, and when you looked up into his eyes again he knew what this was about.
"An arrogant, egoistical cynic once told me that if it is to preserve stability of the Multiverse, our sacrifices mean way more than our survival." Oh, Strange knew this philosophy all too well - and right now he regretted every single syllable of it.
"Under no circumstances I'll leave you here with this monster" Stephen now growled, sending a menacing glare to the figure observing you from afar. "God knows what he'll do to you!"
"It's still you Stephen, and I'll always trust you to be a good person at the end of the day."
"Yes, but if my Y/N had never stopped forgiving me everything, I never would've changed for the better, if only a little! I wouldn't be the man I am now!"
"And I am proud of you for that, Stephen." You cracked a pained smile, taking a hold of his hands when out of a whim, you felt his forehead against yours, a sudden sensation of wetness in your hair.
"We can never exist in the same universe together without causing an inversion" you reminded him harshly, to make the goodbye easier.
"And anyways: I bet the Y/N in your universe is waiting for you to finally dare and conquer her once again. I must know, after all" you smiled widely, presenting your wedding ring to him.
"I-I've been nothing but terrible to her" Strange now sobbed against the fabric of your shirt, with you reassuringly putting your palms on his shoulder, squeezing them ever so slightly. "She's happy with someone else now. I-I don't deserve her, I-"
"Don't you ever dare thinking like that" you whispered with sheer certainty as you saw a silhouette lurking behind of the scattered window. "If you do, you'll end up just like him."
There was neither time, nor options - both of you had to accept this fact. So it was no wonder that slowly but steadily, the embrace would loosen and firm steps led you towards the entrance of the building.
You wouldn't dare turning back to face him one last time, fearing you might lose courage if you did. But when his last words reached your ear you froze, lower lip trembling in a desperate attempt not to be overwhelmed by those long lost feelings.
"Thank you, Y/N - for always saving me."
Countless stairs led up from impossible formations towards the second floor, a red half moon on the horizon serving as the only light source was perfectly accenturating this most bizarre scene.
Amazing, how you vividly remembered this part of the Sanctuarum from your visits, fingers running across ancient tombs and relics that resembled the ones in your universe.
"Still as naive as always I see."
This cold yet familiar voice made you jump a little, eyes needing a while to adjust to the darkness as the Strange from this universe revealed itself from beneath the shadows.
"Good that you didn't hold on to him any longer" the man hissed, starting the conversation due to your lack of reaction, staring outisde to the still waiting Stephen. "I was already thinking about killing this one, too."
"Too?" you dared prying, even though you were sure to not want an answer for hearing it would break you.
"Yes, indeed." Your blood ran cold when his unreadable expression turned into one of sheer malice, almost as if proud even. "I've killed many versions of myself in cold blood, and after some time my original remorse got replaced by pure joy."
"W-Why would you do this?"
"Because they didn't deserve living my dream of having you, it's that easy!" Strange now screamed at you, the walls of the Sanctum shaking at his raw power.
"I'm human, not something one can possess." You wouldn't give him the satisfaction to see you cry, desperately suppressing the tears prickling in the rim of your eyes.
But it was so damn hard to not give in to your emotions while seeing someone wearing the same face as your lover, even though you know that this person is long gone...
...and it made you sympathetic with the man right in front of you.
Knowing that over and over again, someone else had the luck that the two of you were not granted must be torture - and also the most greatest temptation.
To just leave your universe behind and replace it with one of happiness and bliss, where you could have everything you wanted, even shall it be reuniting with the one you cared about most.
How hard must this soulcrushing guilt have weighted on his soul when he realized that his innocent wish to be with the one he loved damned billion lives to imminent demise? That a solution was so close, but the natural calculus of the Multiverse would not allow it?
But right now, did it really matter as long as you stayed in a universe that had already been destroyed beyond repair?
"Give him-"
"The Darkhold?" he took the words right out of your mouth, grapping the heavy chain that was connecting the book to it's holder. "It exacts a heavy toll, you know?"
"I believe in Doctor Strange." Every word hit the other Stephen's heart like sharp knives, knowing that he himself failed to resist it's temptation.
Without knowing the consequences, he had started using the Darkhold a long time ago with the simply wish of finding a Y/N to spend the rest of his life with...
...but when he realized what chaos he had unfolded, he continued searching for answers in the forbidden magic to undo his actions. He secluded himself in the Sanctum, his failures only made him more mad and vulnerable to the corruption of the Darkhold.
Unable to redeem himself, knowing that abducting a Y/N wouldn't fill the hole in his heart for she could never love the abomination he became, in a universe without any hope, he had accepted his fate - having found salvation in cruelty.
"Prove to me that you're really Y/N, and not just a trick by the other me." You raised a suspecting eybrow at the man, aware that his powers surpassed these of a 'normal' Dr. Strange by far.
His eyes widened in panic and disbelief when you hesistantly approached the man until you were but inches away from each other. Strange was towering over you, his calm outer demeanour unable to deceive you.
There was a beast raging on the inside, having taken over his mind to make the rest of his consciousness helplessly watch his rampage. He was erratic, constantly on edge and not held back by any morals or reason anymore.
However, if there was anything of the man you once knew left in him, there was no way you'd be afraid.
"Stephen..." You dared cupping his face in your hands, feeling that his whole body was shaking. "My Strange died shortly after our marriage - no happily ever after. I feel your pain."
 "You are just like her." Even his voice was quivering in sheer exasperation, unable to keep quiet sobs from exiting his mouth as his hands ghosted over your form.
The sorcerer inhaled sharply, visibly surprised when you took one of his hands and led it to the side of your face. You closed your eyes as you leaned into his touch, savouring the warmth his blackened fingertips still provided. "I missed you so, so painfully much, Stephen!"
"Not me, my love. The man you knew is long dead." This was the most sane line of though he had strung together in a long time now.
"But our love for each other preserves, even through the whole Multiverse."
Intertwining your fingers with his, you moved closer until his nose brushed yours, two hearts beating so loud as if to call out for one another...
...but then, his gentle touch turned into something else, making you buckle over in pain as he harshly grabbed your wrists.
"...even with this?" he spat bitterly, pulling you as close as possible for you to witness this disgusting third eye on the center of his forehead.
Just for the fraction of a second astonishment was visible on your features...
...but what actually caused Strange to back off was the genuine smile you showed him afterwards.
It was almost comical - how one of the most powerful sorcerers in the Multiverse seemed frightened by a woman he was crossing all laws for just to be with.
"You know what?" you chuckled as you gently poked his chest, making him wonder if you didn't understand the threat he was proposing, or maybe have turned just as insane as he was.
However, against all odds and logic, the affection in your eyes was all prevailing. "For someone always acting so tough and cruel, you're in constant need of care. You have the most pure, fragile heart, Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange!"
"I-I'm a menace, Y/N. I'm not in control of my own mind, I-" the man whined as you stubbornly wrapped your arms around him, your hug a naive attempt to press all the scattered pieces of him back together.
"It's alright, Stephen" you cooed as he held onto you for dear life, fearing that you were in fact just a conjuration of his twisted mind - disappearing if he was ever to let go again.
"You would never intentionally hurt someone. The Darkhold is no excuse for your sins, but it was the reason things went out of control. Punishing yourself with eternal suffering won't make up for all the misery you caused. But at least I can forgive you."
What an obscure thing fate was, he caught himself thinking as you softly grabbed the fabric of his coat, placing one hand on his heart as you made him lean to your height once again.
This was your magic, he could feel it surging through him as soon as your lips enclosed with his, breathing new life into this broken shell of a man.
"I love you, Stephen Strange. So free yourself and come back to me."
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angryschnauzer · 4 months ago
Always Watching
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Summary; As a Watcher, you’re part of the town council that helps the Vampires and the humans live together peacefully. However when you fall for one of the most charismatic vampires in town, Sherlock Holmes, life becomes complicated. Add in an unorthodox addition of Werewolf/Vampire Town Elder Geralt to your new relationship, they help you deal with the realisation that you are also not human, learning to accept your true nature as a succubus.  All this on top of a growing threat of a monster that is snatching people in the night and plaguing your dreams.
sequel to The Watcher and The Watched. 
Fandom: Henry Cavill, Enola Holmes, The Witcher
Wordcount: 2433
Relationship: Vampire!Sherlock x Succubus Reader x Vampire/Werewolf!Geralt (No body type or race is described for the reader)
Warnings:  NSFW, 18+, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Unprotected Sex, Rough/Primal Sex, Doggy Style, talk of restraints, restraining reader during sex, spanking, neck biting, losing consciousness, lucid dreams, tentacles, kidnap by monster.
Manip in the moodboard is by @nixakimbo on instagram.
I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications.  Henry Cavill Masterlist
Always Watching
Clutching the stack of books you hugged them to your chest as you made your way back to your apartment, there was research to do and it was going to be a late night. In the last few weeks things in town had changed, though not to the general population, but the town council had made drastic changes since Sherlock and Geralt had reported back as to what was causing the unrest. People were also starting to go missing, your father included, and after initial futile searches, a crew had been dispatched to the labyrinth of caverns beneath the town. You and Sherlock had led a team, only briefly seeing a glimpse of the beast that lurked, a long purple tentacle the size of your thigh slithering away into the darkness.
Arriving at your place you juggled the books in one arm as you unlocked the door, setting them onto the table before heading back and shutting the door. Settling down to the ancient texts you’d pulled from the vault of the town archives, you started to research a theory that had crept into your mind. As the night went on your fatigue crept in, eventually falling asleep at the small table in your kitchen.
Your dream was vivid; a bright light illuminating crystal blue-green waters, the ebb and flow of water washing over your body. The tip of a tentacle curled across your chest and you realised you were barely dressed, just a flimsy chemise covering your body that was all but transparent. More tentacles appeared from the water, softly wrapping around your calves before climbing to your thighs. The water started to bubble and the curved back of the beast appeared, scaled and dark, before finally it reared its head from the water. There was a haze as you tried to focus, mists swirling around the creature yet through the tendrils of vapour you saw it shift and change, its form morphing into that of a man. His clothes hung in shreds from his shoulders, a wide ceremonial chain draped around his shoulders. The mists cleared and he lowered himself to you, his face inches from your own as he took in the sight of your spread form beneath him, the tentacles still gripping you. Just as he went to speak the vision faded, dissipating like steam out of a window.
Strong arms carried you and you realised you were in your apartment, those same strong arms connected to a firm chest, the scent of Rosemary surrounding you;
“What?... Sherlock?”
“Shhh, I came to drop breakfast over and found you slumped at the table. Were you up all night?”
“I dreamed… I had a dream…” you murmured
“Shhh its ok, get some rest, you can tell me later”
He set you down on your bed, pulling the covers over your body as he watched you drift off to a dreamless sleep, trying to chase the vision you’d had earlier but nothing came.
A loud knocking at the door pulled you from the depths of your dreamless sleep, and as you were rising to sit on the side of your bed you heard a grunt and a click, and a familiar hulk was soon standing in the doorway;
“Patience is a virtue Geralt”
“And one i don’t have” He stood in the doorway, one leg crossed over the other, a large garment bag hanging from one fingertip; “Sherlock asked me to drop this off”
“What is it?”
You padded on bare feet to where he stood, unzipping the bag with your tired fingers, Geralt watching as you pulled the gorgeous gown from it;
“Sherlock sent it over. It’s from the archives. For the big celebration ball tonight”
“The ball… OH, that ball.”
You had been so busy with your research you had completely forgotten about the annual ball that the town council and elders would attend. This year you had been invited as Sherlock’s plus one.
“Yes, that ball” Geralt said with a hint of sarcasm but a smirk chasing after it, before he hooked his finger beneath your chin and pulled your face up to look at him; “Are you sure you’re ok? When was the last time you fed?”
“I… err… I had dinner last night? I think Sherlock dropped some breakfast off but I went straight back to sleep…”
“No, not ate; fed”
It took a moment to realise what he meant;
“Oh. It’s been over a week. Sherlock’s been busy”
“Hmmn” was the only reply you got, Geralt setting the dress over a chair before pulling his phone out and dialling and waiting for an answer;
“Yeah it’s me. I’m with her now… uh-huh, yes i dropped the dress off… yup… no idea… Listen, Sherlock, she hasn’t fed in over a week” there was a pause where Geralt listened to his friend speak; “Yes you should have… uh-huh… Are you sure? Ok ok, yeah i’ll do it…ok… yes i’ll make sure she’s there on time…ok, bye.”
Geralt hung up and a smile played on his lips;
“Get on the bed, sweetheart”
He took a step forward and was suddenly crowding your personal space. Hooking a finger under your jaw he pulled your chin up so you were looking directly at him. His lips opened but he didn’t say a word, instead that finger trailed down your neck, pausing on the throbbing vein of your jugular before resting at the low neckline of your t-shirt;
“I said… Get. On. The. Bed”
Your legs shook as you took the few steps back until the backs of your knees met the edge of the bed, Geralt still advancing on you as you fell back onto the messy covers. With lightning fast reflexes the vampire-werewolf hybrid was on his knees and pulling your panties down your legs, before hooking his massive arms around your thighs and pulling your ass to the edge of the mattress. His face was inches from your core and you watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting out a hum of appreciation at your scent, before he pressed his mouth to your centre. 
You squirmed beneath his touch, hands reaching out to push him away;
"Geralt, no… i haven't showered!"
He let out a low growl, glaring at you;
"Woman! Stay still… i can't get enough of your scent…" his eyes glowed gold and you were reminded that he was half werewolf, his instincts even more primal than Sherlock's vampiric nature when added in with being a mix of the both. You couldn't help but to continue your movements and another growl resonated from his throat; "... don't make me fit spreader bars to you"
"You wouldn't…"
A dark smirk played over Geralt's lips;
"Oh, I certainly would… in fact i'll make a note to suggest it to Sherlock, i have a feeling he'd very much enjoy seeing you spread and immobile for us to use as we wish"
With a smirk on his lips he descended back between your thighs, his rough tongue lapping at your core and relishing the way you responded to his ministrations. Soon you were coming on his tongue, a low growl emitting from him between your thighs as he drank down your essence. Your head fell back against the bed as you basked in the glow of energy that surged through you, before you felt Geralt’s hands gripping your hips and suddenly flipping you over;
“You didn’t think we were done yet, did you little succubus?”
He pulled your hips up until your ass was in the air and that’s when you felt the firm nudge of the thick fleshy tip of his cock push through your folds. Glancing over your shoulder you saw Geralt’s fangs had descended and his lips were curled into a snarl as he thrust forwards and filled your soft cavern completely. 
If it hadn’t been for your previous orgasm you’d probably be screaming the house down, instead the afterglow softened the brutality of his werewolf side taking over, rutting without remorse into you like a wild animal taking its mate. All that was going through your mind was surge after surge of energy that Geralt willingly shared with you, pushing you higher and higher as he reached new depths within your body. Your were blindly reaching back, seeking his touch or to simply feel him, when his large hand caught your wrist and pinned it behind your back. He did the same with the other, holding both your wrists in a tight grip with one hand, before his other hand came down sharply on your ass;
“Woman, i’m gonna keep those hands still until i’m done with you, no squirming with me, i’m not like Sherlock, i’m going to take charge and give you what you need” 
“Yes Geralt… give it to me” you cried out, the pleasure filling your body making tears run down your cheeks. 
Another sharp spank to your behind had you clenching around him, rewarding you with another growl before he only increased his pace again, bringing you to the edge of sanity as you felt yourself starting to go cross eyed from the way he was fucking you so well, a small puddle of drool beneath your mouth on the sheets where you had lost the ability to speak in any form of coherency. 
When you did finally come your eyes rolled back in their sockets, your mouth open in a silent scream as you submitted to the euphoria surging through your soul. Limp and pliable in Geralt’s hands, he pulled you up to kneeling, your back flush with his chest, and as he sank his cock so deep into you for one final time, coating your cervix with his seed, he sank his teeth into your neck and drank from you. But none of this you were aware of, you’d already blacked out.
Many hours later you were fed, washed, and dressed in the gown Geralt had dropped off, your body aching in ways you didn’t know were possible. And yet dressed in the blood red gown whilst you ran behind Geralt through the narrow streets of the city, you felt more alive than you ever had before. 
“Come on, move those fancy toes” Geralt growled to you as you struggled to keep up with his long strides
“Hey, you're not the one wearing heels whilst trying to walk on cobblestones… or who’s insides were rearranged repeatedly just a few hours ago”
He stopped and turned, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth;
“Hmmmn” his eyes glinted gold in the evening light as he watched you catch up, before turning and continuing onto the grand hall at the centre of the old walled city.
As the grand hall came into sight you could see Sherlock pacing at the top of the steps, looking suave in a full tuxedo, a stark contrast to Geralt’s all black ensemble of leather jacket, silk shirt, and jeans that clung to his thighs almost illegally. Upon seeing you trotting along still behind Geralt, Sherlock descended the steps and pulled you into his arms;
“You look stunning. I trust Geralt took good care of you?”
“Look at her, she’s fucking glowing” Geralt interrupted; “Of course i took good care of her, might not be satisfied with just you anymore”
Sherlock laughed before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing against your ear;
“You look stunning, and i apologise for neglecting you this week my darling, i’ll make it up to you…”
Resting your hand on his firm chest you smiled at him;
“I look forward to it”
His long fingers wrapped around yours and he gently lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, only for Geralt to pointedly clear his throat;
“When you two are done… it’s time to go in”
The gala was stunning, held in the sunken catacombs of the old grand hall, it would seem the elders were going to stick to tradition no matter what threat loomed over them, seeking a sense of normalcy just for the night. There were many faces you recognised and even more you didn’t, and after tiring of dancing - taking turns for both Geralt and Sherlock to be your partner - you stood at the edge of the room against the ancient carved stone balustrade of the steps that led down into the waters, sipping on your drink as you watched the crystal clear waters slowly ripple. The music faded out and the mayor stood started to make a speech, and you looked around to find Sherlock or Geralt, finding them both in deep discussion with gruff Constable Marshall. As the major droned on, forced laughter rippling around the cavern it hid the sound of the water rippling behind you, of a dark shadow moving up the steps. The room was cold and a shiver ran over your exposed skin. Your attention moved back to Sherlock who caught your gaze, smiling and nodding before stepping through the crowd, and that was when you felt it.
Looking down your eyes went wide and you dropped your glass, a scream bubbling up from your diaphragm as the long purple tentacle curled around your ankle. The people at the top of the staircase turned just in time to see other tentacles curl around your wrists and neck, before it lifted you and you were dragged into the water.
The world came back into view, your vision hazy, and you suddenly realised you needed to expel whatever vile taste was in your mouth, rolling on sandy stone and coughing out the catacomb water. As you shivered on your hands and knees, your soaked dress in tatters, a thick tentacle slithered past and it suddenly shocked you fully awake. With a gasp you turned, trembling as the waters bubbled and a mass of swirling tentacles unfurled. It was then that you realised your dream hadn’t been a dream, it was a premonition;
“No…” you quietly spoke, trying hard to focus on the centre of the mass, the body of the creature forming. When it finally spoke it was if it was speaking through charred remains;
“Still… stay still…”
You shook your head, scrambling backwards until tentacles curled around your ankles and gripped your calves; “STILL!” it commanded, pushing closer to you and that’s when you saw it; the ceremonial chain.
You’d found it in your research, you knew what - or who - this was, you just weren’t sure how he’d gotten that way;
“Please… wait. I can help you… Charles…”
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sinnhelmingrmoved · 3 years ago
Who's the amazing Master Xehanort?
i am so glad you asked so i can plug @ncheart, in whose threads and asks i can hear nimoy’s voice. this mun has a lot of love and understanding for this muse and it shows, and for those so inclined to interact with the kh community i cannot recommend this blog enough.
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bye-bye-sunbird · a year ago
Porcelain - Yan!Diluc x Maid!Fem!Reader
This is my first fic in a LOONG time. ‘Been years since I last wrote... anything, so please excuse my rustiness. Also, english is not my first language, so I am bound to make mistakes TuT.
I was heavily inspired by the amazing work of @ddarker-dreams, and read about the idea of a touched starved Diluc getting all hot and bothered by a maid darling... Maybe I’ll turn this into a series, but since I am only starting to write again, I can’t promise anything really, i’m terribly out of shape. I mean, this tumblr isn’t really for writting... But it can be (?)
So, if anyone has any prompts or ideas they want to throw my way, I’ll be happy to read them!
The Genshin fandom has taken over my life, help me.
Warnings: Slight NSFW, Dubious Consent, unhealthy relationships based in power dynamics, general yandere themes.
Your limbs stiffen at his touch, as your gaze refuses to leave the ground while he gently traces his lips over your jaw, so softly, that you almost can’t feel it. His bare hands ghost over your figure, drawing patterns over your neat uniform. You can feel the hunger lurking behind his restrained movements.
He whispers your name with the softness of a prayer meant to be heard only by you, who dares not to move. Your fear will never let you realize the power you hold over him. 
He presses a kiss on your neck, the touch sending shivers all over your spine. The teapot you used to serve his tea almost slippes from your fingers, yet you manage to stand still.
You feel ashamed of yourself.
After a while, your eyes avert slightly to the window next to you. Rain pours over the fields, while mist slowly devours the roof like a patient beast. 
Like Master Diluc himself would do to you, should he ever were to become mist.
He often takes his time with you, and while he has never truly given in to his impulses, you can see in his eyes and read through his mind the ways he has imagined to take things further than that.
Sometimes, he would look at his desk while caressing your back, as if toying with the idea of pinning you there.
Other times, his fingers would lift your skirt a few millimeters, only to drop the fabric seconds later.
Your neck is the only thing he allows himself to indulge in. Most of the time he is content with soft kisses, just like now. But on other days he would press his body behind your back just an inch further, his hand grabbing your jaw while his lips ravished your neck as if he was a starving man.
You stay still, always the quiet, subservient creature he obsesses over with. You never raise your voice, nor look directly at his eyes. 
You barely let a slight hitched breath escape your lips while he slowly nibbles at your earlobe.
But when he slowly slips his hand under your white apron you can't help but drop the teapot you held so tightly moments ago. The sound of the porcelain crashing against the wooden floor startles you, and your immediate reaction is to lower yourself to pick it up, only to find that Master Diluc hasn't let go of you.
He had stopped his attention towards your neck, his eyes fixed on the broken porcelain and the cold tea spilled on the floor. After a few seconds, he lowers his head and averts his hand out of your apron carefully, turning his back on you.
“Leave it” he orders, as he walks towards the window.
Even though he isn't looking at you, you respond with a small bow, and meekly excuse yourself before getting out of the room.
It’s only after you close the door behind you that you let a profound breath escape your lips.
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lucky-numberme · 6 months ago
I love them, your honour
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[ID 1: An ethereal mountainous forest landscape against a night sky. Light on the horizon implies dawn is breaking. in the center, Percy (a transmasc ghost boy) and Diggory (a stitched together revenant) embrace on a dragon's head shaped-log in front of a black lake. the lake is shrouded in mist and green eyes lurk under its surface. in the background, trees and a camouflaged Wandering Night Gaunt are silhouetted against purple mountains. In the foreground, dark trees covered in the hundred eyes of Nikignik all look towards the center of the frame. Text at top reads "Hello From the Hallowoods". Text at bottom reads "William A. Wellman"
ID 2: A close up of former image. Percy leans over Diggory, holding their face and shoulder. Both are sitting on a log shaped like a dragon's head in front of a black lake framed by dark trees. Percy is semi-transparent transmasc ghost with pale skin and choppy short hair. He is wearing a sweater and trousers. Diggory is a stiched together revenant with long dark hair and patchwork skin. They wear a leather jacket. End ID]
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silvysartfulness · 2 months ago
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Chapter 42  - Starting All Over Again of Heaven Has A Road But No One Walks It is up! :D
They spent a last day in Aijian village to make the last preparations for the journey ahead, getting ready to leave the misty mountains of Muaishan at last.
Xue Yang and Xingchen danced cautiously around each other from the moment they woke, tantalized and wary at once – there was a mix of hunger and guarded uncertainty Song Lan had rarely seen on Xingchen's face, and a pained, shivering patience he had never expected from Xue Yang.
“More gifts for you, daozhang,” Old Hu called out as Song Lan descended the stairs after solemnly sweeping the little closet room floor clean of painful jagged shards, snapping him back to the present. Handing the speech talisman over, he inclined his head.
“Thank you. You can put them here, I will pack them away. Please give these generous people our sincerest thanks.”
The table near the door to the garden was already cluttered – as news had rippled through the village that they were finally leaving, it seemed like every single person in the nearby valleys were coming by the inn to see them off. He hadn't fully realized the impact they had had on this remote place until now, helplessly wondering how to fit all the tokens of gratitude into their rather humble qiankun bags and pockets.
Ranging from little simple notes of thanks to small packages of well-prepared food, simple but well-made spare garments, strips of cloth for Xingchen's eyes, medicines and home brewed fruit wine – humble gifts, given by poor people, but many of them.
Someone had seen fit to gift them an actual live chicken, which sat perching in birdly bewilderment upon its throne of tributes until he could pay the anonymous benefactor's generosity forward to Madam Hu. He had attempted to settle their bill when he told old Hu that they were planning on moving on soon, but the innkeepers had absolutely refused to take any payment, assuring him that freeing the mountains from the tyranny of the mist spirits put the people of Muaishan forever in their debt, not the other way around.
In the end, he was only grudgingly allowed to recompense Madam Hu for the regrettably broken ceramic bowl in Xue Yang's room. And, apparently, gifting her a chicken.
Time for a breather, a little while of sweetness. ♥
As always, your comments and questions mean the world to me, it is literally what motivates me to keep writing this monster of a fic! Whether you drop some funny tags, send an ask, go comment on the fic itself, I read and treasure it all - or why not come hang out or lurk like a Xue Yang crocodile in my discord server! 💚
Thank you so much, all of you who are still keeping me company on this crazy journey! This ride has some wild twists and turns in store yet. 😁
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balenciagabucky · 11 months ago
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧ ˚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
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pairing ☽˚⁀➷。 dark!ari levinson x fem!reader
summary ☽˚⁀➷。 do you really want someone to come save you?
word count ☽˚⁀➷。 2,858
warnings ☽˚⁀➷。THIS IS A DARK FIC. politician father, kidnapper!ari, being held captive, mentions of previously harming yourself, rude ari, cutting yourself with glass shards purposely, eating ice cream, occasional tender ari moments, the word raped appears, choking, nonconsensual kiss, rough sex, nails scratching, falling in love witch your kidnapper, sleepy cute ari
authors note ☽˚⁀➷。 PLEASE REBLOG MY TAGLIST IS ENDING ON JULY 10TH PLEASE FOLLOW @dulceslibrary AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN I POST,, after el persuaded me to write it, i finally did it, here u go bby @bucksfucks 18+ ONLY,, feedback is appreciated @afriendlyblackhottie
He watches you bathe every night, Your alone-time is limited now ever since you had cut yourself badly. You hoped it would be enough to take you to the hospital, that he would freak out, but you were wrong.
He stands against the counter with his arms crossed and his eyes
He stands against the counter with his arms crossed and his eyes hooded. The steam from the tub mists the bathroom and his black clothes are imposing in the fog. Someone else would assume he is aloof, disinterested. Maybe even bored.
But you know he absorbs every move you make. You could tease him. Play with your nipples. Take the soap and make it disappear under the frothy water, and let him only imagine what you're doing with it. Make him as uncomfortable as he makes you.
You’ve done it before but he didn't even blink. Still you know, just know, it affects him.
You must be taking too long tonight. His nostrils are flared, eyes narrowed, and his sigh heavy.
"I think you're clean enough for now," he says, tossing you a towel.
You’re not prepared and half of it falls into the water. His expression is unrepentant.
"Let's go."
He leads the way back into your bedroom. Or your cell, as you think of it. Your captor may have procured a comfortable bed with luxurious sheets and a bookcase filled with any novel you’d care to read, but you don't fool yourself. You make the best of what you’ve got, but you refuse to be lulled into complacency.
Sometimes you still give him a fight. You kick him in the shin, or stab him with a pen. An elbow to the gut is always fun. Nothing ends up affecting him, however, and you only end up losing privileges.
You have been held hostage for about a month now--give or take a few weeks. Dad is an important politician; your kidnappers want to send a message. And it doesn't hurt that Dad is loaded and that they keep funneling money from him, making false promises they'll drop you off somewhere.
You don't know how long they'll keep you. You don't ask anymore.
You do know that the man you deal with all the time doesn't work alone. You hear other voices coming from where you’re hidden, but you've never seen anyone else.
Just him.
In the beginning you valued that, remembering crime shows you’d seen before. It is a good sign if criminals don't want you to see them; that means they have intentions of releasing you. Of course your main captor reveals his face to you every day for memorization.
"Put your clothes on," he orders.
You've daydreamed long enough.
My hands scurry to pull your panties up, toss your gown on. Thankfully he's left you the comb--one of the few luxuries you have left.
He stomps into the bathroom, collecting any and all dangerous items you could possibly use to harm yourself. When he comes back out, he stops for a moment to watch you untangle the knots from your hair. This tension crackles between you. It's nothing new.
You reflect on how sick you are. You get excited just by his eyes on your body. When he traces your curves with those stone-cold blue eyes, waves of arousal liquify you. You crave him almost as much as you despise him. That's disgusting to you, that you can look at this man who keeps you from your family and from your life and feel anything but hatred. When he touches you, every cell in your body hums with electricity. Catching his scent on clothes you’re occasionally given and the change of bedsheets he brings every week is sometimes the highlight of your day. It's pathetic.
Part of it may be that you've never quite felt as alive as you do now. Your days are dangerous and somehow unpredictable, even though you end up doing the same thing for a week. You never know what mood he'll be in, if he'll even look at you.
He must be as horrified as you are. Very rarely do your bodies make accidental contact. He doesn't spend an excess of time with you. He's stopped indulging you with chocolate every now and then, or an extra blanket when the chill from the cracks in the walls is too much. You think it's all a way of reminding himself you’re not a guest.
Who is this man? You can never figure it out. He seems so gentle, even if he's tall and strong. He's patient when you take forever to complete simple tasks he must oversee. Yet you sense that powerful brutality lurking beneath his benign facade; a brutality you instinctively know you must evade.
"How much longer do I have to be here?" You ask tonight. Thinking about all of this has renewed your fear. It terrifies you that you don't have as much interest in fleeing from this bedroom anymore.
He starts, almost as if he's surprised by the question. "Until you're no longer needed."
"How much have you made off of me by now? A hundred grand? Two?"
He gives nothing away, but you'd bet it's even more than that.
"It's time for bed." He waits until you’re in bed and under the covers before he flips the lights off.
Before you can say goodnight with sarcasm, he's locked you in. How macabre this little pantomime of yours is--he all but tucks you into bed, his little prisoner.
And you can't deny that you play it all over and over again in your mind until morning.
You lose privacy privileges again a few days later. You smashed the mirror in the bathroom and cut a wrist with a shard.
You're not suicidal, but you do have a masochistic streak, it would seem.
You tell yourself it's to annoy him, to damage the goods so that when he finally uses you up and returns you to your father, Dad can see the physical toll.
Secretly you just want to see what he'll do.
In the initial minutes, he's rough with you. He catalogues the immense flow of blood flowing from your wrist, the puddle at your feet, the paleness of your face.
"Shit. What did you do?"
He tugs you out of the bathroom. You’re shaking by the time he pushes you down on the bed.
"Stay," he orders, as if you could go anywhere else.
He leaves the room only to return a minute later with a first-aid kit. That he has such a thing at all strikes you so bizarre that you can't repress a laugh.
You receive a glare. "You really need stitches."
He treats you. It stings terribly, but it's what you deserve. Or so he keeps telling you.
You lay out to rest and he vanishes. The pain is exquisite and you don't quite sleep, drifting in and out.
In the middle of the night he creeps in, obviously assuming you’re asleep. His cool hand touches your forehead. If he's looking for a fever, he doesn't find one. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you feel him push back your hair in something that almost feels like tenderness.
Then you feel him poking around your wound. You’re not sure how he can make anything out in the blanket of darkness surrounding us.
He must be satisfied, however, because he leaves immediately after.
Only then do you find yourself tearing up.
It's strange, but no one has taken care of you before. No one until your captor.
One day he brought you ice cream. You’re not sure why, but you happily take the spoon and dig in. He sits on your bed, watching you with a severity you don't understand.
Then he clears his throat. "You are going home soon. Three days at the most."
The ice cream slides down your throat too quickly. A rush of cold flows to your head and it aches.
"Three days?"
This is good news. Why am I panicking?
He runs a hand over his face. "Yes. I'll release you someplace remote. It will be up to you how you get home." His body is tight. "You will tell your father how well we treated you. I would hate to have to come visit you and make my point."
"Do you really think me telling my father you brought me some ice cream is going to prevent the cops from trying to get you?" You snort. "They probably won't even wait a minute before trailing you."
He shakes his head and you realize all too late what you've said. I make a terrible victim.
"We have our money. I'll be far, far away before you even make it to civilization."
Damn it. The thought makes you sad. Fucking Patty Hearst.
Perhaps he reads the melancholy in your face because a sardonic grin drapes itself across his face. "Sad?"
"Who else will lurk around when I take a bath?" You try, but your tone is off.
You might never be able to take a bath again if you can't feel the weight of his impenetrable stare.
He shrugs. "Pay someone to do it."
He's so cavalier that you wonder for a moment if you've imagined this whole attraction. He stands, apparently preparing to leave, and you give up pretending. You take three huge steps toward him, tossing the ice cream on the floor in a dramatic fashion. A brief thought flits through your brain that this is so Lifetime, but you’re right in front of him now and there's no time for amusement. You drag yourself up his body so that you’re up on the tips of your toes. Your noses meet and our breath mingles. It would be so easy to kiss him right now.
"I would regret it very much if I didn't at least tell you that, as crazy as it is, I want you to fuck me."
His inhale is sharp and disbelieving. "What?"
"It's crazy, I know. You dragged me out of my apartment and put me in a room that's smaller than my bathroom." Your heart is beating so furiously that he must feel it. "You've always been delicate with me, though. I know you'd never hurt me. And there's just something about--"
But he cuts you off with a hand to your throat. "What are you playing at? You're a breath away from being free and you tempt me like this?"
"I'm screwed up," You grind out. You can't help reveling in the tickling sensation of his rough fingers around your sensitive neck.
He scans your face. "You really are," he says in a kind of wondering way.
Then he lets you go and takes a step back. "I have no intentions of fucking you."
"But you want to."
Again he looks astounded. His gaze travels up and down your body as if he's never seen you before.
"You're crazy." He shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere near you. All I need is for you to tell your father I raped you."
"But I’m willing" You can't even believe the words falling out of your mouth. "And you'll be far, far away, remember?"
"Enough." He's pissed. He turns his back on you and makes for the door. "I'll be back with your dinner later."
Something flares in you and you want to engulf him in the flames, too. You’re frustrated, and not just sexually. He took a month from you. He's stolen from your father. He's scarred you for life.
And you want him inside you and it's all so fucked up that you’re crying.
It's too much to bear that in roughly 72 hours you’ll be back to your plain life where the most exciting thing that happens is when your boyfriend comes too soon. Dad will ask what you’re doing with your life, and Mom will feign disappointment in you because that's just what mothers do.
You pull at his arm frantically and he turns to look at you with reluctance.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He tries to tear himself away but you won't let him.
You catch his lips with yours somehow. It's awkward and your teeth click together, but you know you have him now by the way his body tightens up.
His lips are softer than you thought they'd be. And it's harder to kiss him than you hoped since he's so freaking tall.
It takes a few minutes for him to relax. His arms wrap around you and he takes over your kiss. You won't stand for that, however, and quickly reach for his cock to get him off-balance.
It works; he's clearly staggered. His mouth unlocks from your so that he can moan. His eyes are focused on you, watching you, watching him lose control. He's hard and large, just as you fantasized.
Before you can get too comfortable basking in your fascination, he half-lifts you and throws you onto the bed. Your stomach jumps and the reality of the situation finally settles in your chest. You’re inflamed with wild wantonness and you’re barely breathing. Never, ever have you experienced something like this.
He makes quick work of his pants. The sound of his zipper slipping down is more than enough to get you wet. Wetter.
He doesn't bother pulling off his shirt. His body falls upon your, and his hungry hands bunch up your gown until your breasts are bared in the cool air. His mouth latches on to one nipple and then the next with an almost frightening urgency.
The hardness of his cock against your thigh is something you won't ever be able to forget. You are desperate to taste him but you know neither of you have the patience.
Your thoughts are confirmed when he pushes your panties to the side and stuffs two fingers inside you. Everything is slick and easy. You pant into his face before forcing a kiss onto him, unable to be without his taste for long. Another finger slips in and you cry out.
Then his fingers are gone and his meaty cock is thrusting against your pussy, thrusting against your clit.
You’re begging nonsensically at this point. He smiles down at you; it's obvious he enjoys the sensation of his dripping cock slipping against your own wetness.
And then he's pushing in and out. It's rough and vicious. Like a barbarian, he bites your breast and pulls your hips closer to him by a violent grip of your ass. He wants to make you lose your mind as much as you want the same for him. This is fucking, primitive and fierce, and you never want to do it any other way again.
He pounds your pussy until you’re shrieking and raising your hips back against him. The urge to come is sudden and you quickly lose any tenuous grip of control you had.
Your body shudders. Muscles tighten and release. Your cunt grips him like a wet fist, sucking him in with the incredible force of your orgasm.
He curses and fucks you harder. You're a mess of screams and sweaty flesh against flesh.
Then you feel him grow bigger and harder inside of you. His cock inflates with cum until it spills over and into you. He grunts with every pulse. Your nails are so ingrained in his back that you wonder if you’ve permanently scarred him.
As fast as you come together, you pull apart. He collapses beside you. Your body is still hungry and thrumming for more contact. You want him inside again, his pelvis rubbing against your clit.
Your head turns on your pillow so you can face him. As if this is commonplace for you, your hand reflexively reaches out to stroke his stomach.
"I want more," You whisper.
His eyes slide to you in disbelief.
"I want to stay with you."
His laugh is dry and humorless. "You're a lunatic. You can't."
You’re insistent. "I can."
You tell him all about your life. The words spill out of you unbidden and uncontrolled. He listens to every word and gives himself away when he reaches out to you.
After a while you tell him about how you can stay with him. How you will. How you don't care what's sane or insane anymore, that he's ruined you and he has to deal with the consequences.
He's stopped answering you. You look back at him and find him asleep. How vulnerable he looks when he gives himself a break.
Your fingers trail through his hair, over his forehead, down the slope of his perfectly pointed nose, across those soft lips and through his neat beard. You give him an impulsive kiss and he murmurs in his sleep.
When his eyes are shut, you’re the captor and he belongs to you.
"What's your name?" You wonder aloud, running your hands over his chest.
His snore is my only response. You'll ask him again in the morning. You want to know him so badly that you’re sick with curiosity.
And then you fall asleep, confined by his body.
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knotted-oak · 8 months ago
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winter storms | lighthouses of southern maine
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Seven Hundred & Sixty-One Days (Part 5)
Link to Part 4 here in case you need a refresher. It’s been a while between updates!
Azriel POV. 1.4k words.
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Azriel bolted down the stairs of the River House, descending to the first floor, keen to make his exit. He needed to get out. Away from this manor, from Rhys’ orders, from the stifling feeling that had hounded him since. Away from her lingering scent that wafted around this home like an agonizingly intoxicating mist at dawn. It was only pushing him closer to madness, that scent.
Stalking across the grand entry hall and wrenching the door open roughly on its hinges, he halted abruptly when he came face to face with—
Lucien fucking Vanserra.
His jaw clenched, scar tissue pulling tight across his fists, now balled at his sides.
He’d almost bowled him over in his haste to leave. Lucien still held his fist up, intending to knock, when Azriel had wrenched the door open before him.
Azriel snarled, the sound emanating from deep within his chest. Like the beast lurking beneath his skin was begging to come out, clawing its way to the surface. Azriel’s lip curled in distaste before he sneered, “What.”
“Pleasant as always, I see, Spymaster,” Lucien drawled, his voice grating further on his fraying nerves.
“What do you want,” Az snapped. His mood was only curdling further. He didn’t think it was possible.
Lucien managed to look down his nose at him even though he stood a few inches shorter. He puffed out his chest, “I have business to attend to with Rhysand.” His own lip curled, showing more teeth than usual, before he continued. “And my mate.”
Azriel schooled his face into the cold mask he had perfected in his father’s cell. Only his voice gave away his ire, “Go and attend to it then,” he ground out, a soft menace in his voice now. “And get out of my way.”
Lucien stepped aside, out of the doorway, with a contemptuous little bow before Azriel pushed past him. He heard Lucien mutter something along the lines of Night Court males and a wonder he hadn’t been snapped up, before Az was stalking to the edge of the wards Rhys had placed around the manor and shooting up into the sky.
He made sure to unfurl his giant wings a little wider, flap them a little harder, rustling up a larger than necessary flurry of wind as he took off. Feyre would call it territorial male posturing, today he just knew it as don’t fucking test me.
Azriel was still burning, a river of molten lava still flowing around in his chest that he hadn’t yet managed to douse from his outburst in the study with Cassian. He shouldn’t have become so unhinged but… how had he let himself get this involved? He was in such deep and unending shit.
He groaned, flapping his wings harder, faster, the muscles and sinew flexing and contracting, and threw it all to the winds as he decided to fly and fly and fly until he had nothing left in him. He figured he’d have no alternative but to pass out from exhaustion later.
So Azriel flew. Across Velaris. Northward towards the Illyrian Steppes. He wouldn’t pay any war camps a visit, but it didn’t hurt if they were reminded from time to time that the Spymaster of the Night Court still held jurisdiction over them. Could drop in at any time. Remind them that the fear he incited across Prythian was warranted. He wouldn’t dare go into the camps today, in his mood it would surely end in disaster, but as he flew overhead, they would be reminded exactly who they answered to. That even if they didn’t respect him, or Cassian, it would heed them to remember who they served. He smiled savagely at the thought.
And so, he tore through the skies, worked at emptying his mind, pushing aside his icy rage, and let the song of the wind dictate his path. Let the currents of the chill breeze guide the wings he so scrupulously trusted to continue driving him further to his destination, wherever that may be.
Hours later, having thoroughly exhausted himself, he banked onto the balcony at the House of Wind, landing as softly as a withered autumn leaf falling to the ground. The sun had set long ago, the stars winking awake, and the House was utterly silent as he entered through the dining room. Trudging his way soundlessly to his room he started unbuckling the stays of his weapons— his dexterous fingers working from memory— before he’d reached his door, unstrapping the leather and steel from his body.
Dumping them unceremoniously in the corner, exhaustion took over as he flopped heavily onto his mattress. He could barely keep his eyes open. Thank fuck. At least flying for hours on end had done its job. Turning his face toward his nightstand he glimpsed the vial of headache powder and sucked in a harsh breath, when he heard a thump from down the hall.
Cassian’s room.
He stilled. Then, a small whimper— a whimper that was distinctly female.
Azriel held in his groan as he raked his scarred hand down his face in exasperation. He should have made a fucking noise. Of course, Cassian and Nesta were going at it. Grumbling to himself he tossed over on his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. A throaty growl echoed its way from down the hall. His teeth clenched.
Throwing the pillow across the room he grabbed Truth Teller from his pile of discarded weapons and trudged heavily down the hall, this time making a point to be as noisy as possible, and headed back out to the balcony. He’d sleep outside if he had to, but he could not deal with the sounds of Cassian and Nesta’s fucking. Not tonight. He just may snap.
He considered his options; he could train?
But…there wasn’t a muscle in his body that wasn’t thoroughly spent from his flight across the Night Court.
Very well.
His room at the manor, then… No. Elain would be there.
He groaned again, tilting his face up to the heavens, willing himself not to combust. Rosehall? He hadn’t visited in a while; he couldn’t very well show up in this state…
His eyes snapped open. The Town House. It had been left unoccupied for months now. Perfect. He stepped off the balcony, stretching his fatigued, aching wings once more, and glided toward the city lights, heading into Velaris proper. Toward a soft bed, in a quiet house.
A few minutes later he found himself seated in a large leather armchair in front of the black marble fireplace at the Town House, whiskey in hand. Having landed on the rooftop and entered via the spiral staircase he took a moment to close his eyes, his head thumping against the back of the armchair heavily.
The whiskey burned deliciously down his throat, and he found it calmed his ragged nerves. He breathed in heavily, noting the scents of the room around him, a distraction to still his racing mind; the old leather of dusty books, the faint musk of an unoccupied home, the smoky notes of his expensive whiskey, jasmine… and honey. He exhaled a long breath heavily through his nose, not again.
His mind was playing tricks on him. Of course, he scented Elain, her perfume was burned into his nostrils, his mind. Like a brand etched into his flesh, stamped permanently on his very soul. Of course, his mind was tormenting him, because he wasn’t tormented enough. Every fucking goddamn minute of every fucking goddamn day. His throat bobbed as his skin grew warm. He pushed out another breath and opened his eyes, seeking the soothing balm of the liquor, and raised the crystal tumbler to his lips when he froze—
His breath wrenched from his lungs so abruptly at the sight before him, it rendered him lightheaded.
Those big beautiful brown eyes, wide with surprise, were staring back at him. She had stopped dead in her tracks, having appeared soundlessly before him.
For standing at the bottom of the staircase, her hand clutching the rail of the bannister, was Elain. Dressed in nothing but a short ivory silk nightgown lined with delicate lace along the edge of its plunging neckline.
Tagging: @the-laughing-bubble @mis-lil-red @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows
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