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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

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Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

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theoutcastrogue · 3 months

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Cold Iron in folklore, fiction, and RPGs

'Gold is for the mistress—silver for the maid! Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.' 'Good!' said the Baron, sitting in his hall, 'But Iron—Cold Iron—is master of them all!' — Rudyard Kipling, “Cold Iron”

Folklore

Drudenmesser, or "witch-knife", an apotropaic folding knife from Germany

The notion that iron (or steel) can ward against evil spirits, witches, fairies, etc is very widespread in folklore. You hang a horseshoe over your threshold to deny entry to evil spirits, you carry an iron tool with you to make sure devils won't assault you, you place a small knife under the baby's crib to ward it from witches, and so on. Iron is apotropaic in many many cultures.

In English, we often come across passages that refer to apotropaic cold iron (or cold steel). "All uncouth, unknown Wights are terrifyed by nothing earthly so much as by cold Iron", says Robert Kirk in 1691, which I believe is the earliest example. "Evil spirits cannot bear the touch of cold steel. Iron, or preferably steel, in any form is a protection", says John Gregorson Campbell in 1901.

Words

So what is cold iron? In this context, it’s just iron. The “cold” part is poetic, especially – but not only – if we’re talking about either blades (or swords, weapons, the force of arms) or manacles and the like. It just sounds more ominous. There are “cold yron chaines” in The Fairie Queene (1596), and a 1638 book of travels tells us that a Georgian general (in the Caucasus) vowed “to make the Turk to eat cold iron”.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang defines “cold iron” as a sword, and dates the term to 1698. From 1725 it appears in Cant dictionaries (could this sense be thieves’ cant, originally? why not, plenty of words and expressions started as underworld slang and then entered the mainstream), and from ~1750 its use becomes much more common.

NGram Viewer diagram for 1600-2019.

In other contexts, cold iron is (surprise!) iron that’s not hot. So let’s talk a bit about metallurgy.

Metals

In nature, we can find only one kind of iron that’s pure enough to work with: meteoritic iron. It has to literally fall from the sky. Barring that very rare occurrence, people have to mine the earth for iron ore, which is not workable as is. To separate the iron from the ore we have to smelt it, and for that we need heat, in the form of hot charcoals. Throwing the ore on the coals won’t do much of anything, it’s not hot enough. But if we enclose the coals in a little tower built of clay, leaving holes for air flow, the temperature rises enough to smelt the ore. That’s called a bloomery.

clay bloomery / medieval bloomery / beating the bloom to get rid of the slag

What comes out of the bloomery is a bloom: a porous, malleable mass of iron (that we need) and slag (byproducts that we don’t need). But now we can get rid of the slag and turn the porous mass to something solid, by hammering the hot bloom over and over. And once the slag is off, by the same process we can give it a desired shape in the forge, reheating it as needed. This is called “working” the iron, hence “wrought iron” objects, i.e. forged.

a blacksmith in his forge, with bellows, fire, and anvil (English woodcut, 1603)

This is the lowest-tech version, possibly going back to ~2000 BCE in Nigeria. If we add bellows, the improved air flow will raise the temperature. So smelting happens faster and more efficiently in the bloomery, and so does heating the iron in the forge, making it easier to work with. And that’s the standard process from the Iron Age all through the middle ages and beyond (although in China they may have skipped this stage and gone straight to the next one).

If we make the bloomery bigger and bigger, with stronger and stronger bellows, we end up with a blast furnace, a construction so efficient that the temperature outright melts the iron, and it’s liquified enough to be poured into a mould and acquire the desired shape when it cools off. This is “cast iron”.

a blast furnace

So in all of this, what’s cold iron? Well, it’s iron that went though the heat and cooled off. (No heat = no iron, all you got is ore.) If it came out of a bloomery, or if it wasn’t cast, it’s by definition worked, hammered, beaten, wrought, and that happened while it was still hot.

Is there such a thing as “cold-wrought” iron? No. In fact, “working cold iron” was a simile for something foolish or pointless. A smith who beats cold iron instead of putting it in the fire shows folly, says a 1694 book on religion, so you too should choose your best tools, piety and good decorum, to educate your children and servants, instead of beating them. When Don Quixote (1605) declares he’ll go knight-erranting again, Sancho Panza tries to dissuade him, but it’s like “preaching in the desert and hammering on cold iron” (a direct translation of martillar en hierro frío).

Minor work can be done on cold iron. A 1710 dictionary of technical terms tells us that a rivetting-hammer is “chiefly used for rivetting or setting straight cold iron, or for crooking of small work; but ’tis seldom used at the forge”. Fully fashioning an object out of cold iron is not a real process – though a 1659 History of the World would claim that in Arabia it’s so hot that “smiths work nails and horseshoes out of cold iron, softened only by the vigorous heat of the sun, and the hard hammering of hands on the anvil”. [I declare myself unqualified to judge the veracity of this statement, let's just say I have doubts.] And there is of course such a thing as “cold wrought-iron”, as in wrought iron after it’s cooled off.

Either way, in the context of pre-20th century English texts which refer to apotropaic “cold iron”, it’s definitely not “cold-wrought”, or meteoritic, or a special alloy of any kind. It’s just iron.

Fiction

The old superstition kept coming up in fantasy fiction. In 1910 Rudyard Kipling wrote the very influential short story “Cold Iron” (in the collection Rewards and Fairies), where he explains invents the details of the fairies’ aversion to iron. They can’t bewitch a child wearing boots, because the boots have nails in the soles. They can’t pass under a doorway guarded by a horseshoe, but they can slip through the backdoor that people neglected to guard. Mortals live “on the near side of Cold Iron”, because there’s iron in every house, while fairies live “on the far side of Cold Iron”, and want nothing to do with it. And changelings brought up by fairies will go back to the world of mortals as soon they touch cold iron for the first time.

In Poul Anderson’s The Broken Sword (1954), we read:

“Let me tell you, boy, that you humans, weak and short-lived and unwitting, are nonetheless more strong than elves and trolls, aye, than giants and gods. And that you can touch cold iron is only one reason.”

In Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn (1968) the unicorn is imprisoned in an iron cage:

“She turned and turned in her prison, her body shrinking from the touch of the iron bars all around her. No creature of man’s night loves cold iron, and while the unicorn could endure its presence, the murderous smell of it seemed to turn her bones to sand and her blood to rain.”

Poul Anderson would come back to that idea in Operation Chaos (1971), where the worldbuilding’s premise is that magic and magical creatures have been reintroduced into the modern world, because a scientist “discovered he could degauss the effects of cold iron and release the goetic forces”. And that until then, they had been steadily declining, ever since the Iron Age came along.

There are a million examples, I’m just focusing on those that would have had a more direct influence on roleplaying games. However, I should note that all these say “cold iron” but mean “iron”. Yes, the fey call it cold, but they are a poetic bunch. You can’t expect Robin Goodfellow’s words to be pedestrian, now can you?

RPGs

And from there, fantasy roleplaying systems got the idea that Cold Iron is a special material that fey are vulnerable to. The term had been floating around since the early D&D days, but inconsistently, scattered in random sourcebooks, and not necessarily meaning anything else than iron. In 1st Edition’s Monster Manual (1977) it’s ghasts and quasits who are vulnerable to it, not any fey creature. Devils and/or fiends might dislike iron, powdered cold iron is a component in Magic Circle Against Evil, and “cold-wrought iron” makes a couple of appearances. For example, in AD&D it can strike Fool’s Gold and turn it back to its natural state, revealing the illusion.

Then Changeling: The Dreaming came along and made it a big deal, a fundamental rule, and an anathema to all fae:

Cold iron is the ultimate sign of Banality to changelings. ... Its presence makes changelings ill at ease, and cold iron weapons cause horrible, smoking wounds that rob changelings of Glamour and threaten their very existence.... The best way to think about cold iron is not as a thing, but as a process, a very low-tech process. It must be produced from iron ore over a charcoal fire. The resulting lump of black-gray material can then be forged (hammered) into useful shapes. — Changeling: The Dreaming (2nd Edition, 1997)

So now that we know how iron works, does that description make sense? Well, if we assume that the iron ore is unceremoniously dumped on coals, it does not. You can’t smelt iron like that. If we assume that a bloomery is involved even though it’s not mentioned, then yes, this is broadly speaking how iron’s been made since the Iron Age, and until blast furnaces came into the picture. But the World of Darkness isn’t a pseudo-medieval setting, it’s modern urban fantasy. So the implication here is that “cold iron” is iron made the old way: you can’t buy it in the store, someone has to replicate ye olde process and do the whole thing by hand. Now, this is NOT how the term “cold iron” has been used in real life or fiction thus far, but hey, fantasy games are allowed to invent things.

Regardless, 3.5 borrowed the idea, and for the first time D&D made this a core rule. Now most fey creatures had damage reduction and took less damage from weapons and natural attacks, unless the weapon was made of Cold Iron:

“This iron, mined deep underground, known for its effectiveness against fey creatures, is forged at a lower temperature to preserve its delicate properties.” — Player’s Handbook (3.5 Edition, 2003)

Pathfinder kept the rule, though 5e did not. And unlike Changeling, this definition left it somewhat ambiguous if we’re talking about a material with special composition (i.e. not iron) or made with a special process (i.e. iron but). The community was divided, threads were locked over this!

So until someone points me to new evidence, I’ll assume that the invention of cold iron as a special material, distinct from plain iron, should be attributed to TTRPGs.

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artsy-hobbitses · 11 months

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It’s June 20th, which means I can finally reveal my labour of love for the Represent Zine on @allsparkzines!

I chose to focus on the Caminus Valkyries--Windblade, Lightbright and Chromia who are TTB’s elite Girl Gang! Lightbright took centrestage because I wanted to showcase a part of my culture as a Malaysian through her Minang heritage and outfit, which utilized batik-style motifs and elements of Minangkabau architecture for her mantle/shoulderpads.

The ornate frame and more delicate inkwork is is Art Noveau-inspired, and you get your first glimpse into the floating Venusian city of Caminus, which is very Asia-Centric with strong elements from Chinese and Indo-Malaysian architecture.

The bronze statue is that of Shu Lin Pei/Solus Prime wielding her hammer in one hand and a flame in the other which is said to have been taken from her forge from the Quintesson War era and has been burning ever since. Those with the title ‘Mistress Of The Flame’ are entrusted with the care of this flame that they hope to keep burning eternally as a symbol of her and their indomitable spirit.

I was also assigned to create a cover for the IDW section, which you can find here!

Today is the last day for you to get YOUR copy of Represent, so head over to @allsparkzines and get yours from their BigCartel!

(As usual, please full view if you’re on desktop!)

#Maccadam #Maccadams #Humanformers #Windblade #Chromia #Lightbright #art #Humanformers AU

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silverwolf122 · 1 month

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Lady Gotham is an eldritch villain.

She was here from the beginning. She wasn't always a city spirit. Once, she was known as the Darkness. The Lady of Loss. Goddess of Madness. Mistress of the Night. Or at least she was a part of her. When a warlock tried to make a deal with her here, on this land, extort her for more power, many millennia ago, long before what history would consider the foundation of the city, she was summoned and but a small piece of her being remained. Her essence was seeped into the soil, her darkness soaked the rivers, her madness poisoned animals. She didn't paid it much of her mind. She was Ancient, and vast, and bored. The whole plane of existence was hers to manipulate, to trick, to corrupt and drive mad. What was but a small piece of land?

She was here, consciously, when 'the first founders' of decided to develop the land into a large city. The Waynes, the Kanes, the Elliots and the Cobblepots. Oh, she remembers their names. Or their families, at least. Oh, the amount of greed in their hearts, so close to her, how could she not pay attention. The endless void that they tried to fill. It was beautiful. She didn't had to do anything. Her mere presence affected humans. Nudging and pushing, people to the edge. Only for them to make that final step of no return. She admits, she was enthralled with the beautiful performance that took place before her eyes. The more she paid attention, the more she was THERE, the more others, who would please her were drawn to the place.

The Gotham City, the city of crime, the home of the most insane, nightmarish, cruel and vicious humans that Earth had to offer. All drawn to the place. To her. At least 80% of people here were criminals. Be it the serial killers, minions, the minor thieves, or the Grand Supervillains. And other 20? Well, she needed someone for them to robber. Or to challenge them. Oh, and she loved when humans tried to resist. To 'clean', to save, redeem, rebuild. Oh, it was so funny, when they tried. They couldn't understand. That the criminals were HER people. That she was enjoying it. Only one could understand her. Her champion. Her Jester. Her Joker. Oh, he knew how to make her laugh. How to do the best performance that she couldn't even thought of. But the Bat, oh the poor Bat always stops it. He infuriates her. He fascinates her. So close to madness, but he resists. So close, and so far from breaking, she can't comprehend it. And the part that frightens her... He inspires others. He protects, resists, avenges, and it draws others. He teaches them how to resist. How to deny HER. Deep inside, she is afraid. Like people were afraid. Like criminals become afraid. Afraid of the Bat. She tried to end him, but her Jester refuses to do it. And others seems not to be able. Too strong, too smart, too skilled, too many steps ahead.

She tried corrupting his allies. To leave him alone. She was able to get the white knight. Her new two-faced toy. Her Jester tried to give her the commissioner, but he endured. What a pity. She almost get one of his birds, but his influence and training stopped the bird from failing. Her claws are deep in his mind, but day after day they fight for the Hood. She won't let him go, oh no. They are bound. And the Bats is so, so hurt by it, she almost wants to keep it like that. For them to keep fight for him and it paining the Bat, but leaving the hope that the Hood would return to the nest. Only for her to keep crushing this hope again and again.

Yet, she is afraid. Afraid of the Bat. He took her darkness and made it his weapon. He stole her night and made it his time. He received her madness, when he was but a boy, and forged it into his resolve. She is afraid. The human now, but what if more later. The signs she can see. After his end, that wouldn't be the end. What if he will take more? More of her. Will take her? Her title, her power, her place and her land?

"You are afraid!"

Who is here?

"You are right to be."

NO!

"You are just a criminal. You are no more than that. And all criminals are cowardly and superstitious."

#batman #lady gotham #Gotham City #DC #city spirit #dp x dc #kinda #Red Hood #two face

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thisisnotthenerd · 3 days

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The Legend Lore Database

This is another use of the Legend Lore spell. All information herein is only that of legendary importance.

[a more complete database. i took some artistic liberties. see here for the updating document]

Legendary Individuals

Deities / Deific Entities

Ankarna

Infernal Deity of Fire, Rage and Conquest

Formerly the Giant Deity of Summer, Justice and the Harvest, Patron of the Giantkin of the Mountains of Chaos

Sister to Ruvina, Giant Deity of Winter and Sorrow

Spouse of Cassandra, Sylvan Deity of Mystery, Magic, and the Night

Cassandra / Nightmare King

Sylvan Deity of Mystery, Magic, and the Night, Patron of the Tribes of Sylvaire

Formerly the Nightmare King, the King of the Dark Dreaming, Rí Aisling Olc

Raised from their Undead form by the Blessed Saint Kristen Applebees

Sibling of Galicaea, Elven Goddess of the Moon, and Sol, Human God of the Sun

Spouse of Ankarna, Infernal Deity of Fire, Rage and Conquest

Stark Father of Baron from the Baronies

Eidolons

Seven Sisters, Elemental Spirits of the Universe and Hands of the Gods

From Eldest to Youngest

Chronoa, Eidolon of Time, of the Astral and Ethereal Planes

Terra, Eidolon of Earth, of the Elemental Plane of Earth

Pyrria, Eidolon of Fire, of the Elemental Plane of Fire

Nera, Eidolon of Water, of the Elemental Plane of Water

Zefira, Eidolon of Air, of the Elemental Plane of Air

Anima, Eidolon of Life, the Beginning of All Things

Talura, Eidolon of Death, the Ending of All Things

Trapped in Enchanted Mirrors created by Logran Soulforger, of which the only way out was Infinity

Galicaea / Lida

Elven Deity of the Moon, Patron of the Elves of Fallinel

Patron of Lycanthropes in her aspect as Lida

Sister of Sol, Human God of the Sun, and Cassandra, Sylvan Deity of Mystery, Magic, and the Night

Struck her Sister from memory by way of the Sylvarian Heresy

Helio

Human God of Corn

Son of Sol, Human God of the Sun, and a mortal woman

Followed by the Cult of the Harvestmen, who sought the Apocalypse through perditional contradoxy

Jane Wren

Pirate Goddess of New Horizons, Freedom, and Adventure

She who stands atop the Ramble, overlooking the City of Leviathan

Kahaerin

The Storm King, the Wrathful Primordial of Storms

Perpetually in search of his lost Daughter

Logran Soulforger

Dwarven God of the Forge, He who Makes the World

Created the Enchanted Mirrors to capture the Eidolons in Finite Form, While Leaving Escape in Infinity

Did not Commune with his Followers after the Capture of the Eidolons, until Ostentatia Wallace, Prophet of the Forge, Joined him in his Workshop

Night Yorb

Speak Not of the Night Yorb

The Manta Ray of Darkness, they who would herald an age of darkness through a slow apocalypse

Currently Sealed by the Solar Lasso in the Hangvan

Ollie

Rad Dwarven God of Shredding, Patron of Skateboarders

Ruvina

Giant Deity of Winter and Sorrow, Patron of the Giantkin of the Mountains of Chaos

Sister of Ankarna, Infernal Deity of Fire, Rage, and Conquest

Sol

Human God of the Sun, Patron of the Humans of Highcourt and Solace

Father of Helio, Human God of Corn

Once ousted from his position by Arthur Aguefort, who proceeded to never leave his office and shit in a corner

Umberlee

Goddess of the Deep Sea, Patron of that which lies in the briny depths

Punisher of Sinners who Enter Her Waters

Prohibits artifacts which control the weather

NPCs

Aelwyn Abernant

She who assassinated the first Elven Oracle, Eleminthindriel

She who sank the Harpy, Flagship of the Fleet of Kalvaxus

She who determined the second Elven Oracle, Adaine Abernant

Caused the initiation of war between the nations of Solace and Fallinel

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Plague of the Shadow Cat

Acting Mistress of the Compass Points Library, in lieu of Ayda Aguefort

Arthur Aguefort

Founder and Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

He who caused the Sun to Fall

Paramour of the Last Phoenix

Former Paramour of the previous Elven Oracle, Eleminthindriel

Founder of the School of Chronomancy

Father of Ayda Aguefort

Asha Hammerheart

Saint and Cleric of Logran Soulforger

One of the Three Pilgrims to the Temple to the Earth Defiant

Ayda Aguefort

The Mistress of the Compass Points LIbrary, Quartermaster of the Knowledge of Leviathan

Paramour of Figueroth the Infaethable, the Archdevil of Rebellion, the Dark Mistress of the Bottomless Pit

Creator of Adaine’s Furious Fist

Bakur / Athenriel

Infernal Servant of Ankarna, the Deity of Fire, Rage, and Conquest

Formerly Athenriel of the Faeth Lineage

Former Owner of the Armor of Pride

Cathilda “The Black” Ceili

Legendary Pirate, the Widow in Black, whose daggers flash with death and destruction

Crewmember aboard the Hangman

Elder of the Ramble, who defended Leviathan amidst the wrath of the Storm King

Chungledown Bim

Legendary Mouth-Shitter

Archnemesis of Fabian Aramais Seacaster

Survivor of Captain James Whitclaw's attack on the Cult of Bill Seacaster

Braved the Forest of the Nightmare King alone and escaped unscathed

Highest-level Warlock of the Cult of Bill Seacaster

Court of Elders

Leaders of the Tribes of Sylvaire and the Great Unicorn

Destroyed the Name of the Goddess of Mystery in the Sylvarian Heresy, in league with clerics of Galicaea

Eleminthindriel

The First Elven Oracle, succeeded by Adaine Abernant

Member of the First Council of Chosen

She who prophesied the second rise and fall of Kalvaxus

Garthy O’Brien

Prodigious Descendant of Zajiri Celestials

Impresario of the Gold Gardens, Leviathan’s hub for pleasure and sanctuary

The Curse Breaker who fought the effects of the King of the Dark Dreaming

Child of Ayda Aguefort

Guardian of Ayda Aguefort

Name contains an anagram for the Night Yorb

Gilear Faeth

The Chosen One

Current eldest male descendant of the lineage of Athenriel

Penultimate Inheritor of the Curse of the Armor of Pride

He who stopped three Apocalypses with wishes from a Puppy

Gorthalax the Insatiable

Prince of the Nine Hells and former ruler of the Bottomless Pit

Formerly Gorthiel, the Seraph of Eating the Right Amount of Food / Temperance

Father of Figueroth the Infaethable, Archdevil of Rebellion and Dark Mistress of the Bottomless Pit

Grafmy Rootdrinker

The Druidic Leader who pushed back the Curse of the Nightmare King on the Forest of Sylvaire

Hallariel Seacaster née Lomenelda

The Greatest Fencer to Ever Live

Daughter of Telemaine Lomenelda, Heir to Kei Lumennura

Widow of William “Old Bill” Seacaster, the Scourge of the Nine Hells

Jamina Joy

The Bosun of Leviathan

She who keeps the City afloat

She who contains a Wish for the Welfare of Leviathan

Kalina

The Shadow Cat

Right Hand of the Nightmare King

Familiar of Cassandra

The Cursed Plague of the King of the Dark Dreaming

Kalvaxus

Former Emperor of the Red Waste

Allied with the Nightmare King and the Undead of the Necronomikron

Prophesied to rise once more at the word of Elven Oracle Eleminthindriel

When Kalvaxus once again beholds his glittering treasure And seven maidens once more are chained at the mouth of his lair When war befalls the realm And a king and queen are crowned anew in Solace Then will the Emperor of the Red Waste be released from bondage His destruction will know no bounds The sun shall fall from the Heavens And the world as we know it shall perish forever

Former Vice Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

Currently the Goldenrod, the Infernal Vessel of William “Old Bill” Seacaster

Karl Cleaver

Legendary Adventurer and Member of the Pact of Kyburus

Of the Cleaver lineage of Adventurers

Kora Ironbrow

Saint and Cleric of Logran Soulforger

One of the Three Pilgrims to the Temple to the Earth Defiant

Lydia Barkrock

She who sealed Bakur in her body with rage and rage alone

The Curse of the Armor of Pride was used to excise Bakur from her body

Nuathera

The Awakened Familiar of Grafmy Rootdrinker

Leader of the Town of Arborly and Protector of the Border of Sylvaire

Octavio Costello Gainglynn

He who sailed off the edge of the World and into the Heavens

Paramour of the Solar Zarael

Pok Gukgak

Premier Agent of the Lower Planar Reconnaissance Task Force of the Plane of Bytopia

He who brought the Plague of the Shadow Cat to the nation of Solace

The first Solesian to be slayed by Kalvaxus personally in centuries

Father of Riz Gukgak, Slayer of Kalvaxus

Telemaine Lomenelda

The Greatest Elven Swordsmith, who forged Fandrangor and the Sword of Sight

Lord of Kei Lumennura, the Guardian of Elven Teens

Tectonya Karkovnya

Superintendent of the Larger Solesian School District

Legendary Wizard and Scholar of the Eidolons

She who stole the Legendarium Extrordia

Tracker O’Shaughnessy

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Curse on Sylvaire, the Forest of the Nightmare King

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Tree

Reformer of the Faith of Galicaea, Leader of Wolfsong, the Lupine Cleric of Lida

The Vulture King

Father to all Vultures, King of the Vulture Dimension

He whose body became the Royal Artifacts of the Vulture Dimension

William “Old Bill” Seacaster

He who struck down the Pirate King and Hung his Head in Gibbety Square

Captain of the Hangman

Married to Hallariel Lomenelda, the Greatest Fencer to Ever Live

Current Captain of the Infernal Wastes, Scourge of the Nine Hells

Captain of the Goldenrod, the Infernal Vessel carved from the body of Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste

Yvonna of the Sundering Hills

Saint and Cleric of Logran Soulforger

One of the Three Pilgrims to the Temple to the Earth Defiant

Zaphriel

Spirit of Endless Sky Towards Late Afternoon on a Day at the Beach with Your Feet in the Warm Sand, Just Being Chill as Hell

The Possessing Spirit of the Hangvan

PCs

Adaine Abernant:

The Second Elven Oracle, preceded by Eleminthindriel

Established the right of the Elven Oracle to be paid, via dance battle

Patron of the Oracle of Dance Fabian Aramais Seacaster

Current wielder of the Sword of Sight, Sword of the Elven Oracle

She who invoked the name of Ankarna and broke Obliviati Mori

She who sealed Bakur with the power of the Curse of the Armor of Pride

Creator of Ayda’s Comprehend Subtext

Kristen Applebees:

The Chosen of Helio, God of Corn

The Creator of Yes!/Yes?

She who Resurrected Herself

She who dispelled the Nightmare King’s Coin

She who destroyed the Crown of the Nightmare King

The Blessed Saint of Cassandra, Deity of Mystery, Night and Magic

Figueroth Faeth:

Mortal daughter of Gorthalax the Insatiable, Prince of the Nine Hells and former ruler of the Bottomless Pit

Current Archdevil of Rebellion, Figueroth the Infaethable, the Dark Mistress of the Bottomless Pit

Paramour of Ayda Aguefort, the Mistress of the Compass Points Library

Last of the Faeth Lineage to bear the Curse of the Armor of Pride

Currently holds dominion over the infernal domain of Ankarna, Goddess of Fire, Rage, and Conquest, due to the creation of Dawn of Justice, a song so metal it could claim an infernal domain

Riz Gukgak:

Fifth of the World of Spyre to summon the Night Yorb to the Material Plane

He who slayed the Dragon Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste

First living member of the Lower Planar Reconnaissance Task Force

The Investigator who Found the Prophesied Seven Maidens

Fabian Aramais Seacaster:

Mortal son of William "Old Bill" Seacaster, Legendary Pirate and the Current Captain of the Infernal Wastes, Scourge of the Nine Hells and Hallariel Lomenelda, the Greatest Fencer to Ever Live

Grandson of Telemaine Lomenelda, Swordsmith of the Elven Kings

He who killed William "Old Bill" Seacaster

Current wielder of Fandrangor, Sword of the North Star

Dance Champion of the Elven Oracle, the Oracle of Dance

Maximum Legend at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

Gorgug Thistlespring:

He who discovered the Plague of the Shadow Cat

Creator of the Solar Lasso used to seal the Night Yorb into his personal vehicle, the Hangvan

Creator of the Barbificer Specialty, the first in the World of Spyre to combine barbarian rage and artificer spellcasting

The Greatest Wizard of Our Age, as titled by Ayda Aguefort, Mistress of the Compass Points Library

Danielle Barkstock:

Blessed of Anima, Eidolon of Life

She who assumed the form and gave voice to the Empress Anima, Eidolon of Life

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Katja Cleaver

Blessed of Terra, Eidolon of Earth

Daughter of Karl Cleaver, of the Cleaver lineage of adventurers

Friend to Horses, Rider of Cinnamon

Slayer of Jana Cleaver

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Zelda Donovan

Blessed of Zefira, Eidolon of Air

Battle Dancer of the Donovan Lineage, who was possessed by the god of wine and ecstasy in bacchanal

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Antiope Jones

Blessed of Chronoa, Eidolon of Time

She who killed Charity Blythe

Daughter of Athena and Hector Jones, of the Jones lineage of adventurers

Leader of the Reform of the Ministry of Adventure

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Penny Luckstone

Blessed of Nera, Eidolon of Water

She who revealed the Society of Shadows one of

Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Sam Nightingale:

Blessed of Talura, Eidolon of Death, the Ending of All Things

She who released Talura upon Spyre for the first time in millennia

She who guided Talura to infinite form

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Ostentatia Wallace:

The first forge cleric to Commune with Logran Soulforger in millennia

Prophet of Logran Soulforger

Designer for the Gods

Blessed of Pyrria, Eidolon of Fire

One of Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Barbarella Sasparilla Gainglynn

The Goddess of the Gold Gardens

Daughter of Octavio Costello Gainglynn and Zarael

She who struck down the Storm-Druid Alamaria

Myrtle (the Bitch)

The Priestess of Storms, Devout of Umberlee, the Sinker of Ships and Collector of the Treasures of the Deep

Jack Brakkow

Unlucky Jack, he who escaped the Bilge only to sink in the depths of betrayal

The Captain of the Late Bloomer, whose crew haunts the mast kept at his side always

Legendary Adventuring Parties

The Bad Kids (Adventuring Party):

Members: Adaine Abernant, Kristen Applebees, Figueroth Faeth, Riz Gukgak, Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Gorgug Thistlespring

Slayed Daybreak, leader of the Harvestmen, and averted the apocalypse of perditional contradoxy

Defeated Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste

Defeated Occularia, Queen of Sight

Defeated Captain James Whitclaw, the archnemesis of William “Old Bill” Seacaster and prevented the crowning of a new Pirate King

Demolished the Elven prison, Calethriel Tower

Defeated the Nightmare King, the King of the Dark Dreaming

Defeated the Cult of the Night Yorb

Defeated the Night Yorb

The Sole Survivors of the Sundering of the Synod of Spyre

The first adventuring party in living memory to survive the Last Stand-ard Exam

The Buccaneer Buddies (Adventuring Party)

Members: Sunny Biscotto, Jack Brakkow, Barbarella Sasparilla Gainglynn, Cheese Stormcrank, Marcid the Typhoon, Myrtle the Bitch

Prevented the Summoning of William Seacaster for the destruction of Leviathan

Saved Leviathan from Destruction at the hands of Langley Sheffield-Harrington, Clive Mardres, the Storm-Druid Alamaria, and the Crescent Moon Trading Company

Averted the Wrath of the Storm King by disrupting the ritual of Alamaria and returning the Daughter of Storms to the briny depths

The Seven / The Maidens (Adventuring Party)

Members: Danielle Barkstock, Katja Cleaver, Zelda Donovan, Antiope Jones, Penny Luckstone, Sam Nightingale, Ostentatia Wallace

The Seven Maidens Chained at the Mouth of the Lair of Kalvaxus, the Emperor of the Red Waste

Eliminated the Cult of Kalvaxus as vengeance for their capture

Cleansed the Temple of the Earth Defiant of the mutated monstrosities

Commandeered the Rombosa, the Pleasure Barge of Talcidimir Tallbreeze and kidnapped hundreds of nobles from the Baronies

Averted Project Reset, an effort by the Ministry of Adventure to cause world-ending disasters

Defeated Talura, Eidolon of Death, the Ending of All Things, by channeling the spirits of the Eidolons

Legendary Items

Sword of Sight

The Sword of the Elven Oracle, forged by the legendary swordsmith Telemaine Lomenelda

Currently owned by the Elven Oracle Adaine Abernant

Fandrangor

The Sword of the North Star, forged by the legendary swordsmith Telemaine Lomenelda and gifted to the Elven King Thristwin Eversong

Currently owned by Fabian Aramais Seacaster

The Armors of Sin

Seven Suits of Infernal Armor, each forged by a different Infernal Being and associated with the Sins assigned to them by name

Armor of Gluttony - Armor Carved of White Bone, armed with a massive spiked net. Chosen Armor of Gorthalax the Insatiable.

Armor of Pride - Armor of Gleaming gold, armed with a Golden Halberd

Armor gifted from Ankarna to her follower Athenriel. After Athenriel took on the form of Bakur, the armor passed through his lineage patrilineally until it was gifted to Gorthalax the Insatiable.

The curse of the armor transferred to the eldest male descendants of the lineage with the death of each previous holder of the curse. The most recent of these was Gilear Faeth. Upon reunification with the line of Athenriel, the curse was left in a flux state, until it was taken on by the Dark Mistress and Archdevil of the Bottomless Pit, Figueroth the Infaethable.

The Curse was broken and sealed in the Sword of Sight, and later used to remove the containment of Bakur from the body of Lydia Barkrock

Armor of Lust - Armor of Jet Black Leather, stitched together with a zipper over the mouth.

Armor of Envy - Armor formed of Pure Mirror

Armor of Wrath - Armor of Bleeding Iron, armed with two double-sided flails/scourges.

Armor of Greed

Armor of Sloth

Owned by Gorthalax the Insatiable and kept in the Bottomless Pit until stolen by the Scourge of the Nine Hells, Bill Seacaster.

The Transubstantiations of the Nightmare King

Four symbols of the Unnamed Goddess’ power, converted into four curses which spread the power of the King of the Dark Dreaming

The Coin, a curse placed on the hoard of Kalvaxus that allowed the Nightmare King to possess those who had knowledge of their wealth’s origin (Dragon Madness). This curse came from the trans-substantiation of the spellbook of the Unnamed Goddess, now known as Cassandra. DIspelled by the Blessed Saint Kristen Applebees.

The Plague, a curse placed on the familiar of the Unnamed Goddess, Kalina the Shadow Cat. This curse converted Kalina into a plague that manifested as various illusionary powers, with additional strength within the borders of Sylvaire. Dispelled by Aelwyn Abernant.

The Curse, a curse that bound celestials who attempted to enter the Nightmare King’s Forest and utilized their energies to power the mycelium web of trans-substantiations. This curse originated from the cottage of the Unnamed Goddess. Dispelled by Tracker O’Shaughnessy.

The Tree, a curse on the arcane focus of the Unnamed Goddess, a broomstick which became the Tree at the center of Sylvaire. This curse altered the shape of the Forest to suit the fears of those who entered–the more confident a traveler was in their path, the further they traveled from the center of the Forest. Dispelled by Tracker O’Shaughnessy.

The Crown of the Nightmare King

The last remnant of the Nightmare King after the Fall of Kalvaxus

A talisman capable of anchoring an extraplanar being to a world as if they were native to that plane

The Source of a great deal of power for the other trans-substantiations

Powerfully Cursed for mortal beings. Singular Curse broken by Garthy O’Brien

Dispelled by the Blessed Saint Kristen Applebees, through her Honest Worship of Doubt and her Resurrection of the Goddess Cassandra

The Daughter of Storms

Marble Relief that contains the soul of the daughter of Kahaerin, the Storm King, who calls the wrath of storms when it is brought above the surface of the deep sea

The Legendarium Extrordia

Divinatory Artifact that tracks the classification and progression of quests in the world of Spyre

Watches and Wards

Protective Ward created by the Elven Oracle Eleminthindriel, that prevents harmful summonings and conjurations on the grounds of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

Only removable from the Aguefort Adventuring Academy Library by Arthur Aguefort and the Elven Oracle. Removed by Elven Oracle Adaine Abernant

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high sophomore year #pirates of leviathan #the seven #fantasy high junior year #the bad kids #buccaneer buddies #the seven maidens #long post #legend lore

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iiseult · 8 months

Text

overstimming hotaru haganezuka <3

This is my first actual fic I'm posting on here so please lmk what you think!!!

hotaru haganezuka x reader

CW //→ nsfw, sub!haganezuka, AFAB dom!reader, unprotected vaginal sex, hair pulling, biting, tongue bath (?), degrading names, hotaru is dirty, premature orgasm, hotaru calls reader mistress like one time, hotaru has a praise kink, I hope that's everything

(4k words)

Hotaru was dirty and nasty and covered in sweat and grime from a day of working in that shabby little hut. He was exhausted from pounding molten hot metal into perfect, flat blades for hours on end, and from dragging his overworked body all the way home. He was drained from being unable to focus all day, thoughts of you plaguing his mind and hindering his progress. It had only been a day since you last touched him, but the sensation was so new and so good, he couldn’t help but be a little enamored. Maybe more than a little.

Maybe obsessed.

Nothing had ever in his entire life been able to distract him while he was crafting a blade, but then again, he had never experienced true lust before you, either.

So when he came home, to top off the physical exhaustion of his day, he was frustrated. But you were bored and lonely all day and wanted to play now, so as soon as he stepped foot into the house, you pulled him to the bedroom by the fabric tied around his waist, not even bothering to greet him first, and pushed him onto the bed.

He could have easily fought back, but he let himself fall, landing on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his palms wearily. He was a little surprised, but never protested, not even when you pulled on the end of the knot and ripped away his obi in one fluid motion, letting it flutter to the floor somewhere behind you.

You were the only one he would submit to– hell, you were the only one he even wanted to spend time with– so despite the unusual lack of conversation, he figured it was ok to let things play out and see where it went. Maybe if he was lucky, he would be able to get rid of some of that lingering frustration and actually get some work done tomorrow.

That thought made his heart rate pick up. Maybe you would touch him again. His wide eyes stared up at you curiously, his pretty pink lips parted just enough for you to have felt his breathing quicken when you tore open his haori to reveal his bare chest.

“Slut,” you muttered, never breaking eye contact with his broad, glistening chest. He must have gotten hot and discarded his kimono while working, you thought, and in doing so, leaving just the haori and his pants.

You pushed the rest of the fabric over his shoulders, letting it pool behind him at his wrists, and ran your soft hands down the hard muscles of his arms, just barely tracing your fingers over his flesh so they would leave goosebumps in their wake. His left arm twitched involuntarily. He shivered and clenched his jaw, a blush already creeping onto his face. This was how all his fantasies began– you, teasing him with innocent-seeming caresses– and they quickly devolved into you riding his cock until he was seeing stars.

“Let me wash up.” Hotaru said gruffly, although his heart wasn’t really in it. In all honesty, he thought bathing was a bit of a chore, and before you were in his life, he would often go long periods of time without washing. It was a habit he was only able to break once you came to live with him, though you had never asked him to. You had unknowingly made him more aware of his natural odor and appearance, even a little embarrassed, and so he begrudgingly made an effort to be clean for you. But that wasn’t really what you wanted.

“No,” you replied, placing a hand firmly on his chest to discourage him from getting up to bathe, “don’t. I want you like this.”

His widened eyes suddenly blazed orange with the fire of the forges upon hearing your command. There was no way, right? No way you really wanted him when he was covered from head to toe with day-old sweat, right? He felt his pants grow tighter. He couldn’t fathom it, so he just sat there, motionless, not even breathing, and waiting for you to laugh and tell him nevermind, it was only a joke. But you didn’t. Instead, you grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head and pulled, bringing your faces only centimeters apart.

He kissed you first. You had only just recently taught him about kissing, and how to do it. He was still a bit sloppy, sometimes too eager to devour you with his tongue and too harsh when he pressed his hard body into yours, but the passion was there.

“My pretty girl…I- God,” he breathed in between kisses. He seemed to be lacking in restraint tonight, as he wasted no time in taking your bottom lip between his and sucking on it. You responded quickly, moaning and sliding your tongue across his fervently. He loved the way you tasted, any part of you, but especially your lips.

When your tongue entered his mouth, he gasped a little, relishing in the feeling of you taking over his senses. His hands flew to your back, one pressing right between your shoulder blades and the other wrapping around your waist. His hands were big enough to hold you securely in his grasp, to show you how close he really wanted to be; so close that you were almost like one person, filling each other up completely.

Slowly, you dragged your nails across his scalp, combing through his thick black hair. A shiver ran down his spine, and his fingers pressed even harder into the soft curve of your waist. As you combed, your fingers caught on a knot of tangled hair, causing you to unintentionally pull it. His head jerked backwards, parting your lips, and he inhaled sharply, a blush spreading all over his face in record time.

He liked it, you realized, and quickly closed your fist around a handful of hair on the right side of his head, yanking a little harder.

His face, which was flushed and sporting a sexually tortured expression, turned, giving you easy access to his throat. Still holding his head to the side, you leaned down and drew some of the sensitive skin between your teeth, nibbling on it just enough to leave a mark.

“Mmm, that’s…huh…” he gasped breathlessly, trying to hold in the sounds his body wanted so badly to let out– that you wanted him to let out.

You plucked one of his wrists from the bed and brought it close to your lips, figuring it was as good a place as any to start. You lightly peppered kisses all over the back of his hand, and then turned it over and peppered more on his palm, and then up onto his forearm. And then, halfway up it, you stuck your tongue out and licked a long stripe all the way up to his swollen bicep.

He let out some kind of strangled, choking gasp, like he caught himself halfway through a moan and thought better of it. He was practically shaking now, veins tingling with lust from the feeling of your rough, wet tongue rasping against his bare skin. His cock jolted and brushed up against the fabric of his pants, drawing a very quiet but still very, very pitiful whine from his throat. The place where your tongue had been now felt cool to him, in contrast to the heat brought by your touch.

“I’ll clean you up, ‘Taru,” you giggled, grabbing his other arm and repeating your previous ministrations, all the while gazing up into his fiery eyes. His brow had been furrowed and his eyes wide, but when you reached all the way up to his shoulder with your tongue, he closed his them, and when you got to his neck, his expression changed into one of complete desperation. He tilted his chin up to further accommodate you, so you drew your tongue languidly over his Adam's apple, letting your teeth graze it a little.

“Mmmm…” he groaned, throwing his head back the rest of the way, making it easy for you to push him down onto his back and straddle his hips. His breathing was heavy, and hot puffs of air fanned across your face as you pulled away to admire him for a second. You hadn’t even touched his dick yet and already he looked like could cum. His dark hair was starting to come undone, some sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his chest was heaving with every breath.

Your hands had been idle too long, which Hotaru reminded you of by squirming under your hips, pawing at your clothes, and opening one eye in irritation to see what was taking so long. You giggled a little, finding his desperation endearing.

“What is it, Mr. Haganezuka? Did you want me to touch you? Is that it, princess?” You teased, sitting up and hooking a finger under his waistband. He nodded furiously, rocking the bed in his excitement, and you grabbed his chin to still him.

“Use your words like a big boy.”

“Yes,” he croaked out, his throat dry and scratchy.

“Yes what, pet?” There was a pause, then…

“Yes, mistress,” he replied, voice low and slightly hesitant, like he was doing something reckless, maybe even dangerous. You grinned, stroking his cheek with your thumb. As cute as he was, and as obedient as he may have been, it would never be enough to change your mind– you needed to tease him for just a little while longer.

“The blades you craft compare to no others. And you are the greatest swordsmith I have ever met. Did you know that, Hotaru?” You purred, leaning down so your noses were just barely touching and your hair fell around his face. His eyes rolled back in his head hearing you say those words— probably the sexiest thing you could ever say to him. He let out a long, drawn-out groan, starting to lose what remained of his composure, and grabbed his head in his hands like it hurt to process that you were even real.

“Uhmmnnnnnn god please keep t-talking like that, s’so good…”

So you did.

“You are a true genius with the blade. Your creations aren’t just simple weapons for slaying demons, they are a work of art. You are an artist, Mr. Haganezuka.”

His heart felt like it had already burst out of his chest. Waves of pleasure rolled through his sore muscles, a tingling sensation prickling his skin and sending electricity straight to his dick, which bobbed and slapped sticky precum against his tense stomach. He let out a shuddering, hot breath. Any more praise and he’d be done for.

“And guess what? Look at me baby. Guess what?” You demanded, grabbing his chin and forcing him to make eye contact with you. You pressed down on his bottom lip with your thumb, prompting him to open his mouth and take it gently between his teeth. When you were satisfied with the amount of utter love and desire for you that you saw shining in his blown-out pupils, you continued,

“And you’re the prettiest swordsmith in the village. Prettiest body. Prettiest face. And definitely the prettiest cock.”

“Sh-shit! Ahh!”

He couldn’t help it. He bit down on your thumb as hot, thick spurts of gooey cum shot out of his aching tip, more pumping out with every twitch, coating the inside of his pants. A little bit even dripped out past his waistband, pooling in his belly button. He tried to cover his face with his hands, wincing.

“Was that too much for you?” you cooed softly, cocking your head to the side.

He was so embarrassed, face all red and scrunched up in humiliation. He had barely lasted five minutes, both of you were almost completely clothed, and to make things even worse, you had never even touched his dick– you hadn’t even breathed on it. But still, he couldn’t help it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to put out the fire that was raging in his stomach. Because even after literally just cumming, the sound of your voice was enough to get him half-hard again. Unfortunately for him, you noticed, having felt the whole thing against your thighs because of how you were straddling him.

“Well, I’m still not done with you yet. Just because you made an even bigger mess of yourself doesn’t exclude you from my plans,” you said, readjusting yourself so your warm core was pressed up against his length through your clothes. Immediately, he bucked his hips up into you, albeit gently. It was almost involuntary, the way his hips twitched the second he felt your warmth against him. He whined like a girl.

“Stay still for me, and maybe you’ll get what you want,” you chided, crossing your arms over your chest and looking down at his flushed face with disapproval. You had him trained pretty well already, but occasionally he still had to be reminded how to act.

His body suddenly stilled completely, save for the trembling of his hands, which only shook worse when you ground your pussy down into his clothed dick. Sometimes, a little incentive was all he needed.

“Good boy,” you purred into his ear, watching the tip of it turn red and hot. And then, you gently bit down on it, forcing a shiver to wrack through his entire body from head to toe, and another strangled, low whine to escape him.

Before the sound had even finished leaving his mouth, it was cut off by a loud, completely unrestrained moan, caused by you dipping your head down and licking a vertical stripe across the center of his chest, from the waistline of his pants to the base of his throat.

“Ngh- Ahhh!...”

You kept going, dragging your tongue across his abs and over his belly button, and tracing his V-line with it, and lapping at his sensitive sides, and holding him still by pressing your weight into his hips and shoulders. He couldn’t help but squirm, but you didn’t mind. The desperate sounds he was making more than made up for it.

Every time your hot mouth connected with his flesh, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, having to close his eyes and focus on not just pulling his rock hard dick out of his pants and rubbing one out himself, since it didn’t seem like you were getting there anytime soon. Not soon enough for him, at least.

You had graduated from licking and since moved on to biting and sucking the tender flesh of his chest, leaving a trail of red-purple bruises along his collarbones and ever so slowly inching closer and closer to his nipples. The closer you got, the more he squirmed, and you even had to deliver a particularly harsh bite to his sensitive neck to get him to stop, making his eyes glaze over in pleasure. However, it was only a momentary solution to the issue.

You paused for a moment to let your mouth rest and rehydrate itself, placing your forehead right under his collarbone. Your warm, quick breaths fanned out across his chest, so close to his sensitive nipples that he finally hit a breaking point. They were already so hard and ready, and the slight sensation of your breath on them was all the stimulation he needed.

“Please, please, please…” he whispered, arching his back high off the bed and trying to find some kind of friction, to no avail. He groaned, sounding almost as though he was in pain, all his muscles clenching at once. Already so desperate for you and you hadn’t even fully undressed him yet.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around you and sat up, bringing you with him, and pulled you onto his lap clumsily, not being as careful as he should have. He needed you so bad, he completely forgot about being your good boy and carelessly pulled at your clothing. He managed to get your top off your shoulders and halfway down your torso, exposing your chest, before you stopped him.

“Hotaru…” you warned gently, placing your hands over his and lacing your fingers through his. He was practically burning holes in your chest with his eyes, grinding his teeth and gripping your soft flesh even harder. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the image of your round, plush tits sitting so pretty just for him making him drool.

“Please… please c’n I touch ‘em, please…” he gasped out softly, already sliding one massive hand over and grabbing you around the ribcage with it, his fingers pressing into your back and his thumb resting just below your tit. There was something about his eyes in that moment you couldn’t quite place, something like the stirrings of insanity.

You thought about his request for a second, letting silence fall over the room, save for his heavy, shaking breaths. He waited patiently though, looking up at you with his shining puppy dog eyes. You could have sworn you saw his bottom lip trembling.

Finally, after a painfully long silence, you nodded and he immediately cupped both of your breasts with his veiny hands. His thick fingers dug into the smooth flesh as he squeezed, and as if the feeling was too much for him, he threw his head back and let out a long, high moan.

“Ohhh…”

You kissed him. His eyes widened, whereas yours were closed. He was already too blissed out to even properly kiss you back. When you shoved your tongue past his lips again and glided it over his own, it was all he could do to open his mouth wider and accept it.

He knew he shouldn’t, he knew you would be mad, but he couldn’t wait anymore– he needed friction. So Hotaru reached down desperately, hoping you were too distracted to notice, and grabbed himself through his clothing, giving himself a few unsteady pumps. He could feel his cock throbbing in his hand, even through two layers of fabric, which were damp and sticky.

You suddenly pulled away from the kiss, leaving him cold without your needy mouth pressed into his.

“Did I tell you to touch yourself, Hotaru?”

He looked down, ashamed.

“I-I want you so bad. Need you. Please, j’st let me feel you, I don’t care how,” he breathed, eyes wild, almost scared, and darting all over your face in search of an affirmative response.

You sighed. As much as he didn’t deserve it, you were getting a little restless yourself and wanted to feel his cock splitting you open, so you reluctantly agreed.

Wordlessly, you got off him, standing up and making quick work of your clothing. His eyes were glued to you the whole time, raking over your naked body hungrily. He couldn’t help but palm himself through his pants.

“Take them off, Hotaru. Quickly,” you ordered, gesturing to his pants. He wasted no time in grabbing his soaked pants and underwear and hastily dragging them down to his ankles, fat cock finally springing free and slapping against his stomach heavily. There were still strings of cum hanging off it, but it made no difference.

You positioned yourself over him, straddling his hips, and lined him up with your dripping entrance. He watched hungrily as you prodded your puffy lips with his angry red tip. Then, you sank down onto his cock, taking the whole thing inside greedily with one stroke.

“I- ohh...ohh! Mm! Ahh…” he groaned, feeling every inch of himself dragging against your gummy walls. When his swollen tip finally hit resistance, it twitched dangerously, and he squeezed both your hips with a death grip, arms straining.

“Wait. Wait, I can’t-” he moaned, voice breaking, but you didn’t listen. The feeling of his thick, veiny cock stretching you out so deliciously was too good. You needed to chase it. Slowly, you pulled yourself back up all 8 and a half inches of him, your tightness creating suction, and that was all it took.

He came again with a whiny moan, body shuddering underneath you as a wave of pleasure overtook him. More thick ropes of cum gushed into your pussy, pushing deep inside you and making you feel warm, and full.

You groaned, sliding back down on his cock, trying to get him as far inside you as possible, so far that it almost ached. He actually squeaked, a high-pitched, broken sound escaping his throat, and his hips spasmed uncontrollably under you.

“N-no, ‘s too much! Can’t…can’t- uh!”

You tuned him out completely. His utter desperation for your leaking pussy was turning you on so much, you could already feel the heat pooled in your lower belly begging for release. You couldn’t wait.

Mercilessly, you slammed yourself down on his cock over and over again, ignoring the shaking of his thighs and his pitiful cries of “s-slow down, woman!” Or, “ohhh, jus’ like that pretty.” He couldn’t decide if he wanted you to stop or fuck him even harder. It hurt, but it hurt good, like when you pulled his hair or bit his neck. All he could do was beg you to stop and to keep going at the same time; to try and get away, but also to fuck up hard into your plush walls.

Before long, you could feel the heat building and rising inside you, orgasm rapidly approaching. Your breathing grew panicked, your eyebrows knit together, your cheeks flushed red.

“Hotaru…gonna cum…need you to help me.”

His eyes, wide and desperate, softened upon hearing your pleading tone. He wanted so badly for you to cum on his cock, he would do anything to make it happen. Thankfully, he knew exactly what to do, and exactly how you like it.

So he thrust his hand between your sweaty bodies and found your clit with the pad of his thumb, drawing little circles around it just the way he taught you.

“Jus’ like that! Yes Hotaru, good boy, you’re my good boy! Love you so much, love this big thick cock…hhnng, gonna cum!”

In less than a minute, your pussy fluttered around him, flooding his thighs with your juices, which trickled down his balls.

You dug your nails into his scalp as you came, groaning freely and without restraint. One final tug to his hair was all he needed, and his cock was bobbing up and down again deep inside you, shooting a blank since all his cum was spent.

He couldn’t speak anymore, just croaking quietly and letting his body seize with feelings of intense pleasure like he’d never experienced before. You collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and lacking the energy to pull his softening length from inside you. His chest heaved rapidly as he came down from his third orgasm of the night.

Once your breathings had both returned to normal, you still didn’t have it in you to disconnect yourself from him. It felt right, having him inside you, and you weren’t ready for it to be over yet. He felt the same way, and wordlessly, he wrapped his strong arms around you in a passionate embrace, kissing the top of your head lovingly. And that’s how the two of you woke up the next morning.

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taglist//

@blamedbisexual @sanemisstalker @vampcubus @majisyen

#demon slayer smut #hotaru haganezuka x reader #demon slayer x reader #hotaru haganezuka smut #overstimulation #kny smut #dom reader #afab reader #biting #hair pulling

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aemonds-fire · 7 months

Text

Answered Prayers: Dark Series HOTD Aemond Targaryen x Fem OC Part Two : A Lady's Thoughts

Summary: First infatuation, then obsession. Prince Aemond has found the lady of his dreams and the gods give him a way to keep her. But the Lady is more than she seems.

Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: HOTD Aemond Targaryen x Fem OC

Word Count: 1648

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Angst, mention of murder/suicide, medieval-canon sexism, coercion, some DUB/CON - NON/CON (not much, unwanted kiss and touching), Profanity

Thank you to @arcielee for beta reading and advice!!!

Answered Prayers Masterlist

Fire's Masterlist

Enjoy! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

I, Lady Mira Costayne, of House Costayne, confess to the murders of my father and stepmother. I poisoned the wine, not my stepmother. I cannot live with the guilt…

You throw down your quill on the page, leaning back in your chair with tears rolling down your cheeks. With shaking hands, you take another sip of wine, trying to steady yourself. The visit from Prince Aemond earlier has shaken you deeply, leaving you terrified and at a loss for how to deal with this situation.

You had planned this so carefully, deciding it would be less risky to kill them here at the Red Keep rather than at home at the Three Towers, where their habits were better known. You forged the letters from an unknown mistress, acquired the poison, and did everything according to plan. The only thing you did impulsively was to stand on the balcony for a few moments to gather your courage and clear your head. That led to your unplanned meeting with the prince and enabled him to notice the vial in your hand. You thought you had hidden it before he saw it, but you obviously did not.

You know you have committed a grievous sin, but you cannot find it within yourself to regret it. You were his only daughter but your father was never loving towards you; his disdain for your mother grew as his chances for a son dwindled, as if it were entirely her fault he did not have a son. His disregard for her health was something you could never forgive him for. His callousness over her death and quick remarriage caused you to hate him, vowing that he would not decide your life for you. You wouldn't let him choose your husband, a man nearly his own age.

So you killed them. And as you sit and search your conscience, you cannot find remorse for what you’ve done.

You planned on returning home, playing the grieving daughter for a respectable period of time, before taking control of your own destiny. You intended to marry who you chose, when you chose.

That was your plan. But Prince Aemond, for reasons only he and the gods can understand, threatens to expose your crime unless you stay and marry him.

‘Why?’ you ask yourself for the hundredth time since he left your chambers earlier. You had no idea the prince had any interest in you; he seemed to barely even notice your existence while you’ve been in the capital. You try to think back on any interactions with the prince, wondering if you missed something in your preoccupation with carrying out your plan.

You recall the day you arrived at the Red Keep with your father and stepmother; it was a warm, sunny day, and you were rather tired from traveling. You remember wishing you had worn a nicer dress when you were greeted by members of the royal family. As you were introduced to the prince, you dipped low in respect and smiled politely. You thought his appearance was quite regal, despite the scar and eyepatch. His manner, though, was distant and aloof, as if he wished he were anywhere but greeting your insignificant family to the Red Keep.

The next time you remember seeing him was when you were enjoying the gardens with some new acquaintances you were making amongst the other young lords and ladies. You noticed him standing alone, simply observing everyone, as if engaging in idle chatter was beneath him. While some ladies you met have said they are deterred by his missing eye and scar, others have expressed interest in gaining the young prince’s attention, but all attempts have been politely rebuffed.

You wondered about him later that night as you tried to sleep. He’s a royal prince, and he’s strikingly handsome despite the injury to his face. He claimed the largest dragon in the world, so he is obviously brave. You’ve heard he’s dutiful, scholarly, and a formidable warrior, with many beautiful ladies who would love nothing more than to have his attention. You would have been flattered if he had approached you.

You don't remember seeing him at the tourney, all you can remember is how unpleasant it was, revolted by the sheer stupidity of it. Come to think of it, why can men brutally kill each other, and it’s viewed as an honorable sport, but you avenge your mother, and it’s called murder? It makes no sense to you as you shake your head.

You think you may have seen a glimpse of silvery white hair when you were in the library. You were trying to occupy your mind with a book when you felt you were being watched, but you were probably mistaken.

The evening of the feast was wonderful; the food was delicious, and fortunately, your dinner companions were quite engaging. You had a lovely time, while Prince Aemond again looked uncomfortable. ‘Is it really so difficult for him to relax and have a pleasant conversation over dinner?’ you asked yourself.

Afterwards, you allowed yourself to forget your worries and enjoy dancing with several lords. At one point, you felt quite breathless and flushed, but you were delighted at being asked to dance by several handsome lords. You don’t recall seeing the prince dance with anyone; every time you noticed him, he was still seated with a pained expression on his face.

The night you met the prince by sheer chance, you were already nervous about what you planned to do. You tried your best to be cordial and act normally, but it was difficult. He was also clearly trying to be engaging, and if you were not so preoccupied, you would have found him rather charming. You felt that if he could only be more at ease, he could be pleasant company. You allowed him to escort you back to your chambers, placing your hand on his arm, feeling taut muscle beneath your fingers. Despite yourself, when he kissed your hand, the whisper light touch of his lips on your skin was not unpleasant, and his request to accompany him for a walk in the gardens was most unexpected.

The next morning, after your father and stepmother were found dead and everyone was so kind to you, you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief. No one suspected you; everyone believed your stepmother killed him and then herself over a mistress. You would mourn quietly for a few days before being the dutiful daughter and taking them back home.

Everything had gone perfectly until you saw Prince Aemond in your chambers. You had no idea how he came in or how long he had been hidden in the shadows. You were more than nervous and confused, for this was most improper. Right away, you wondered if something in your chance meeting with him had aroused suspicion.

Your heart sank when he showed you the empty poison vial, questioning you about it. You tried to think quickly of something to say before your blood ran cold from his words.

"Please consider your words carefully; lying to your prince could cost you your tongue."

You knew then that no lie could save you. Your only hope was to try and play upon his sympathy for your situation. At first, he seemed kind and understanding. For a moment, you thought perhaps you were succeeding, that he could understand your plight, and let you return home.

"You and I will marry, keeping your secret safe."

Those were the last words you expected to hear. You reacted instinctively, pulling back from him in shock.

You immediately felt the harsh tug of his grasp on your hair, yanking your head back painfully, bringing tears to your eyes. He was hurting you with one hand while the other was gently wiping your tears. ‘I don’t understand what he wants from me,’ you thought.

At that point, you were frightened. When you felt his lips brush against your cheek and heard his whispered words, you feared he was truly mad. But then he kissed you—not a gentle kiss like you had shared before with a young man, but a fierce kiss, full of passion. It was overwhelming; only when you felt his hand on your body like no one had ever touched you before did you panic and plead for him to stop.

"Do not be afraid, my sweet girl. I know I cannot claim you yet, though I do not know if I can wait until we are wed," His voice was low and raspy with want. Staring intently at her, he reminds her, "All will be fine so long as you remember that your life is in my hands. One word from me, and your murderous ways will be known, but I am willing to overlook your sins, for I am mad with need for you. You are the answer to my prayers, and I will not be denied."

You tremble with the memory. Prince Aemond has been like a cold stone statue every time you encounter him. ‘Where has the intense passion come from? Why me?’ you ask yourself again.

You are exhausted. You know you should try to sleep. You look at the unfinished letter before you before taking it and crumpling it in your hand. Getting up and going to the fireplace, you throw the crumpled parchment into the flames. While watching it burn, you think of your great-aunt, Lady Elinor Costayne. After the death of her husband, Lady Elinor was forced to marry King Maegor Targaryen. If Lady Elinor could survive being one of the Black Brides of Maegor the Cruel, you would survive Prince Aemond, one way or another.

Finally returning to your bed, your last thought before drifting off to sleep was of the second vial of poison hidden beneath the false bottom of your jewel case.

Taglist: @arcielee @persephonerinyes @valeskafics @boofy1998 @echos-muses @artemisra @marthawrites @randomdragonfires @khaleesihel @boundlessfantasy

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #dark aemond smut #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen

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gaysindistress · 10 months

Text

Fine Line

summary: Forgetting his first love is easier said than done as memories of his best girl are the only things that Steve thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle or when they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries. A decade and one failed marriage later, she still hasn’t left his mind.

pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

warnings: angst, the feels

word count: 3.3k

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom

Dial Drunk - part 2 & Cocaine Jesus - part 3

a/n: SURPRISE! I’m not fully back but I missed you guys so I’m giving you Fine Line early. Everything else will resume on 7/7 like planned. Also I’m torn between making this a series or keeping it as a one shot. What are y’all thinking?

masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

Falling in love was supposed to be the greatest accomplishment for a person. The rush of emotion, the butterflies in one’s stomach, the flush when one’s lover is near, the feeling of complete joy and fulfillment. Falling in love was supposed to be the happiest moment in one’s life. It’s meant to last forever, the eternity that a couple walks on this earth. It’s meant to persevere through any and all hardships that life throws in their way and strengthen the bond they share. Love, true love in its purest form, is meant to be the greatest healing force that nature has to offer and will provide a couple with an endless supply of cures for any ailment. Love is the one thing that people seek out the most in any and all forms but the love that is found in the arms of a lover is the most sought-after. Love is meant to be a good thing until it is not.

When love sours and turns into resentment, hatred, pain, and angst, it destroys. It becomes the ruination of once strong and powerful people. It becomes a weakness that anyone can expose, one that anyone can exploit when needed. When love fades away into nothingness, the hole that is left is permanent. It will never be filled, will never shrink, will never heal. The hole that loves leaves is a stark reminder of what was meant to be and what actually happened. It’s filled with what-ifs and theories of what could’ve been, questions left unanswered and will continue to go unanswered. When love is lost, the two lovers change and something new becomes of them. In the case of Steve Rogers, an entirely new man was forged from the fires of lost love.

At barely 22, he was faced with a decision he’d hoped would never come. Being the son of a crime boss and the natural next pick to lead, it was his duty to pick a suitable partner to support him when his time came. Of course, some standards and stipulations accompanied his decision but he quickly learned that there was a predetermined pick already in place. He had no choice, no free will to decide his own future, and with that, he would have to leave behind the love he had known since they were children.

“You can’t be serious, Dad,” Steve’s hands shook with anger as he held back the urge to smash something, anything at all.

“The Carters are very good friends of ours and Peggy is a sweet girl. She’ll make for a lovely wife,” Joseph Rogers, the current leader of the Rogers crime syndicate, explains while not batting an eye at his son’s aggression and continues to eat the roast his wife made.

“You can’t just force me into this. Mom,” he turns to Sarah who is sitting quietly at the kitchen table, “please there has to be something else, anything else.”

She only shakes her head, eyes downcast on the dark wood of the table where they’d been eating dinner as a family moments ago. Joseph spares her a very brief glance to ensure that she isn’t going to give in to her son’s pleas for help.

“What’s done is done. You will marry Peggy Carter at the end of the week and that is the end of this conversation. I do not want to hear another word about it, am I clear?” The authority in his tone forces both his wife and son into a quick nod and ‘yes sir’ as the only other sounds that fill the room are those of him cutting the meat on his plate.

Another stern look from his father has Steve returning to his seat but not without one last question, “What about…”

Joseph slams his hand on the table, rattling nearly everything and everyone as he cuts Steve off, “I said not another word and as for that girl, you will break it off and forget about her.”

Easier said than done as the thought of his best girl and leaving her are the only things that he thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle of the grand catholic church in her expensive white gown or when he briefly pressed his lips against hers as they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. Not once did Steve stop thinking of his true beloved his entire wedding day or night when he begrudgingly commenced their marriage. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries.

She inhabited every corner of his mind for the next 15 years and nothing could shake the memory of her tear-stricken face when he told her that they were done. To spare her the real pain of the truth, he lied and said that he had been seeing Peggy the entire time they were together. Whether or not a cheating revelation was really better than an arranged marriage was lost on him and he regretted every word the moment they slipped out. Of course, she hadn’t believed him, he would never do something so horrible as cheating on her. She knew him better than that, she knew him better than he knew himself so lying to her would never be successful. Yet she accepted it and didn’t pry any further, knowing that if he was lying, there was clearly something far worse happening.

He watched all love drain from her face and tears wet her skin when the lies filled her head. Everything they had built together over the last year had been ruined with two sentences; It’s over. I’ve been cheating on you with Peggy and we’re getting married.

15 years later and only God knows he would be able to make up for those lost years and cruel parting words. Rain storms around him and soaked his thick black outer coat as he stands in front of the blue door. The thunder drowns out the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears as nerves start to take over him. Should he really be here? Would she open the door for him? Hell did she even live here anymore? All sorts of questions scatter any rational thought he has. However lucky for him, the door opens and reveals her standing there and everything completely leaves his brain at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” her voice is calloused and devoid of all emotion as she stares up at him.

“H… Hi,” he stutters, his chest constricting as it works to breathe. In and out, in and out.

“What are you doing here?” she repeats.

“Can I come in?”

“It depends. Is someone dead or are you just here to reminisce?”

His hand strays from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck, an old nervous habit his father had tried to break for years.

“Either way, I don’t want you here so leave,” she says, going to close the door on him and everything that might blossom from this moment but the stray hand blocks that from happening.

“Please, I just want to talk.”

“No. Just go,” she tries again to push on the wood alas she is no match for the strength he has built up over the years and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“5 minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

The smile she had only dreamt of for years finally becomes real again as it stretches across his short stubble covered face, “Not a chance in hell, honey.”

The woman steps back but only enough for him to squeeze past and invade her no longer safe space. She knew when the sleek silver car pulled up that any sense of safety would go. His showing up at her front door made her a target for any and all of his enemies after she’d spent years trying to erase any memory or sign of him from her life.

He glances around the room, taking in every detail it had to offer from the various books that lined the brick walls to the pictures of family and friends on the countertops. One, in particular, halts him. It’s a small polaroid from the first night they’d since each other since childhood tucked into the corner of a mirror that’s amidst the books. In it are two much younger versions of them smiling drunkenly with fireworks in the background.

It had been the fourth of July the year he moved back from college. Sarah, his mother, insisted that they throw a late welcome home of July party since this was the first time in four years he had been back. The college had been an escape from the greed and foulness of his father’s world but his tranquility had to be shattered when he was presented with the prophecy of him taking the Rogers family business. Sure he knew it was going to happen but being faced with the reality of it proved to be too much for him. He’d spent the afternoon sneaking away to take shots in between his beers because he needed to be drunk to not remember a thing to survive this night.

It was probably around the 5th secret shot when his sweet honey had shown up, stumbling upon him looking for the bathroom. There she stood in her cutoff Levi shorts and white tank top that showed off the red bikini top she’d worn to the lake earlier. He should’ve heard her coming down the hallway given that she was wearing flip-flops but the deafening effect of the alcohol must’ve kicked in.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she stutters, frozen with embarrassment, “I’m sorry but where is the bathroom?”

Coughing from nearly choking on his shot, he wipes at his mouth both physically and metaphorically, “Um it’s across the hall.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispers while closing the door.

“Wait how do you know my name?” his voice halts her and she cringes when she hears it.

“Oh uh… I guess you don’t recognize me,” she says, pushing her hair back, “I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Oh, OH,” it suddenly all clicks into place and he feels immensely guilty for all of the thoughts that had run through his head, “I should’ve known. It’s been uh… a crazy week.” “It’s all good. I’m sure your parents have paraded you around like a circus animal. Ya know, the prodigal son returns and all,” the sound of far-off laughter has her checking over her shoulder, “Anyways I should go. It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah it was nice seeing you too,” he trails off, too caught up gawking at how short her cutoffs were and how if anyone dared to look her way, he’d been cut their eyes out.

He’d made it his mission that night to watch over her and make sure that no one got close to her. Of course, this was unbeknownst to her and any attractive guy that showed up quickly disappeared, refusing to even go near her. About 4 guys in, she’d spotted the reason for her bad luck leaning against the sliding glass door with his arms crossed over his chest. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, she could tell by the way his jaw was set that his death glare had scared off any and all men that approached her.

“Is there a reason why you’re ruining my chances at finding a guy?” she asked him as she came to stand at his side.

He briefly glanced at her from the corner of his eye before readjusting his arms tighter over his chest, straining his white button-down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally settled on but she doesn’t buy it for a second.

“You know exactly what you’re doing and I want to know why.”

“And what do you think I’m doing?” “Being a bitch and not asking me out yourself so you’re resorting to giving everyone the stare-down.”

He scoffed at the suggestion but deep down he knew that she was right.

“The fact that you didn’t even try and defend yourself proves I’m right so are you going to man up or pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he tried to defend himself but it was too late and she gives him an annoyed look, “Want to go inside?”

She pushed off the door, took his hand in hers, and dragged him inside, “I thought you’d never ask.”

She clears her throat, drawing his attention back to the present and he hesitantly looks at her through the mirror. She doesn’t look exactly pleased that he had seen the last photo she’d held onto but she doesn’t let her bothered attitude show and gestures for him to sit at the kitchen island.

“Why are you here?” she asks him while getting things to make iced coffee. “I wanted to see how you were,” he lies, taking a seat in the tall wicker chair she’d thrifted a few months before.

“You had 15 years to do that. Why are you really here?”

“We got divorced.”

She freezes for a moment but continues to make herself a cup and offers him one. He shakes his head, awaiting her response.

“Oh?” is all that comes out of her as the rain drones on outside.

“It had been a long time coming.”

“I’m sorry,” her body language tells another story that is the opposite of her words. The indifference is clear as she passes him a cup made to his exact preference anyways. Feeling his bright blue eyes burning holes into her skull, her own eyes flicker up and meet his, “You can’t expect me to care. You cheated on me with her and dumped me the same week you married her.”

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect you to feel bad for me,” he says, taking the cup from her hands.

“But here you are; showing up at my house and begging me to open the door to what? Talk? Talk about what? You didn’t come here just to tell me that so what is it?” she pries, leaning against the sink behind her to keep as much distance as she can between them.

He takes a sip and savors the thought that she absentmindedly put into it before answering her question, “I wanted to set things straight.”

She merely raises an eyebrow but allows him to keep talking.

“My dad arranged my marriage to Peggy and forced me to break it off with you. It was… I never…. I never cheated on you.”

Eyeing him from her place, she takes a long drink from her cup to think over his revelation. Half of her laughs at him and how stupid he must be if he thinks she is really going to believe that. The other part tenses at the idea that maybe they could have been together after all if they had run away like they planned.

“I lied because I thought it would be easier than telling the truth but it made everything worse and I’m sorry, honey.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything regardless if you lied or not. Now you’ve said what you needed to, so leave,” she tells him, pointing at the door with the cup in her hand. He can see the scar on her hand from when she broke through a window after she’d locked herself out trying to sneak back in. A smile breaks onto his face which frustrates her even more.

“Really, Steve, you need to go.”

“Is this it? Is this how it ends?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He holds up his left hand in his defense and the carved-out space where his wedding band once sat causes her breath to hitch slightly.

“I’ve spent the last 15 years thinking about YOU and what we could’ve had. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind at least once?”

She drops her gaze to her cup, unable to look at him and the anguish clear on his beautiful features, “What does it matter? It didn’t happen. You got your perfect life and I had to make my own way.”

“You were always a part of what I wanted my life to look like and what I got with Peggy was all fake. I never wanted her or any of it for a second, I just wanted you,” the lull of his voice tempts her to look up again but if she does that, she’ll break. She can only imagine the way his brows pull together from stress or how his jaw clenches to stop the emotions from overtaking his senses. She can only imagine how he’d slowly blink with that sad smile of his when she would make eye contact or how he’d lower his voice to say her name in the softest tone he could manage.

“Go.”

“Honey please look at me.”

“Go,” she tries a little louder, her grip on the cup growing tighter as she struggles to keep her composure.

“Look at me first.”

“Go,” she says one more time, “Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go”

Each go grows more and more desperate as her composure slips away from her and everything she’s suppressed from the night he left comes rushing to the surface as lava does when its volcano starts to erupt. The cup shatters under her death grip, sending pieces of glass and iced coffee everywhere. Neither of them flinch at the sound, having grown used to much worse noises thanks to his business. However, the dam within breaks, and tears slip down her nose as she spaces out on the wreckage of her anger at her feet. Steve quietly stands from the island and gathers her into his arms, pulling her away from the mess on the floor. She doesn’t fight it, wrapping her arms around his bicep as she cries into it. The comforting words he whispers into her hair go unheard but she can feel the rumble of his voice in her chest and that provides all the comfort her body craves.

Feelings of fulfillment and joy fill him as he finally holds her in his arms again but it doesn’t last long when she starts to speak.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He pulls away a little to look down at her, “I don’t understand.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she repeats for the third time, “Things were different when we were kids but we’re grown now and too much has happened. You’ve done too much, I’ve done too much for us to be together. This won’t work.”

“We weren’t kids though,” disbelief fills his voice with uncertainty causing it to wobble.

“Yes we are,” she persists, “You were 22 and I was barely 18. We were stupid to think it was anything more than a fling.”

“A fling?” he drops his arms from her and takes a staggered step back as if she shoved him.

She turns her back to him to spare herself the look of utter hurt he wears, “Please. Just go.”

Receding footsteps mix in with the rain as he does what she asked and leaves. Her front door slams shut and the shutter shakes the house as well as her. Dropping down to her knees on the sticky floor, the tears fall now like a tidal wave and the sobs rack through her body as she blindly tries to clean up the glass shards.

Love is not meant to feel this way.

#mob au #mafia steve rogers x reader #mob steve rogers #mafia! steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mafia steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #mafia au #fine line steve rogers

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lunastrophe · 3 months

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BG3 Drow Lore 🕷️ Dhourn's Social Station

A couple of thoughts on Dhourn's past and his social station in drow society.

Dhourn is an example of a young drow wizard from a noble house. He certainly has a high opinion on his talents and equally high ambitions... but his status in a Lolth-sworn drow society is probably much more precarious than he might be willing to admit.

🕷️ Male - being a drow male, Dhourn has a lower social status than any drow female. He knows it and accepts it, which is why a female drow Tav can boss him around so easily.

Dhourn may be frustrated and tempted to stand up for himself, but despite of that, he strives to be polite while talking to a female drow. He apologies for not showing her proper respect, acknowledges her status, calls her "mistress" - he can even be convinced to hand over his memory shard.

Of course, it is not merely a matter of etiquette, but of pure survival. Dhourn clearly understands how easily a male drow can end up dead for crossing a female in a Lolth-sworn drow society.

🕷️ Third Son - Dhourn proudly introduces himself as "third son of House Ba'Tol", so he is clearly not only a member of a noble drow house, but also a son of the house matron - his social status is quite high for a male drow.

In a Lolth-sworn drow society, there is a custom that every matron mother sacrifices her third son to Lolth by ritually killing him soon after birth. It would mean that Dhourn is, in fact, the third living son of House Ba'Tol. Two of his elder brothers are still alive and one was sacrificed.

We know practically nothing about House Ba'Tol and its rank - but even if it is not a particularly large or powerful house, it is apparently wealthy enough to finance Dhourn's magical education.

🕷️ Taught To Know His Place - being a son of matron mother, Dhourn was probably raised like a typical male heir of a noble house: "they are not allowed to look at the faces of other drow, or speak unless spoken to or bidden. This treatment teaches them their subordinate place in drow society" (Drow of the Underdark, 2e).

🕷️ Searching For Power - second or third sons of noble drow houses are often sent to study magic (see the quote), but they may not be given the most prestigious positions after finishing their studies and returning home. Matron mothers often choose more experienced and powerful spellcasters to be their House wizards.

Because of that, it is not uncommon for second and third children of drow noble houses to "be drawn to places of power, seeing them as opportunities to escape their circumstances, build better lives, or simply form a new ruling elite and wield the power that eluded them elsewhere" (Drow of the Underdark, 3.5e)

That is why Dhourn is determined to find and claim the adamantine forge. He is ambitious ("Dhourn, Lord Archmage"), he sees himself as a wizard of considerable talent and, like many other drow, he craves power - the problem is, the best positions obtainable for a male in his House are already taken.

🕷️ Opportunist - Dhourn's career options are miserably limited. He can return home - where he will be most likely forced to accept a less prestigious position and to climb the ladder from there (...and Lolth knows how long it may take him to eliminate all competition, provided he survives the backstabbing game). He can also try his luck elsewhere, seeking glory "beholden to no house or hold". He chooses the latter...

...but...

...in scenario where Tav manages to deceive Dhourn - convincing him that all the male heirs of his house died and he will be welcomed back - he is practically happy to abandon his research and return home. In a blink of an eye, he loses interest in "chasing relics", claiming that such labour does not befit his station anymore: "Dhourn, first son of House Ba'Tol".

He is clearly neither a scholar, nor an adventurer at heart. He cares only about power and benefits that come with it.

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

#dhourn #drow #lolth sworn drow #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 drow #bg3 drow lore #dnd lore #drow lore #drow culture #dark elves #dark elf #bg3 headcanons

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lunarspiral1127 · 14 days

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X-Men 97 episode 6 *SPOILERS*

Shi'ar Empire/Space

Honestly, I wasn't expecting to see them and get an update on Xavier in this episode cause I thought this was gonna be the full Lifedeath conclusion, so more focus on Storm. But, I think it's nice to see how he's doing.

This is the first time we see Deathbird AKA Lilandra's sister in the X-Men animated series, and I like her look.

Gladiator is such a stoic bad@$$. Ngl, after seeing him fight after so long, Superman popped into my head. I think it was the powerset he displayed.

Ronan and the Kree! I wasn't expecting to see them cause we never had the Kree mentioned or shown in the previous show, so this was a nice surprise. Aldo, it's so refreshing to see Ronan the Accuser in his more comic- accurate outfit. Cause, I've only recently seen him and the Kree in their MCU outfits, so seeing the classics was nice.

Noticed Vulcan during the beginning....kinda awkward cause he's Scott's other brother. Dunno if they'll do anything with that, but then again, they didn't do much with Havok in the previous show.

It's good to see Xavier healthy again, but why hasn't he checked up on the X-Men during that year? Why didn't he let them know that he's okay? Is it because of that black hole?

Didn't know Xavier was interested in being Lilandra's....pet....psychics be kinky.

Xavier talking about Magnus....oh god, when he finds out what happened to him....

Man, even in space, mutants can't catch a break! Xavier gonna be emperor along with Lilandra, and these sunsofbeeches hate it cause he's Terran AND a mutant. Like, can the mutants EVER get anything nice?!

Xavier was willing to forgo his memories on Earth and of his friends and family. Just to be with Lilandra....god dammit, this show really is a soap opera.

Xavier educating the Shi'ar council, Deathbird, Gladiator, and even Lilandra on their system and why it's bad was pretty funny. Dude was going back to being a teacher. And, I thought he was succeeding until....

The vision. Now, he knows what happened to Genosha, and he gotta go back. Good, cause they need him more than ever. I just wish it didn't have to break him and Lilandra up. Like, can we have a good relationship that doesn't end in a breakup, death, or have way too much drama, please?!?!

GAMBIT!!! 😭 It still hurts! But, the vision could also be foreshadowing that he'll become Death of the Four Horsemen. And Magneto wasn't there, so does that mean he survived?!

Storm, Forge, and the Adversary

Storm called Forge "my love". She was mad at him earlier, but I guess despite the anger, she loves him too and understood that he tried to help her despite what he did.

The Adversary is spooky. I didn't get how they appeared, but from what the show says, the demon appears to feed on the self-loathing, so they sensed Forge AND Storm and came to them.

Storm's fear of tight spaces comes into play. The Adversary used her fear against her which almost worked. First time Forge was able to banish the demon, despite being poisoned, and the second time, Storm overcame her fears and doubts and got her powers back.

Oh yeah, MISTRESS OF THE ELEMENTS IS BACK!!! 🤩 She even got her iconic black outfit with the tiara! I'll miss her classic white outfit, though. And she got her long hair back! No offense to the mohawk.

Shoutout to @stormandforge for talking about how she got her powers back cause I was so confused and sleep-deprived. What makes the most sense was the machine Forge used worked. It's just that she had some kind of mental/psychological block going on with her powers and had to overcome it to reactivate them. Kinda like how Peter lost his powers in Spider-Man 2. As for how she got her outfit, well, Storm, in the very first episode in the previous show, used her lightning to change outfits. So, I chopped it off to that. Yeah, lightning doesn't work like that, but she looks beautiful! The hair was actually what I was most confused about cause she had a mohawk, and suddenly, her hair got long again? I thought some parts of her head was shaved. So how did her change? Same way as the outfit?

Forge is cured, so fingers crossed these two will be together and not end poorly and messy as it did in the comics. Please, I just need one good relationship in this freaking show that isn't gonna end in tragedy.

And she knows about Genosha. God, I really hope she doesn't get survivors guilt over this. But, we need her and Xavier more than ever with what's to come.

The rest

Y'know, it was one thing for Trask to be involved with the massacre, but Mr. Sinister? I wasn't expecting that. I thought it was the FoH or Apocalypse or maybe Nimrod. Either way, I'm mad now that I know who's responsible cause how dare them kill Gambit, Magneto, Leech and the others, and hurt Nightcrawler and Rogue! I really hope that they find a way to finish him off for good and make it hurt like hell!

NIGHTCRAWLER GOT TO BE PART OF THE INTRO!!! 🤩 Does that mean he's gonna be finally part of the X-Men? Will we ever get him using his swords? Cause they keep teasing that!

I just wish it wasn't at the expense of Magneto and Gambit's intros. Man, I was bracing myself, and they had to do that and the recap! UGH, IT STILL HURTS! 😭

The episodes have really alternated with multiple storylines in this show. The previous one usually focuses on one story at a time.

So, that's pretty much it. Good episode. One more episode left until even more trauma will be inflicted on us cause 8-10 are gonna be a doozy.

#x men 97 #x-men 97 #xmen 97 #episode 6 #episode six #x men 97 spoilers #marvel #charles xavier #lilandra #storm #ororo munroe #forge

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kithj · 2 months

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i made these slides for instagram for thirst's english publication but i'll share them here too :-)

i'm trying to compile a decent lesbian & sapphic vampires shelf... of these, i've read house of hunger & carmilla, though i was recently recommended this specific version of carmilla which is edited by Carmen Maria Machado, and i look forward to reading her commentary (and this version of the book is really lovely)

links & descriptions in order, under the cut

Carmilla

Isolated in a remote mansion in a central European forest, Laura longs for companionship—until a carriage accident brings another young woman into her life: the secretive and sometimes erratic Carmilla. As Carmilla’s actions become more puzzling and volatile, Laura develops bizarre symptoms, and as her health goes into decline, Laura and her father discover something monstrous.

A Dowry of Blood

Saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, Constanta is transformed from a medieval peasant into a bride fit for an undying king. But when Dracula draws a cunning aristocrat and a starving artist into his web of passion and deceit, Constanta realizes that her beloved is capable of terrible things. Finding comfort in the arms of her rival consorts, she begins to unravel their husband's dark secrets. With the lives of everyone she loves on the line, Constanta will have to choose between her own freedom and her love for her husband. But bonds forged by blood can only be broken by death.

An Education in Malice

Deep in the forgotten hills of Massachusetts stands Saint Perpetua's College. Isolated and ancient, it is not a place for timid girls. Here, secrets are currency, ambition is lifeblood, and strange ceremonies welcome students into the fold. On her first day of class, Laura Sheridan is thrust into an intense academic rivalry with the beautiful and enigmatic Carmilla. Together, they are drawn into the confidence of their demanding poetry professor, De Lafontaine, who holds her own dark obsession with Carmilla. But as their rivalry blossoms into something far more delicious, Laura must confront her own strange hungers. Tangled in a sinister game of politics, bloodthirsty professors and dark magic, Laura and Carmilla must decide how much they are willing to sacrifice in their ruthless pursuit of knowledge.

House of Hunger

Marion Shaw has been raised in the slums, where want and deprivation is all she knows. Despite longing to leave the city and its miseries, she has no real hope of escape until the day she spots a peculiar listing in the newspaper, seeking a bloodmaid. Though she knows little about the far north--where wealthy nobles live in luxury and drink the blood of those in their service--Marion applies to the position. In a matter of days, she finds herself the newest bloodmaid at the notorious House of Hunger. There, Marion is swept into a world of dark debauchery--and at the center of it all is her. Countess Lisavet, who presides over this hedonistic court, is loved and feared in equal measure. She takes a special interest in Marion. Lisavet is magnetic, and Marion is eager to please her new mistress. But when her fellow bloodmaids begin to go missing in the night, Marion is thrust into a vicious game of cat and mouse. She'll need to learn the rules of her new home--and fast--or its halls will soon become her grave.

Thirst

It is the twilight of Europe’s bloody bacchanals, of murder and feasting without end. In the nineteenth century, a vampire arrives from Europe to the coast of Buenos Aires and, for the second time in her life, watches as villages transform into a cosmopolitan city, one that will soon be ravaged by yellow fever. She must adapt, intermingle with humans, and be discreet. In present-day Buenos Aires, a woman finds herself at an impasse as she grapples with her mother's terminal illness and her own relationship with motherhood. When she first encounters the vampire in a cemetery, something ignites within the two women—and they cross a threshold from which there’s no turning back. With echoes of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and written in the vein of feminist Gothic writers like Shirley Jackson, Daphne du Maurier, and Carmen Maria Machado, Thirst plays with the boundaries of genre while exploring the limits of female agency, the consuming power of desire, and the fragile vitality of even the most immortal of creatures.

A Long Time Dead

Poppy had always loved the night, which is why it wasn’t too much of a bother to wake one evening in an unfamiliar home far from London, weak and confused and plagued with a terrible thirst for blood, to learn that she could no longer step out into the day. And while vampirism presented several disadvantages, it more than made up for those in its benefits: immortality, a body that could run at speed for hours without tiring, the thrill of becoming a predator, the thing that pulls rabbits from bushes and tears through their fur and flesh with the sharp point of a white fang. And, of course, Roisin. The mysterious woman who has lived for centuries, who held Poppy through her painful transformation, and who, for some reason, is now teaching her how to adjust to her new, endless life. A tight, lonely, buttoned-up woman, with kindness and care, pressed up behind her teeth. The time they spend together is as transformative to Poppy as the changes in her body, and soon, she finds herself hopelessly, overwhelmingly attached. But Roisin has secrets of her own, and can’t make any promises; not when vengeance must be served. Soon, their little world explodes. Together and apart, they encounter scores of vampires, shifty pirates, conniving opera singers, ancient nobles, glamorous French women, and a found family that throws a very particular sort of party. But overhead, threat looms—one woman who is capable of destroying everything Poppy and Roisin hold dear.

This Ravenous Fate (expected August 2024 release)

It's 1926 and reapers, the once-human vampires with a terrifying affliction, are on the rise in New York. But the Saint family's thriving reaper-hunting enterprise holds reign over the city, giving them more power than even the organized criminals who run the nightclubs. Eighteen year-old Elise Saint, home after five years in Paris, is the reluctant heir to the empire. Only one thing weighs heavier on Elise's mind than her family obligations: the knowledge that the Harlem reapers want her dead. Layla Quinn is a young reaper haunted by her past. Though reapers have existed in America for three centuries, created by New World atrocities and cruel experiments, Layla became one just five years ago. The night she was turned, she lost her parents, the protection of the Saints, and her humanity, and she'll never forget how Elise Saint betrayed her. But some reapers are inexplicably turning part human again, leaving a wake of mysterious and brutal killings. When Layla is framed for one of these attacks, the Saint patriarch offers her a deal she can't refuse: to work with Elise to investigate how these murders might be linked to shocking rumors of a reaper cure. Once close friends, now bitter enemies, Elise and Layla explore the city's underworld, confronting their intense feelings for one another and uncovering the sinister truths about a growing threat to reapers and humans alike.

Unholy with Eyes like Wolves (expected April 2024 release)

Noémie, a dishonored and widowed noblewoman in early 17th century Hungary, finds herself in an unenviable position: After grievous trauma and loss, her last chance to regain her honor comes when she must serve as Lady Erzsébet Báthory’s handmaiden. Báthory is stoic and imperious, and as Noémie struggles to acclimate and accept her present and future, she begins to have dreams about a mysterious woman. Worse, there are stories of disappearance and deaths in the castle, and Noémie might be next.

#so many carmilla retellings lmao #i just bought an education in malice today. as a treat #my tbr is all over the place but i would like to read most of these this year....#books #my posts #vampires

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