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#sand citrine
kingofcaptura · 3 months
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Winter's Lover - Collab Ft. uCrazii
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Citrine Between | Revenant Above
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Scarecrow - Ft. uCrazii
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zhonglism · 21 days
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18+ MDNI; light smut, fluffy zhongli but also implications of him being a very passionate lover. divider: cafekitsune
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zhongli, who places a chaste kiss on your lips with the utmost gentleness—his lips as smooth as a qingxin petal in full bloom; a searing yet soft touch on your chin, angling your face toward his own. zhongli, who tenderly wraps his strong arms around your figure, encasing you in a tranquil hug like the still waters of dihua marsh—his steady heartbeats matching your own.
it is no surprise to encounter such softness every day from your lover. to zhongli, you’re a glaze lily in a vast field of endless greenery—handling you like the most precious gem of all. that’s what everyone else sees, the ever gentle lover who kisses your hand during leisurely walks along the harbour; your lover who looks at you with his tourmaline gaze, full of adoration and love.
oh but behind closed doors, he’s a changed man. the way zhongli handles your body while he makes love to you is a daring contrast, wicked even. chaste kisses turned into sloppy, open-mouthed ones, his swollen lips eagerly chasing your own as your body sinfully bounces to the rhythm of his fervid thrusts; tender, warm hugs turned into titillating touches—one hand earnestly circling your sensitive clit while the other moulds around your neck, a searing possessive touch.
unrelenting thrusts ploughing into your cunt over and over and over again until you’re nothing but a beautiful whining mess. zhongli greedily drinks it all up, he indulges himself in your pleasure-drunk body; citrine eyes glowing with carnal desire as he rakes his gaze over your naked beauty. the way your brows knit whenever his cock finds that sweet, sweet spot of yours; the way your lips part to call out his name with such passion; the way your fingers dig into the moonlit sheets beneath you.
it drives zhongli absolutely crazy but it was the same for you—clenching around him a little tighter whenever he lets out a drawled moan of your name, the dulcet tone of his voice affecting you in ways you didn’t know were possible; or whenever zhongli traps you between his body and the mattress beneath, breathlessly whispering naughty praises into your ear.
oh, how he wishes he could take you again and again until all rock has eroded into sand—the yearning deep within him almost hurts from intensity but zhongli knows he needs to worry not as you’re the only who can tame that eager desire. it’s almost scary how different he can be with a simple flip of a switch, your gentle lover no more, only a man driven to lustful insanity but he never forgets to hold your bare body against his as you both reach your impending climax.
the protective hug he gives you during your most vulnerable state, a silent message of how much he loves you—arms tightening around you little more when he feels your body shiver from the icy pleasure, you couldn’t have asked for more.
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tiredwitchplant · 6 months
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Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Peridot
Peridot (The Tears of Pele)
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*Yes Peridot from Steven Universe is here. She demanded to be added okay!?
Color:  Olive Green to Yellow-Green
Rarity: Easy to Obtain, Harder to higher quality
Hardiness:  6.5 – 7
Type: Orthorhombic (Gem form of Olivine)
Chakra Association: Heart and Solar Plexus
Angels: Achaiah or Raphael
Deities: Pele and Isis
Birthstone: August
Astrological Signs: Leo, Libra, Gemini, and Capricorn
Element: Earth
Planet: Venus and the Sun
Origin: Brazil, Hawaii, Myanmar, Egypt, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, USA
Powers: Purification, Cleansing, Wealth, Happiness, Prosperity, Protection
Crystals It Works Well With: Rutilated Quartz, Rose Quartz, Sunstone, Carnelian, Tourmaline, and Citrine
How It is Created: Peridot is the gemstone variety of olivine, a mineral made up of magnesium, iron and silicate compound. The higher proportions of magnesium and iron are used to identifying the key features in the gem, while the chromium and nickel impurities contribute to its beautiful green color. Some specimens of peridot can even appear in meteorites called pallisites and found during volcanic activity on the island of Oahu in Hawaii.
History: The Egyptians mined peridot on the island of Zebirget, which is located in the Red Sea. Egyptians used the gem for over 4,000 years and was even said to be Cleopatra’s favorite. It is regarded as a sacred stone during Medieval times and was even used in the design of the Shrine of the Three Kings in Germany. Peridot crystals found in the black volcanic sands of Hawaii are said to be the tears of the Goddess, Pele. Now most of the world’s peridot comes from Arizona or Pakistan.
What It Can Do:
Keep away evil spirits and great for protecting aura
Releases and neutralizes toxins on all levels
Purifies the subtle and physical body and mind
Opens, cleanses, and activates the heart and solar plexus chakra to release “old baggage”
Clears the feelings of burden, guilt, and obsession
Guides you to better influences
Alleviates jealousy, resentment, spite, anger and stress.
Enhances confidence and assertion without aggression
Sharpens the minds and opens it to new levels of awareness
Banishes lethargy, bringing to your attention all things you have neglected
Is said to heal and regenerate tissues and strengthen the metabolism
How to Get the Best Out Of: Peridot works best near the throat area and heart area of your body so a peridot pendant or necklace would be best.
How to Cleanse and Charge: Cleanse using smoke or running it over water. Charge it by placing it under a windowsill during a full moon.
Talisman:
Social Media Talisman
Peridot ring, worn on the hand you scroll with
Chalice
Moon water
1 small piece fresh or dried valerian root
1 fresh lemon slice
Cleanse and empower your ring with the ability to dispel feelings of envy and inadequacy.
Gather your materials in a sunny area during a waning moon.
Fill the chalice with moon water.
Take the valerian root in your hand and hold it in the direct sunlight.
Say, “Valerian root that calm sting, add self-assurance to my ring.” Visualize it absorbing the sun and pulsing with a gentle, light. Place it in the chalice.
Hold the lemon slice up to the sun, feeling the illumination and bright energy coming from it.
Say, “Bright yellow lemon with a bite, filter that which befalls my sight.”
Squeeze the lemon slice so the juice goes into the chalice.
Now the chalice holds a soothing brew imbued with calm from the valerian, confidence from sunlight, and optimistic realism from the lemon.
Put the peridot ring in the chalice and let it sit in the sun for about an hour.
Retrieve your peridot ring from the chalice and wear it. Pour the water into the earth.
The ring help ground you in reality while filtering your impressions of what you consume on social me protecting your self-confidence and dispelling any feelings of jealousy or inadequacy.
Perform this spell in direct sunlight, if possible, to illuminate the truth and soothe uncertainty. If you don’t have a chalice, use a bowl, or any kind of cup. Moon water is water that has been left outdoors under the full moon to absorb its power.
Sources
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nerium-lil · 5 months
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Neko Noir, Fate of the All Blue Sea pt. 1 (pt.2)
Mihawk x neko reader/OC
Warnings: near drowning and recovery
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The world was a blur of pain and cold. Waves battered her relentlessly, tossing her frail form to and fro. All she remembered was the desperation to survive, to find land. And so, in her panic, she took on her smaller, lighter, more agile form to the watery surroundings, a small black cat, hoping it might give her a better chance to survive the storm. 
But as the cold and exhaustion took over, the woman felt herself losing control of her limbs from the over exertion. The waves, finally taking her under, the last thing she felt before everything went dark was the rough graze of a sandy shore beneath her. 
The gentle waves that lapped against the shore of Kuraigana Island where misleading to someone not knowledgeable to the dangers of the sea. Mihawk, on one of his solitary walks after a hard workout with his treasured sword, discovered a very unexpected sight. A tiny, heavily injured black cat lay washed up on the sands, clearly battered by the seas unforgiving embrace.
He approached cautiously as to not startle the animal, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the fragile creature. Despite his stoic exterior, Mihawks heart had always held a quiet space for the helpless. Carefully bending down, he scooped the drenched feline into his hands being extra gentle as to not aggravate any injuries. He could feel its weakened heartbeat against his palms. "How did you end up here, little one?" Mihawk mused, carrying that cat towards his castle, the looming structure that stood sentinel against the island's wild elements. 
The cat, feeling sudden warmth as a gentle heat began to seep into her weary bones alerted her to being held in the arms of a stranger. The world was still fuzzy, but she could sense that the person holding her radiated with power. Panicking slightly the woman tried to recall her human form, but her strength was completely depleted. Every attempt left her feeling overwhelmed with dizzying fatigue. 
Without her ability to transform back, she could only give in to the whims of whoever had rescued her. With some difficulty the woman lifted her delicate neck to get a glimpse of who was holding her so gently to their chest. Her citrine like eyes locked onto the man's face above her. Feeling the attention of the feline, Mihawks keen eyes assessed the now awake feline in his arms. With a gentleness that belied his fierce reputation, he carefully adjusted his hold to better cradle the injured feline in his arms. Mihawk could feel the once weakened heart now begin to race in what he could only assume in fear. "Fear not, little one," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble.
Mihawk watched as the cat looked at him with almost human like intelligence, he witnessed emotions swim in its unique yellow like eyes, not unlike his own. He watched as the fear and caution changed into almost a look of resignation at being at the swordsman's mercy. He felt the moment the feline gave in to its exhaustion, its head falling back into his arms. Once inside the castle, he procured a soft towel, and gently set the cat down onto the fabric as close to the fireplace as safely possible. Its flames crackling with warmth, he let the fire do its job in warming the feline as he went to fetch a small bowl of fresh water and another of milk. 
The cat, awake again due to being shifted around watched cautiously as the man left only to return moments later with two bowls in his hands. She hesitated at the sight of the fresh water, but the dryness in the back of her throat became too much to handle as she finally gave in. Mihawk looked on as she had hesitated before beginning to drink from the bowl of water but noticed that her piercing eyes never once left his figure in its caution.
The hours stretched into the night, and Mihawk, usually engrossed in his own thoughts, found himself observing the little creature, noting every breath, every movement. As darkness enveloped the castle, the woman heard the man whisper, "Survive, little one." The woman felt her walls begin to crumble at the words. His comfort, warmth and care making her feel safe enough to fully give into her need to sleep. MIhawk watched as the cat gave him one last look that resembled what could only be described as trust before its breathing evened out, asleep. 
For days, the routine went unchanged. Mihawk would refresh the bowls, clean the cats' wounds, and often he would find himself sitting beside it, offering silent companionship. Slowly, the cat's strength began to return. Its once wary eyes started to show sparks of curiosity, and on the fourth day, he witnessed its attempt to stand, wobbling slightly but determined. 
As the days had passed in a slight haze for the woman, snippets of consciousness finally revealed who her savior was. Between the piercing gaze, and the distinct eyes, she realized that it was none other than Mihawk, the world's greatest swordsman who had been nursing her back to health. Now that revelation had been a bit overwhelming for a moment.  She had felt his care, the gentle way he had tended to her. 
Nights were the hardest. The soft glow of the fireplace illuminated  Mihawks face, revealing depths of emotions she longed to dive into. During these moments she would feel his fingers run through her fur, the gentle strokes that sent warmth throughout her body, making her wish she could hold his hand in return. But with each passing day, as strength slowly returned, hope blossomed. The woman trapped within the cat's shape, knew that the moment of her revealing her true form was nearing. Until then, she took solace in Mihawks presence, eagerly awaiting the day she could look into his eyes, not as a feline, but as an equal. 
Under the cover of night, Mihawk found himself begin to talk to the cat, his usually stoic demeanor softening. "Youve got a fighters spirit," he'd murmur, noticing the cats' efforts to move again. At other times, while pouring wine, he'd muse aloud, "I wonder what stories you hold, little one, the sea can be quite cruel can't it?" 
The cat, for her part seemed to listen intently, her eyes sometimes clouding with emotions that to Mihawk seemed.... reminiscent of a human. Mihawk often caught it gazing at him, its stare intense, as if trying to communicate, to break through some unseen barrier.
One evening, as they sat by the fireplace, the felines soft purring harmonizing with the crackling flames, Mihawk whispered, "I don't know why, but I feel you understand me. More than anyone else has in a very long time. You're my silent little confidant, aren't you?" He chuckled softly, "Perhaps I've been alone in this castle for too long." He felt a strange comfort in the cat's presence. The way it would nuzzle against him, its tiny body radiating warmth, made the vast, echoing castle feel a little less lonely. Yet, there were moments when he'd catch a certain tilt of the cat's head, a particular gleam in its eyes that made him wonder. Could it truly understand him?
The woman trapped in her feline form, hung onto every word. There were moments when she wanted to scream her frustration, to tell him that she was there, listening, understanding. The depth of her emotions often threatened to overwhelm her, but she continued to hold onto the hope that someday soon, she'd break through this silent prison. 
One morning, noticing that supplies were running low, Mihawk got ready to leave for a nearby town for a supply run, the light tug on his cloak made him stop in his tracks. He looked down, only to find the cat, its vibrant yellow eyes pleading, as if asking not to be left alone. With a soft sigh, Mihawk gently lifted it, allowing the feline to curl around his shoulders, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cold sea breeze. 
She knew it had been a gamble to tug on his jacket, but the thought of being alone in that large castle was too anxiety inducing. She had just started to get better, and being near the swordsman made her feel safe while being in such a vulnerable and weakened state. While nestled on Mihawks shoulders, the world seemed different to the woman, almost serene. The rhythmic sway of his strides, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, all resonated in comforting sync with her heartbeat. But what captivated her most was the scent that enveloped her being so close to his neck. It was a unique blend that was distinctly Mihawk.
The aroma of heady spices wafted around her, drawing her in. Notes of cedarwood, reminiscent of ancient forests and untrodden paths, mingled with the sharper scent of cloves and perhaps a hint of black pepper. It was a scent that spoke of distant lands, fierce battles, and quiet moments by the fireplace. 'How many shores has he walked upon to gather such a unique blend?' She mused, breathing him in. The warm undertone of amber made her think of nights under the stars. 
Being this close, wrapped around his shoulders, she could also detect the underlying scent that was purely Mihawk- the smell of steel, sweat, and the open sea. It was an intoxicating mix that made her feel safe, knowing that she was in the company of someone formidable yet so gentle. As the wind ruffled her fur and the sea breeze mingled with Mihawks unique scent, she closed her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her. 'If memories had a scent,' she pondered, 'this would be the one I'd cherish the most.' The smell of safety, adventure, and a bond that's growing stronger with each passing moment. 
The townsfolk, accustomed to the enigmatic swordsman's visits, were taken aback by his new companion. But Mihawk, with his usual nonchalance and stoic like behavior, went about his purchases, the cat purring softly against his ear. The townsfolk couldn't help but steal glances, their murmurs a soft undercurrent to the bustling market sounds. From her perch, the cat observed the world around her with a keen interest. The vibrant stalls with their array of colors, the sounds of haggling, children running around, the enticing aroma of street food. 
Yet, amidst the chaos, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace, securely wrapped around Mihawk. She could feel the muscles of his shoulders move under her, the strength and grace in every step he took on the uneven cobble stone road below him. Every now and then, he would reach up, a finger gently stroking her, ensuring that she was still comfortable. That simple touch spoke volumes, reinforcing their unique bond. 
Some children approached; their eyes wide in wonder. "Mister, is that your cat?" One asked, hesitantly reaching to touch the black cat's soft looking furr. Mihawk nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "Yes, she's with me." Throughout their walk, they were met with surprise, admiration, and curiosity. While many were familiar with Mihawks prowess, few had seen this gentle side of him. Shopkeepers offered their freshest fish, children tried to play with cats' tail that she would flick away to their amusement, and elderly woman shared stories of their own beloved felines.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Mihawk made his way back to his boat. The cat, feeling the days adventures catch up to her, nuzzled closer, her purring a soft lullaby to the world. 
Once the pair reached the castle, instead of placing the feline on the usual towel by the fireplace, Mihawk, in a rare moment of impulse, decided to take her to his own chambers not yet ready to part with the animal's warmth. Ensuring that the room was sufficiently warm, he gently set her down onto his bed massive bed while he went through his quick routine of getting ready for bed. Once done, he gently laid beside her sleeping form, pulling the covers over them both.
Hours later, the woman began to stir. Disoriented, she blinked a few times, trying to grasp her surroundings as her last memory was of being on the boat. Her gaze was met by an expanse of tanned, bare chest, rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. The soft thud of a heartbeat resonated in her ears as she realized she was snugly tucked under Mihawks arm, her feline body pressed against his side. 
For a moment, panic took over. "Oh! oh, furballs!" She had certainly not expected to wake in such a compromising position, even if she was in a cat form, she was still a woman dammit! She attempted to slowly and quietly wriggle out without waking the man, but as fate would have it, Mihawk chose that moment to turn in his sleep, trapping her even more securely against him. 
A soft purr of frustration escaped her. Meanwhile, Mihawk, in his sleep induced haze, felt the felines struggles. Without fully waking, he mumbled, "Stay still... go back to sleep," and pulled her even closer, making the feline to be placed practically on top of his naked chest. The woman, frozen at her new predicament was left with no choice but to wait for a chance to escape, but as the initial shock wore off, the humor of the situation was not lost on her. "Well," she thought with a chuckle, "I guess there are worse places to be trapped than in the embrace of the world's greatest swordsman." 
Morning would bring its own problems, but for now, the cat decided to make the most of the unexpected situation, nestling into Mihawks warmth and drifting back to sleep.
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snowleopardcrk · 27 days
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Creature from Beast-Yeast
The sand kicked up into a cloud with their tail swaying as they rummaged the sand for bits of food, occasionally spitting out sand.
Meringue Cookie swam above the coral rocks, following the trail of moon jellyfish into the general medicine area of New Tearcrown. She spotted the aura of a juvenile creature rummaging through the sand, she peered around for any signs of Frilled Jellyfish Cookie.
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"Frilled Jellyfish Cookie?" She called out, for a moment she was only met by silence. "My lady! You've returned." Frilled Jellyfish Cookie chirped, carrying a bundle of kelp in her arms. Meringue Cookie smiled and quickly swam over. "Mhm! I am, Sea Bunny Cookie told me of a new creature that's currently residing here. Could that be the juvenile they were talking about?" She questioned, motioning over to the hollow-whale like aura rummaging through the sand. Frilled Jellyfish Cookie nodded. "Of course! One of the elder crimson jellyfish informed me that they're possibly a shapeshifter? But, I am not sure... I didn't find anything in the archives." She sighed, Meringue Cookie crossed her arms in thought for a moment.
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Suddenly, Meringue Cookie was nudged by something by its snout. She looked down towards her tail only to find the creature inspecting her carefully. "oh? Hello, I see you're a little better today." Frilled Jellyfish Cookie chirped, it turned its head towards frilled jellyfish as she spoke before going back to nudging Meringue Cookie around gently. "Ah- Hello! I'm Meringue Cookie." She greeted happily, putting a hand on its head. It tilted its body up slightly as Meringue stroked it gently before it suddenly darted away, almost smacking Meringue with its long tail.
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Frilled Jellyfish Cookie pulled Meringue back gently. "Ah!- something must've spooked it.. Are you okay, my lady?" She questioned, Meringue Cookie nodded. "Yeah.. Just a little surprised, that's all!" Meringue's gaze followed its aura as it sunk to the ocean floor, slightly tilted. "Is it...Okay? I don't think its swimming properly." Meringue Cookie turned her head towards Frilled Jellyfish whom sighed softly. "Well, some jellyfish found it near the surface with fish nets attached to it with some other wounds. I think it got caught in those massive nets and thrashed its way out of it." She theorized. Meringue thought about it for a moment and nodded. "I see.. I'm going to visit my sisters now! I'll be at home if you need anything." Meringue Cookie hugged Frilled Jellyfish before swimming off and towards home. "of course, my lady! I'll see you soon." Frilled Jellyfish Cookie waved at Meringue as she swam off.
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(Next Day...)
A moon jellyfish carrying a little sea bunny floated into the castle. "We've got news! We've got news!" The Sea Bunny chirped excitedly. "Ohhh, really?" Gold Citrine Cookie swam over excitedly. "The new sea creature can shapeshift into a mermaid! The rumors were true, Frilled Jellyfish Cookie sent me here to inform all of you!!" she squealed, waging her little button tail.
The other gem mermaids slowly emerged from their respective rooms at the commotion and the squealing Sea Bunny Cookie who was simply incomprehensible. Meringue Cookie and Aquamarine Cookie swam towards the two, curious. Gold Citrine Cookie whipped her head around. "Did you guys hear? There's a new mermaid in tearcrown, and they were that new creature in the medicine area!" She informed them shortly, Meringue Cookie stopped swimming for a moment. "Really? I'm going to see this for myself." Meringue Cookie clasped her hands together. Aquamarine observed the three in curiosity. "I'm following, I want to meet them too." Aquamarine Cookie began swimming towards the exit. "Wait for me!" Gold Citrine Cookie called out and quickly swam after Aquamarine. "H-Hey! Don't leave without me." Meringue Cookie almost felt herself pout slightly, quickly following the auras of her elder sisters towards the exit.
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"C-Careful!" Frilled Jellyfish Cookie helped the guppy up from the coral rocks. "I'm fine...I'm fine-" They insisted. "Are you sure? You crashed into the coral rocks.. It can make your wounds worse." she guided them away and towards more open waters. The little guppy pouted slightly yet struggling to swim forward properly.
Peaking over the towering coral rocks, the three gem mermaids observed the two from a slightly distance. "Aww, they're a guppy too!" Gold Citrine chirped, turning to Aquamarine and Meringue Cookie. "Lets go and introduce ourselves, it is only polite." Aquamarine swam over the rocks and towards the guppy and Frilled Jellyfish Cookie.
"Aquamarine, Gold Citrine and Meringue! Did everyone get the news?" She peered over the guppys shoulder for a moment as the three approached. "mhm! Sea Bunny Cookie told us." Gold Citrine mentioned with the other two nodding along. "Do you want to introduce yourself or should I do it for you?" Frilled Jellyfish Cookie questioned, the young guppy stayed silent for a moment and turned around. "Hi...I'm, Moonflower Cookie..." she lifted her hand shyly, trying to stay steady. -------------------- I LEGIT RAN OUT OF IDEAS HERE!!! AHAHAHASKJAKJSOKAOKJSDOIQJ help :( Meringue Cookie belongs to @minecraftninjerkid
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inathia · 28 days
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Returning Home
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The jewel-toned leaves of citrine, topaz and ruby crunched under the heavy footfalls of a child of blood long overdue for their return home. Black boots caked in enough mud, sand and blood made them appear dull, almost gray in appearance. The entire suit of armor had much of the same wear and tear after years of travel. A once pristine black tabard with a red phoenix was layered over the armor, with years of dutiful mending evident on the endlessly frayed and repaired hems.
Stopping just outside of Fairbreeze Village, the weary traveler looked up at the tall inn building. Memories of a past lifetime of chasing little lordlings caused a derisive exhale, though the days of walking had certainly taken a toll. A brief rest for a proper meal couldn't hurt, could it?
Finally, the tattered red hood that covered the traveler's face fell back over her head, settling around her neck much like a scarf. The face of Ina'tha Dawnblade, the once-decorated Knight Lord of the Blood Knight Order, and once-proud Commander of the Phoenix Guard, finally allowed herself to be seen. It was unclear if she'd been hiding her face out of shame for her abrupt and prolonged absence, or her lack of usual dark eye makeup and lipstick. Considering both her pride and her vanity, it was likely both.
With her chin held high, Ina'thia strode right up the ramp and sat a table in the inn. Before the waiter could approach the table, she placed a gold and several silver pieces on its surface.
"A glass of Eversong Red and a fruit and cheese platter."
No please, no thank you. Just the sharp comments of someone who had been away from civilization or entirely too long. Patrons of the Fairbreeze Village inn whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves, and Ina'thia couldn't help but catch one well-dressed man out of the corner of her eye. He had watched her a moment too long, and his chair made a gods-awful sound on the floor as he got up too quickly.
The man hurried outside in a whirl of red and gold robes, speaking quietly into an enchanted gemstone. Ina'thia leveled her one-eyed gaze on him as he left, then sipped at her wine the moment it was brought to her.
"M-Magister… are you there? Magister Everblaze…" the man stammered, covering his mouth so his lips could not be read, "You're not going to believe this. She's here."
@thefugitivemango
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dirty-bosmer · 8 months
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Forgotten: Treacle
Here with my first and probably only @tes-summer-fest contribution of the year. I've been pretty busy this summer, but I'm happy to have participated at least once :)
Written for @atypicalacademic, who inspired me to continue Scar-Tail's story past his canon quest line. You were so right. He deserves happiness 🥲
summary: Scar-Tail, the wind calls, and the Hist remembers even if you refuse to. On the night you breached your shell, the Shadow blotted out the sky. It was to be your shroud for all your days, first to last, a gift you’ve disgracefully abandoned, and though you may run, the cold loving embrace of fate forever skitters in your wake.
Stop for only a breath. Look down, find it bloody, here, returned to you, blackened flesh under its claws, scrabbling at your heels.
warnings: non-graphic mentions of death and dissolution
Ao3 link: here
Scar-Tail doesn’t speak his name anymore, not even in his native tongue. He wonders, if enough time passes, will he ever forget its rhythm or will it quake within him always like a second bloodbeat? Some days he feels it trapped behind his teeth— the sibilant shape of it, the phantom weight of it, the gathering swell in the hollow pocket of his throat. The Hist still speaks it in his sleep where formless figures call him by the name his brother called him, and even in dreams the name is doused in venom. Even in dreams, the only ones who speak it want him dead.
The knife that sleeps beneath his pillow isn’t there when he reaches, but he feels it like the ghost itch of an amputated limb. His magelight flares. The looming darkness in the corner is revealed as merely shadow. Still he sleeps with the candle burning, for even shadow he is hesitant to trust these days as he was one once not very long ago, remembers that the darkness wears a sinuous smile, and he knows where it hides its teeth. 
Two days, and he’s on the road again, a stranger bound to Nirn by a will and only a will. Rootless, unmoored, his body has become a foreign thing— spines ground down as the face sculptor recommended and belly fattened on unfamiliar foods. In Bruma, he discovered a taste for mead, and he likes it too much. The sweet amber color, the heady wave of its warmth. ‘Like drinking liquid sun,’ he told the barkeep, and it earned a laugh and another round on the house. These days he gets drunk on the smallest kindnesses. These days, he no longer feels like something trapped inside a jar.
If Ocheeva could see him like this, she’d recoil, wouldn’t recognize him. If Ocheeva could see him like this—
Citrine eyes in a face of jade scales. The memory sears sharp, but one day the fleshwork will heal the brand. He scratches at it, picks at it like an old scab, and strews the roadsides in eggshell and pale, stringy yolk as he births himself from the detritus of the life clinging to his heels.
Every new city demands that he is less of his past self, so he chokes it down and rolls new names on his tongue, hoping to forget the bitter taste of the Hist— Maheelus. Tanaka. Vetra-Mahei. Sings-in-Silver— but the sap runs through him like iron through a vein, and though Scar-Tail is fading, if the wind asked his name, what could he tell her? What could he offer if only breath?
Wake up one morning and find yourself dissolved beside the shadow left behind when Magnus pulled all darkness from the sky. When you leave the bed, you leave your old body too, a ghost peeled out from the pool that once was your lungs, and you wrangle its waters down a new stream, shape its banks to hold a new life. Touch the mirror. Touch your bare-faced spirit. Ask if it’s the same at the root now that you’ve stripped its branches clean. Become a new shape. Wear a new face that strangers wave to in the streets without fear, for you are a Saxhleel made of grafts. Look, all rough burls sanded down. Every scale is now smooth to the touch. 
Yet the Hist still reads your scars, the ones you thought the magic had healed over, knows you bleed black sap when cut open. You are ku-vastei, cannot be gentled, will never be talcum soft, and when the Hist sees the man you’ve stuffed your soul inside of, it knows his smile required so many knives to be carved. 
Salt crusts on his scales as the sea mist dries. “Haul,” the shipmaster says, and Scar-Tail does. He’s been in this town too long but the pay is good and the work is hard, and he’s come to find comfort in the foreign smell of human sweat. In the evening, his shift over, he wanders Taneth’s harbors for the breeze. There, Abrim finds him, always does. He guides Scar-Tail down to the taverns where the rest of his crew sits drinking away their gold, and Scar-Tail follows, drawn to his side like some heat-seeking whelp. Inside, he sits facing the door.
The torchlight throws dizzy shapes on the wall. The tavern churns, and all around him is a froth of people as thick as the head on his ale. He won’t feel the buzz until the fourth beer if he feels it at all, but even without it, he’s content here. Here in the briny stew of the seaport with the salt smell and the raucous laughter, the human heat wrapped around his shoulder. Willing himself to weightlessness, he lets Abrim rock him side to side in the rhythm of shanties he never had the chance to learn the words of. Even when he tries, the melodies don't fit in his mouth, but Abrim’s smile is reassuring. Abrim is gilded in the torch flame. Every part of him is a different shade of brown such that Scar-Tail needs only look at him in flickering light to feel he’s travelled all of Tamriel’s woods, seen every kind of tree there is.
Two weeks, and new callouses have formed on the pads of his palms. He relishes the rope burn, the way the thick braids abrade compared to the slender wires of a garrote wrapped tight around each fist. Staring at the old knots on his knuckles, he thinks, this is honest work. This is good work, and at night the only part of it that follows him to sleep is the vision of a stained shirt, gleaming skin in the sunlight, the sweat rolling off like beads of oil. 
Abrim’s ship is packed and set to leave Taneth, and the next time Scar-Tail sees him, he knows it will be the last. The thought floods him with a new kind of fear. It sloshes cold in his chest, clings thick to every branch of his lungs. He thinks, this must feel like drowning.  
But the evening air is dry and spiced in sunset reds. Scar-Tail breathes, regains his footing on solid land. At the taverns, Abrim is as he always is, and he is warm in color, deep in scent, rich in sea-spun stories that fill Scar-Tail with as much envy as they do wonder for the sailors and storm-weavers that long ago swam these waters. Scar-Tail wonders if the villains in these tales were star-made as he was, if their cradles were lined in rot like his nest was with razors. If born on a different day under the light of a different constellation, would they have been heroes? Would they have lived on forever in the hearts of men?
The tavern roar grows muffled at his ears as the crashing waves lull him into dream. He imagines himself a new life, resplendent in the awe of those who survive him, those who love him enough to sing his name to strangers too. In this life, his hands are bloodless. In this dream, he’s never held a knife. Could he have it one day? Can he live a small legend, erase enough of who he once was to one day hear his name spoken with full use of the tongue?
The wondering is ripe, ripe enough to overwhelm him. In the ale’s reflection, he sees the palimpsest he’s become. The pitted wound that is Scar-Tail forms a craggy mantle beneath his skin, and there is little give when he presses, the tissue tough beneath. He is still there no matter how hard he’s scraped, Scar-Tail, full of pride, a mutinous tremor through the din. Though it reaches him as only whisper, that name is wreathed in wire, and the recurved fang of its echo sinks deeper with every twist. 
What will it take to strangle this voice that has stitched its dying breath inside his ears? When he hears it, he feels like a missing person, like a part of him has ceased to exist. A sickness rises inside him; he tastes himself decaying. For all the poisons he’s swallowed, now immune to, it’s the acrid tang of dissolution that sends him rushing into the night to spew his dinner into the sea. 
Scar-Tail retches, turned over in a bout of vertigo. Abrim walks over and pats him on the back. “Uta-’mei, what’s wrong?” he says. “Can’t handle the drink? Come, let’s get you home.” 
Scar-Tail coughs. “What did you call me?”
“I’ll explain it another night.”
“When?”
Abrim’s smile is a sliver of opal in the sandstone. “The next time,” he says, “Come on now. Stay close to me.”
And even if Scar-Tail never learns what Abrim meant, he knows that this name fits better than any he’s given himself before. He likes the feel of it, Uta-’mei, the liquor kick of it rising beneath the sour spit in his mouth, and decides that if he dies tomorrow with no one else to speak it, his ghost will scratch it into his own headstone before he completely disappears.
Wake up one morning and find the world you lived in gone to dust. You lay shipwrecked, bare to the bone, alone in the silver light of dawn. New flesh will have to be sculpted onto your frame, but you’ve paid someone do it before. You’ll do it again. This time, even your shadow has left you. ‘Good riddance,’ you say. You will have to remake that too.
The sand of your past life clings to your soles, chafes between every toe. You count the grains knowing it will be the last time its coarse edges erode you. Soon, you will bathe in cleaner waters, be free of it, be glistening, yolk-filled and new. Now that you’re here, and he’s gone—
No, now that he’s here, and you’re gone—
Scar-Tail, the wind calls, and the Hist remembers even if you refuse to. On the night you breached your shell, the Shadow blotted out the sky. It was to be your shroud for all your days, first to last, a gift you’ve disgracefully abandoned and though you run, the cold loving embrace of fate forever skitters in your wake.
Stop for only a breath. Look down, find it bloody, here, returned to you, blackened flesh under its claws, scrabbling at your heels.
Sweet child, the wind calls, have no fear. This shade was to preserve you from the blinding harshness of the day that will turn your eyes to water in your skull. Sweet child, look at you, so lost now. Look, curled up, all fetal, how your own reflection cows you. This shade was to serve you as much as you were to serve the god who wove it, and even with your claws clipped and your teeth hidden behind hand-carved grinning lips, your bones retain their shape, always will until you break them. Raise a hand. Press it to the foamy shoreline to obscure the rippling image beneath. Find each finger whittled to such a sharp point that your touch will forever bear the risk of drawing blood.
The shop windows taunt him from his periphery, but he will pass one hundred more if that’s what it takes to prove his presence. His footfalls are heavy, yet he persists, learns how to walk again, how to exert his body upon the world if only to feel it press up against his feet. 
But it is enough to be above ground, free to float like a loosed leaf, released from the mire he was hatched into. The wind tugs on the knobs that are left of his spines, and if Scar-Tail lives, it is not in name but in this ever-changing shape, this new boundary layer surrounding each limb. And he chooses to live here. Here where the sun bakes the earth and the water pulls all moisture from his lips. Here, tasting the salt in the air, the sunshine golden-sweet, like mead. Drunk on its light, he chokes, spills past the brim, and when he laughs it’s because the first breath he ever took was smothered in darkness; all light he’d drank before had been drawn in through gasps. 
One hand in the ocean, the water moves freely through his fingers. He couldn’t divert it, couldn’t destroy it if he tried. To his reflection, he offers the jagged slash of his smile, and he doesn’t care what gnarled image stares back. He says, “Name me. Call me by the sigh that leaves your lips when I’m within you. I shred myself apart to stand before you here, reborn, and did I tell you how it hurt, to push air out of these new lungs?”
The sun sets over the Abecean, bleeds a burnt orange that reminds him of the light that lived in Teinaava’s eyes when they were young. It is by some secret alchemy that a longing still brews for the brother who asked for his heart ripped clean from his chest. Yet he still feels it, yes, love for the brother who believes him now dead, who believes Scar-Tail had been the one to betray him. He will feel it always, he thinks. It’s the gift he’s given himself, to love unbidden, to love when no one wants it, to thirst for life in great bursts that swell within him like sap bubbling out of a wounded tree.
He cannot quell it, not even if he tried. It will ooze from him in the next life too. 
Tomorrow, he will travel north to meet Abrim in Sentinel, or maybe he will cross the deserts and find another town to welcome him home, but when he leaves Taneth, he will shed his last skin, and he considers the last person to speak his name was a woman who had been hired to kill him. When she offered up his heart, what did his brother feel in return? Joy to have fed him back to the soil? Relief to return him to the root?
He hopes so.
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tavvattales · 1 year
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AHHHHHH I GOT A RESPONSE HOLY THIS IS AWESOME. *coughs* sorry I was over excited I was wondering can you do a cyno x female reader where the reader was with him in the desert but they got sick????
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GENSHIN IMPACT Character x Fem!Reader Headcanons
AN: Reblogs help more than likes~ Thank you in advance! ☺
Characters: Cyno
Pairings: Cyno x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Reader faints from heat exhaustion
Taglist: @stygianoir @kurobakachan @hikomisan @silverwritesthings @minty-stays-tired @genshinparty @sange-de-romane (ask to be added~)
If you like what you read, come and check out my Discord!
Click below for more~
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Cyno
Cyno is swift to catch you before you fall to the sand below, grabbing you by the waist, "Y/N! Hey, are you alright?" he asks, his citrine-colored gaze filling with worry as your body grows limp. Unfortunately for you, due to the immense heat, you had passed out, though thankfully Cyno is quick to make sure you're alright by carrying you back to Aru village.
Upon waking up, you blink groggily and then groan. Your head is pounding, and you have the chills. Feeling nauseous you clutch your stomach before a tray of soup is placed onto your lap, "You should eat; you passed out from the heat and now you're sick." Cyno explains, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "Hnn, what is it?" you ask, peering into the bowl of liquid.
"It's just soup, don't worry, my Vixen," he says with a soft smile, "Try and take it easy," he continues, pondering for a moment before chuckling out loud, "I hope you get well soup-er soon,"
"Get it? Because soup is supposed to help you feel better when you're sick."
"...Cyno, honey?"
"What?"
"Just stop."
You say, deadpan, trying so hard to stifle your giggles so your headache wouldn't worsen, "Hmm..I thought it was pretty funny," Cyno responds, kissing the top of your head as you pick up the spoon and begin eating with a small smile on your face.
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fernthewhimsical · 20 days
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Rainbow Divination
Rainbowmancy is not only the act of magic, but, much like in witchcraft, divination is also a part of it. (If you want it to be, anyway, you can do whatever you want forever!) Here are some different techniques for using rainbows in divination.
Reading Rainbows: When there is an actual rainbow in the sky, you could read the signs to divine. Look at the rainbow and consider the place on the horizon, depth of colour, full arc or just partial, beginning and end, etc.
Existing Decks: There are many decks available through either the creators or your local witchy/bookstore that have rainbow themes and symbolism. Some examples: Prism Oracle, Secret Language of Colour (I recommend!), Spectrowhirl Tarot, SoulSpace Oracle, Queer Tarot, Holographic RWS, Sacred Creators Oracle, Rainbow Tarot, Tarot at the End of the Rainbow.
Stone Scrying: What is says on the tin, scrying in rainbow stones, or if you have a quartz crystal, they sometimes can have rainbow inclusions which work really well.
Water Scrying: Take a glass or white bowl or cup and fill it with water. Add a few drops of coloured ink. Alcohol ink, writing ink, or acrylic inks work just fine. Look at how it flows, what patterns it makes, what symbols do you see? For meanings you could make your own dictionary, which I recommend, or use a tasseomancy (tealeaf reading) guide to get you started.
Rainbow Scyphomancy: This technique was generously shared with me by Nova. Scyphomancy means divination with a cup or goblet. With rainbow scyphomancy the white cup is first filled with water and then emptied. Drops of food colouring are added, and the cup is turned over three times, each one in a different direction, lastly the cup is swirled three times. The colours will spread over the white surface, which can then be read much in the same way as tasseomancy.
Paint Chips: These come in every shade and colour, so would be great for making your own deck. Write keywords or draw symbols on them the meanings of which match the colours.
Pendulum: A pendulum in one of the rainbow crystals for example. Or nowadays you have rainbow pendulums made from different crystals, either fused together, or beads stacked on top of each other (often called "chakra pendulum". We'll get into chakra's in the next bit). A small galaxy jar on a chain, or a small bottle filled with coloured sand, sugar, salt, or resin, will also make a great pendulum.
Crystal Casting Oracle: An osteomancy method using rainbow cystals, or crystals in each colour of the rainbow. Before I mentioned that my favourite combination is garnet, carnelian, citrine, aventurine, turquoise, sodalite, and amethyst. I use tumbled stones of these to cast on divination grids or mats. Much like charm casting. Each stone has their own meaning depending on where they land.
Encaustic Art: This is an art technique where coloured beeswax is heated on a small painting iron and then pressed to wood, or a special shiny paper. Artists can use this to create beautiful and intricate paintings, often of landscapes. This same technique, however, can also be used for divination. By intuitively adding colours and moving the painting iron, a layered painting can be made. The wax will pool, swirl, and leave open spots, making an interesting painting which you can see symbols, figures, and natural features, which can then be interpreted.
[Part of a Rainbowmancy series, masterpost here]
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Freya info masterpost
Goddess of: love, lust, beauty, fertility, abundance, war, battle, magic
Symbols: cats, chariot, boar, feathered coat
Offerings to Freyja
- honey
- Jewelry
- Crystals (pyrite, bloodstone, flint, lapis lazuli, citrine, ruby, pink tourmaline, malachite, red jasper, rose quartz)
- Amber
- Flowers
- Homemade items
- Seashells
- Sand
- Makeup
- Perfume
- Candles (white, red, black, sliver, green)
- Apples
- Mugwort
- Rose
- Thyme
- Mint
How to connect with Freyja
- research her
- Learn about associations
- Say prayers
- Say hi to her
- Guided meditations
- Runes
- Cat care
Here are some offerings from my Etsy shop!
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smileysuh · 2 years
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citrine
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🌙 staring. Jungwoo x afab!reader
🔮 synopsis. life with your surfer boyfriend only ever sees blue skies, and plump lips glisten with the citrine juices of summer
cw/ tw.  oral (m/f receiving), sexual eating of oranges, body worship, boob worship, pussy worship, messy sex, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, etc…
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.2k
🍭 aus. surfer au, established relationship, summer aesthetic
☀️ mlist + an. I want this Jungwoo like I want sunshine, always
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“God, you can’t keep doing stuff like this,” you groan, ignoring the way the sand shifts under your palms as you push yourself up into a sitting position.
“Oh, sorry,” your soft, surfer lover immediately apologizes, stepping to the side so his shadow no longer covers you.
Momentarily blinded by the sun, you’re forced to cover your eyes with a hand. A laugh bubbles out of your chest, and you swat at Jungwoo’s calf, making contact with skin still sticky from salt spray and sand- 
“Not that,” you chastise him jokingly. “You and your orange.” 
For three days straight, your boyfriend’s been arriving to the beach with a freshly plucked citrus in hand, and for three days straight, you’ve watched him forget to bring a juicer, and opt to manually squeeze the fruit juice into his mouth instead-
And of course your boyfriend insists on being as messy with the orange as he is with everything-
You watch as the front of his white shirt gets stained orange, drops of intense smelling citrine liquid dripping down his chin- 
“Jungwoo-” you whine again, tugging on his shorts- 
This time, your boyfriend relents, collapsing onto the beach towel next to you, pressing sticky kisses to your neck. 
“What?” he asks. “What am I doing wrong?”
You let out a scream when he sucks on your earlobe, the smell of ocean and oranges overwhelming your senses while one of his large hands cups the back of your head, keeping you where he wants you- 
“You can’t keep turning me on like this at the beach,” you whisper, latching onto Jungwoo’s broad shoulders-
“I can’t keep turning you on like this at a public beach,” Jungwoo corrects you, letting out a soft groan while pulling you into his lap. “But what if I told you… I know a place?”
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“I see what you mean with the waves,” you admit, waded up to your knees in the water while your boyfriend comes towards you, surfboard in tow.
“Yeah, they’re not great,” Jungwoo says, “but it’s okay, we didn’t really come here for the surfing.” 
“No we did not,” you agree, smiling while you take in your athlete lovers chiseled physique. You’d come to this beach, with it’s horrible reputation for surfing, as a way to escape the crowds of people who frequent the places known for big waves.
The little alcove is cute though, if perhaps a bit off the beaten track, and you wonder how many cars would actually be able to handle the horrible gravel road that Jungwoo’s jeep made easy work of… or the way the road became straight sand.
No one is around, just as Jungwoo had assured you, but you’ve taken an hour to get settled at the location, setting up a pretty white duvet in the sand with a picnic while Jungwoo tested out the water- 
And now that you’ve been here for an extended amount of time with no disturbances, you’re starting to trust that this is a secluded spot. 
The sun is beginning to set, and with every minute that passes, you’re more and more confident that this alcove is exclusively yours, a perfect spot to enjoy some alone time with your big surfer boyfriend and a small basket of goodies.
Jungwoo lifts his board out of the water, adjusting it on one hip so he can reach for you with his other hand, lacing your fingers together. 
“Are you getting hungry?” you ask while the two of you exit the water, heading up to where your stuff is scattered next to the jeep. 
“I’m always hungry,” your boyfriend responds, tossing his board down onto the sand next to the white duvet. Then he grabs a towel, running it up his arms and across his muscular chest before making a mess of his bleached blonde hair. 
You sit on the warm white fabric, watching Jungwoo dry off while you pour a glass of sparkly wine from the picnic basket. 
When you look up again, you find Jungwoo watching you, a conflicted expression on his face.
“What?” you ask.
“I just-” he sighs. “You look so pretty on your pretty white duvet with your pretty picnic basket, and I’m here covered in sand-”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, “you can come on my duvet.”
“I can?” Jungwoo laughs before sinking to his knees, landing on the pristine fabric with skin that’s still damp- “you’re sure I’m not going to make a mess?”
“You’re going to make a mess,” you tell him, holding out the glass of bubbly wine to the surfer, “but I like it when you make a mess.”
“You do?” Jungwoo shuffles closer, leaning forward to rest his weight on one hand, pressing a kiss to your lips while he takes the drink from you with the other. “Are you sure about that?”
“Uh huh,” you respond, watching him carefully-
Jungwoo grins, leaning back again before raising the liquid to his lips. He downs the entire thing in two large gulps before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing the glass over his shoulder. 
“Hungry now,” he announces, grabbing hold of your hips.
You land on your back with a squeal, white fabric bunched up below your bum while your lover drags you closer-
“I like these,” Jungwoo tells you as he positions himself flat between your legs, fingers now tugging at the ties of your bikini bottoms, “they’re easy to take off.”
And take them off he does, tossing the fabric over his shoulder with the same disregard as he had the glass. 
Then his mouth is on you, hands anchoring your hips down while his tongue licks the entirety of your entrance before settling on your clit. He flicks at the sensitive nub, and you moan loudly, grabbing at his hair-
The bleached strands are still half damp from surfing, and there’s a slight crunch, a feeling of salt against your fingers-
“Woo-” you whimper his name when he presses his tongue into you, testing your walls-
And the way Jungwoo groans, sending vibrations skittering through you, his grip on your waist tightening- you can always tell that your boyfriend loves giving oral. 
Even when you’re blowing him- he doesn’t make sounds like this. 
No, Jungwoo is a giver, through and through, and you are reaping the rewards-
His wet muscle continues it’s assault on your pussy, and you relax into the duvet- 
There’s something about him eating you out like this - like a starved man - while you’re on the beach, in the open air- 
Your moans are loud enough for him to hear, loud enough to egg him on, but you also know that your sounds of pleasure become lost amidst the noise of the waves- 
You can be as loud as you want, and no one is going to hear you.
You can arch your back off the beach duvet, tugging at Jungwoo’s hair while he licks you into a body numbing orgasm- and no one is going to see you. 
You can do anything and everything you’ve ever wanted to do with Jungwoo, out here in the open, exposed to the sky and the elements - and you can be completely free while doing it.
“I’m gonna-” it’s embarrassing how close you are to an orgasm, and when you shift, pushing your hips closer to your boyfriend’s face, sand dips onto the duvet, skittering against your skin.
You don’t get to finish your sentence, because anytime you alert Jungwoo to an encroaching high, he chases it down for you, and a moment later, your body is practically singing with white hot pleasure; words become impossible. 
The man between your legs holds you down with strong hands even as you wiggle in his grasp, whines and moans leaving you uncensored, pussy throbbing around nothing while he laps noisily at your clit-
“Jungwoo!” you scream his name for the sea to hear, for the clouds and the sky and the setting sun.
And your lover returns your noise of praise with his own growls of need, tongue working you until you’re practically shaking from how good it feels- tugging relentlessly at his hair-
Only then does he pull away from you, heavy breath fanning hot against your heated core.
He’s panting, and when you look down at Jungwoo, you’re met with dark, lust blown pupils, and lips that glisten. 
“You taste so good,” he groans, pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh before he releases your hips in favour of moving his mouth up your body- 
“You’re always so good for me-” he tells you, hands slipping under your dress, pushing the fabric up- “I can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you here-”
“Jungwoo-” you groan when his hand grabs at your breast, kneading the flesh through your flimsy bikini top-
“No one’s going to come and interrupt us-” he assures you, pushing your bikini and dress up even further, exposing your sensitive nipples to the evening breeze, which is beginning to get cooler- “but still,” he brushes his thumb over the pebbled nub, “you’re letting me fuck you on the beach-” he brings his mouth to your breast, licking at you- “it’s all my favourite things-”
It’s true. 
There are two things that Jungwoo loves, undeniably, and those things are the beach, and you. 
Usually, Jungwoo spends a fair amount of time worshiping your boobs, not as much as he worships your pussy, but still- a decent amount, however today, he hardly pays your boobs much attention at all, continuing his flurry of kisses all the way up to your lips while discarding the rest of your clothing.
Jungwoo’s bare chest presses against your own, skin sticky with salt and sand, but you don’t care, you’re too lost in the feeling of his lips pressing feverishly against your own-
His swim trunks are damp, and when you wrap your legs around his waist, you can feel the outline of his cock pressing against the material. Your nails dig into Jungwoo’s strong, swimmer’s shoulders, and you rut your hips forward, looking for friction-
“Fuck,” Jungwoo groans, kisses moving to your neck as he lets out a shaky breath, “I want to fuck you so bad-”
“Then do it,” you whine, lacing your fingers through his hair in an attempt to get his lips back to your own-
“But I also want you to ride me,” Jungwoo confesses, one hand grasping at your hip-
“Then I’ll ride you,” you tell him simply, pushing at his shoulders-
Large hands find your waist, and when Jungwoo rolls onto his back, he solidifies you on top, applying a bit of pressure to your hips, forcing you down on his cock-
You both let out groans of pleasure, and you immediately press your hands flat to his shoulders, using your new position to gain access to his pretty throat-
“You feel so good,” he tells you, gasping and arching his neck to give you more space to press wet kisses to his sensitive spots- 
His fingers dig into your waist, and he pushes his hips up, dragging you across his cock and succeeding in bunching the fabric of his swim trunks even more-
You begin to kiss down your boyfriend’s large body, teasingly nipping at his nipple to earn a jolt from the man beneath you. 
“Hey,” he whispers, lacking conviction while he pushes your hair from your face, intent on watching you while you kiss down his body-
“Can I show you something?” you ask, as you get down to his bellybutton, fingers hooking in his trunks-
“Yeah, yeah-” he swallows thickly, chest flushing a pretty pink colour, “you can show me anything-”
“Anything?” you tease, pulling his cock out of it’s confinements, your hand wrapping around the thick base.
“Anything,” Jungwoo gasps, grabbing at the duvet.
You wrap your mouth around your boyfriend’s dick, coating it in your saliva before pulling away and repositioning yourself. “I wanna show you,” you tell him, as you line his cock up with your entrance, “what it looks like when you eat an orange.”
“What?” Jungwoo’s brows furrow in confusion, and a groan escapes him as you sink onto his cock, hands smoothing down his chest-
“I want to show you, what it’s like,” you repeat, reaching past him for the picnic basket, where you retrieve an orange. “Just stay still, okay?”
He swallows thickly, watching you with wide eyes, and his fingers flex against your hips- but he nods all the same; “Okay.”
Sitting on Jungwoo, his cock buried in your pussy, you start the process of opening the orange.
While your boyfriend always makes cutting the fruit in half look easy, you take your time, careful not to cut yourself in the process. And when you’re done, you set one half of the orange, and the knife, back in the picnic basket. 
“Are you ready?” you ask, looking down to make sure Jungwoo’s still watching you, which he is.
“Yeah,” he licks at his lips, taking in your every movement.
Lifting the orange over your mouth, you tilt your head up, free hand pressing to Jungwoo’s chest to anchor yourself while you close your eyes, squeezing the fruit until drops of citrine liquid hit your lips and chin. 
“Fuck-” Jungwoo groans below you, and a moment later he’s sitting up, arms wrapping around your body while his mouth eagerly attacks your neck, licking at the long drips of juice now marring your skin-
You let out your own sound of pleasure, lifting yourself slightly on your knees before sinking back down on his cock, continuing to squeeze more sugary liquid onto yourself for your boyfriend to lick up-
One of Jungwoo’s hands grabs at your breast, kneading the sticky wet flesh there while animalistic groans escape him.
“See how sexy it is?” you ask, squeezing the last bit of juice before tossing the orange to the side, both of your hands grabbing at Jungwoo’s face so you can force him to look up at you.
Instead of answering, he kisses you, hungrily licking at your lips- the taste and smell of oranges is overwhelming, and your boyfriend’s tongue is magic, invading your mouth and making you dizzy.
With a grunt, Jungwoo flips you over again, and he threads his sticky, sand covered fingers through your own, pinning you to the duvet before his hips start to find a rhythm-
“Jungwoo-” you moan his name against his lips, body tingling with heat, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening- 
He’s panting against your neck now, pressing kisses here and there between small moans and grunts of effort. His fingers squeeze yours as he peppers the underside of your jaw in little licks and love bites- 
“God, you’re so sexy-” your boyfriend groans. “So sexy and sticky and wet-” he bottoms out in you and holds there, forcing you to feel his large cock buried deep in your core, “and you smell so fucking good- like juice-”
His tongue finds your throat again, licking at a sticky patch of citrine scented skin-
“Please-” you whimper, squeezing at his fingers, “I wanna touch you-”
Jungwoo releases your hands immediately, and your nails are clawing down his back within a moment, legs tightening around his waist.
“Are you going to cum for me?” the man thrusting into you asks, one hand cupping at your jaw- he keeps his lips just distanced from your own, looking down at you while the sky casts an orangey glint with the setting sun-
“Yeah- I’m gonna-” you begin to answer but your boyfriend doesn’t need a full sentence, not when he needs his lips on yours this badly-
His palm presses into your waist, forcing your body down, anchoring you while his hips keep a rhythm that has you cumming around his cock within seconds.
Sounds of pleasure leave your lips like never before, eaten up by the surfer you love and the waves beyond. Your whole body tingles with pleasure, feeling every grain of sand that’s now sticking to your sticky, citrus speckled skin.
The smell of sand, sea and citrus overwhelms your senses, and when Jungwoo cums, moving his mouth to your neck so you can hear his own whimpered moans of pleasure, your body thrums with warmth. 
His hips slowly come to a stop, but your lover continues to press open mouthed kisses to your neck.
When you grab at his hair, Jungwoo pulls his face from your throat, looking down at you with a lazy, fucked out expression, and a face flushed with colour.
You brush your fingers over his cheek bone, feeling the heat of his pink skin. “You’re so pretty after you cum.”
“I should be saying that to you,” Jungwoo laughs, pressing a kiss to your nose. 
The two of you enjoy holding each other for a few moments longer, and then Jungwoo rolls suddenly, causing you to scream as you latch onto him.
“Hold on,” he tells you, adjusting your body in his grip while standing from the ground-
“Jungwoo!” you scream again, clutching onto his shoulders.
“I told you to hold on,” he laughs.
“Where are we going?”
“To the ocean,” he says simply. “As much as I’d love to clean you off myself- there’s too much sand and stickiness.” 
Your boyfriend is right- even now, the full extent of your little ‘orange stunt’ is beginning to become apparent- when you pull away slightly from his chest, your skin all but sticks together before pulling apart almost painfully-
“See,” Jungwoo smiles, carrying you into the water with him. “I’m just going to wash this off of us okay?”
“Okay,” you give in, drawing in a sharp breath as your body is submerged into cold water- “what about getting eaten by sharks?”
Your boyfriend laughs, holding you close in the water while a large hand begins to wash away the remnants of sand and citrine from your skin. 
“Baby,” he says, pressing a smiley kiss to your lips, “there’s a higher chance that you’ll get eaten by me again after this than a shark.”
“Just a chance?” you tease, leaning in to press your lips to the sensitive spot below Jungwoo’s ear-
“Oh, I’m going to one hundred percent eat you out again as soon as I get you on the hood of my jeep-” his cock twitches between your bodies-
“On the hood?!” you squeal with excitement.
“Uh huh,” Jungwoo adjusts his hold on you again, one hand wrapping around his length, which is already half hard again, “on the hood.”
“Well what are you waiting for?” you laugh.
Your boyfriend presses a kiss to your lips while pushing into your core again, groans escaping you both in unison. “We’ll go in a second,” he promises, aided by the water so he can easily lift you off his cock, only to sink you back down- “I just wanna enjoy this a bit more.”
“Me too.”
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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 152- Break Into My heart
Summary: Raven gets poetic. She receives a terrifying vision. The Elvenking is back to his womanizing ways to ease his mental anguish. Two Kings share wine and words. Thranduil and Tauriel converse which ends on a sour note. Narcisse has a surprise for Jo, Her kind words eat at his conscious to the point of a breakdown. The warlock admits something.
*Warnings* strong language, angst, smut,
Stories Stories Stories Masterlist
Raven paced around the elven chambers in solitaire that she had to share with Tauriel, fretting about what the Elvenking was going to make the she-elf do to her unborn child.
Would Tauriel really go through with it? Could she go through with it? It was no secret that the elleth didn't care for Raven one bit, but she still didn't seem like one who had a heart to do such a malicious act, especially after how she offered extra care for Raven's wounds in Rivendell when she didn't have to.
Surely, Thranduil was testing the loyalty of his new captain of the guard and that's what worried Raven even more, because she knew how desperate Tauriel was to remain in Mirkwood. Either way, Raven vowed she would never let it happen and would find a way to escape, even if it meant facing the dealers, or even worse...Jareth.
Raven sat down Indian style on the bed with her small bag of belongings and beg and digging through it for a particular book to read in hopes of calming her restless mind. It was one of her favorites by Edgar Allan Poe because it consisted of his complete poetry. She then did what she always did, closed her eyes and opened it to see what message she would receive this time.
As she opened her eyes, she began to read aloud.
"A Dream Within a Dream...
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, thus much let me avow. You are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a dream; yet if hope has flown away in a night or in a day, in a vision or in none, is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore and I hold within my hand, grains of the golden sand. How few, yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep while I weep, while I weep, Oh god! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp? Oh god! Can I not save one from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?"
"Hope...what hope do I have?" Raven asked herself as a single tear strolled down her cheek.
Oddly in that moment, she thought of Jace. Why?? He abandoned her. Could she really blame him though? He hardly knew her and taking on the Elvenking could mean a death sentence for him. Jace had his own issues to deal with, why should he give damn about what happens to her? Why should anyone give a damn about her?
She closed the book with a sigh, for the message only made her feel worse. As she put it away, the glint of Jareth's citrine ring flashed in her face from the candlelight gleaming down inside the bag.
With all the chaos, Raven had forgot she even had it and the question came to light again as to how that slimy ghoul Gollum had gotten ahold of it in the first place? The only thing she could some up with was that the little thief must have stolen it off of Jareth's finger while the goblin king was disabled from Thranduil's light, for she couldn't see Jareth giving it to him for any reason. It was a part of Jareth's power and he would certainly come to reclaim it...and her.
Raven pulled it out, fondling it as she looked it over in more detail. It appeared to just be some ordinary antique but all who knew of it, knew it was anything but ordinary. It wasn't necessarily evil though, it just depended on who's finger it was placed upon. Of course, Raven didn't have the slightest clue how to bring it's magic out, so she did something quite stupid out of curiosity, and slid it upon her finger.
As she gazed upon her own reflection in the golden topaz, something began to happen. Something terrible.
Raven became frozen in some trance like state as her eyes glazed over in a white film...and then she heard him. Jareth.
"Curiosity killed the cat. I knew you were weak and foolish girl."
Her hand shook profusely as his image then appeared inside the stone, creeping towards her in a sinister, yet strangely sexy way.
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"You have betrayed me for the last time my love. Did you honestly believe you could escape me? Or that I would simply forget your lying vows of love for me? Those same vows of love that created the life inside of you? You belong to me Raven. You will always belong to me. I will reclaim you, my ring and my child and you will rue the day you ever crossed me. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Elvenking will face my wrath as well. He cannot protect you. I am your King. You will bow before me and take your place at my side for eternity. I am coming. Time...is short."
All that could then be seen was a close up of Jareth's face as he devilishly laughed, and then he vanished as Tauriel walked in.
"He...he...he...kn..knows...he knows about the baby." Raven stammered in fear after she came back to reality.
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"Is that what I think it is??? On your finger???" Tauriel asked with beaming eyes and came towards her.
"Stay away from me you baby killing bitch!" Raven shouted and sprung off the bed, rushing backwards with great force right into the stone wall.
Down she slid to her butt, dazed and confused as she repeatably mumbled before she passed out.
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."
After viewing you through your moonstone for the second time in Haldir's arms, Thranduil, or more likely the Elvenking, enjoyed some pleasure of his own on the cool December day in his warm outdoor pool. Accompanying him was one of his elleth servants. She had platinum strands like his, although he preferred fiery hair...fiery hair that belonged to you. Because of that annoyance, he purposely chose her for a distraction and to fuck out the relentless ache in his cock that happened every time you invaded his thoughts and he had high hopes it would stop him from envisioning you while doing so.
"My lord...where shall you have me?" the pale blue eyed elf meekly asked.
The Elvenking merely side eyed her, not wanting to see her face.
"There...on the steps. Lean over them."
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The young she elf did as she was commanded, laying her chest onto the cold wet stone with the crack of her bottom just barely above the clear blue water.
As he approached her, cock in hand, he noticed she was laying on her cheek to where he could see the side of her unwanted face.
"Face forward."
She turned to glance at him. "My lord, I...I am?"
"Dolth- cín níf!!!" (Conceal your face) he barked.
She squeaked and swiftly placed her forehead down on top of her hands.
"This is not for your pleasure, but for mine. If you wish to receive any, know that I will not wait."
'Y..yes my..lord." she timidly replied as she waited for the sharp sting of his girth.
Thranduil spread her entrance open with his fingers and guided the head of his swollen cock inside with his other, then he released his hand, grabbed her hips and thrust into her.
She squealed into her hands as he began pounding against her, so hard that the water sloshed about in a frenzy to the beat of smacking skin.
His idea failed him miserably as there you were, red hair and all, before him, being fucked like a dog. But the memory he was seeing was nothing of the sort, for in it, he was making love to you, soft, slow and sweet in his chamber's pool. The candlelight danced over your wet back as you moaned and panted for him, immediately bringing him to climax.
Thranduil's eyes closed hard and his mouth hung open as he sped up, ignoring the elleth's orgasmic mewls and only hearing yours. He swiftly pulled out, groaning and stroking his way through his release as he expelled his cum into the water, while in his mind, he secretly called your name.
"Glenn-hi." (Go now) he commanded to the blonde elf. "And do not return to my sight, this day or any day."
She glanced at him in confusion. "My...lord??"
Thranduil's eyes rolled as he pursed his lips. "It would seem I have made the right choice to remove you from my kingdom, for your dense mind is of no use here, nor is your cunt of any more use to me."
He swayed his hand in the air behind him for her to exit as he waded to the other side of the pool to climb out.
After Thranduil relaxed in the remaining sunlight for a moment with his wine, he then slipped back into his attire and headed to the shipping docks in annoyance, as he saw Bard's late barge arriving.
"You are late with the barrels. Are there no means of time in Lake Town?" Thranduil rudely said in his greeting to the captain of the archers and King of Dale.
"King Thranduil. Apologies. I had a setback with some orcs along the way. It is good to see you alive and well."
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"It is good to know your vision is still in tact. Unload, reload and be on your way to Dorwinion. I expect extra allowance of time will be given for your next delivery, for tardiness is not acceptable as it may have been while I was...away, but as your properly functioning eyes have witnessed, I have returned and all operations will remain under my rule as they were."
Bard had heard of the trauma inflicted upon the King and was even warned of his changed behavior, but knowing Thranduil as well as he did, he really didn't see any difference in him....yet, for Thranduil's attitude was completely typical. Even so, Bard knew he could hold his own against the Elvenking, who was also his friend.
"Will that include a shared glass of the wine before my departure like always? I have missed my old friend and was very saddened to believe you had passed on."
Thranduil's eyes narrowed as he peered down at the smiling bowman.
"Very well. There are things you need to be aware of before entering Dorwinion. Be quick and join me in the docking tent."
Bard nodded with a bow and began his duties while Thranduil then headed off to patiently wait.
Fifteen minutes later, Bard entered the tent to find the King in his chair, sipping his wine and seemingly lost in thought, for his arrival went unnoticed.
"King Thranduil? I have completed my tasks."
Thranduil did as he had always done and went to the wine table to pour the other King a drink.
"I am in need of more ale in addition to the usual order from Lord Narcisse for an upcoming celebration."
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"As you wish. Has your queen returned? I would like to offer my congratulations on the birth of the Princess."
"You may offer them to me, for my daughter was not born of immaculate conception." Thranduil quipped and returned to his chair.
"Of course. Congratulations King Thranduil. I was only hoping to offer them to her in person and hopefully meet the child."
"It would seem you will meet her before I am able to do so. Josephine remains in Dorwinion with my daughter. Legolas is on his way there to return them to me."
"That is good news. I am sure it will be a most happy reunion and celebration that you have planned. Shall I relay any messages to the Queen?"
The Elvenking's jaw was clenching, for he could not stand to continue hearing Bard address you as his Queen, but he knew he must carry on with his charade that you and he would be one happy little family again. He could not risk you knowing the truth as it would delay his plans even further by you possibly refusing to come back and he knew Legolas would not take Leean from you, nor would you allow him to.
"All that you know of my existence is to remain unknown. Although you may arrive before Legolas, he will inform her per my instructions."
"The Queen does not know you are alive?"
"Ahh, I see your brain is working as well as your eyes."
"Thranduil...may I ask why you would not wish for her to know her King is alive as soon as possible? I cannot imagine the suffering she has endured."
"You may not! What concern is my business of yours? You will do as I have ordered or I can and will easily find a replacement for your duties here."
Now Bard knew something was amiss just like he was warned of. Thranduil was referring to his daughter as only his and seemed to have no concern for you. The Thranduil he knew, that loved you beyond the moon and the stars, would not be sitting here drinking wine as if it were just another day. He would have been on his way to Dorwinion himself to be with you, but it was not Thranduil that sat before him. It looked like him, but it was in fact the elf lord he knew before you arrival, the Elvenking.
"Respectfully, how do you expect me to look her in the eyes and not speak of you?""
"Maybe I was incorrect about your brain functions. It is as simple as you are. You do not speak to her at all. That woman and child are nothing to you. You are going there for your compensated duties, unless you would like me to involve myself in your affairs, such as with Baine?"
Bard took a step towards the Elvenking with a scowl upon his face.
"You dare to threaten my son??"
Thranduil stood from his seat and faced the angry bowman.
"I dare to dare as I please. With that said, I threaten no child. I am merely suggesting that he may be better suited for your position. After all, he did assist you, bravely I might add, in Smaug's demise and would take his duties seriously. He would not be concerned, as you are, with Josephine or my child."
"If I no longer work for you, nor will my son. I do not need your compensation, or have you forgotten I am a King as well? What I do for you and other lands are to help others instead of biding my time on a throne, wearing a pretty crown, drinking wine and patronizing others."
Although Thranduil looked upon the man with great dismay of his insult, he expected nothing less from one King to another, especially from Bard the brave.
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Bard returned the look, sat his chalice down and without another word or a single head bow, he left.
Thranduil made his way to his chambers, greatly vexed and having enough of the day's occurrences, only to find Tauriel awaiting him at his stairwell.
He found his eyes rolling once again as he walked past her in which she followed him down the stairs, offering a quick bow.
"Unless you have come to inform me that you have completed the task I ordered, I wish to enjoy my evening in peace and solitude." he snapped as he poured another glass of his cherished and mind numbing vintage.
"Apologies my lord, I have not, for I have something you may find of more importance for the time being." Tauriel strongly said as she paced about with worry.
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"What could be of more importance than ridding of that creature in the dhampir's womb??"
"This...my lord."
Tauriel extended her arm out and opened her hand to reveal Jareth's citrine gemstone.
The Elvenking's eyes rolled again, but this time, almost out of his head.
"Where have you come across this piece??"
"It was in Raven's possession. I fear she has had contact with Jareth. She claims he is aware of the child."
"It is no child. It is his demon seed."
Thranduil took the ring from her and eyed it over, before pulling out your moonstone that he swore he would not look at again.
"I now have two of the six runestones needed to destroy Jareth. My moonstone and Josephine's are of one piece, but only one of the pair is needed. Haldir possesses another, the emerald. I will inform Legolas to retrieve it."
"My lord...who has the other three?"
"Harker has the crystal prism in which he used as means of torture upon me. Somewhere, there is an amethyst and a pink tourmaline. All six each represent a strength...knowledge, love, birth, strength, destruction and death. I hold in my hands, love and death. Haldir holds birth. Harker holds destruction. Knowledge and strength still remain, as well as the book of shadows, I last recall, Julian concealed the three pages to raise the dead and they also are the only ones that can undo it. When all items are combined, along with Ashmole's spell, it is the only means to Jareth's permanent destruction, which is why he wants them for the obvious reason of preventing it. The issue we currently face are those three pages. It is all that is needed for Jareth to carry out his deadly plan. With Julian under his control, it is only a matter of time before the goblin king is in possession of those, if he is not already."
"My lord...this will be...ruinous."
"How remarkable, your observance of the obvious. I have had enough of this futile conversation and day at that. Come tomorrow at high noon, there will be a meeting before my throne and by the day's end, I expect my demands to be met."
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"My lord...if I may inquire...how is it that you desire me to handle the situation? Raven is not going to consume anything I give her, for she is aware of your plan."
"Slow-witted I perceived you not to be. Am I myself slow-witted as well for placing my faith in you?"
"No, of course not my lord, it's just that...there is no other way than...black magic...which is forbidden here....and the price... it comes back on the spellcaster three fold as you know."
"It is not forbidden if I so order it. I am the King of this realm, am I not? And as King, I have sovereignty, also do I not?"
"Y...yes my lord...I..."
"You nothing! Dispose of the evil entity as you see fit or find yourself in contempt of a direct order. I would advise against defying me or I assure you, the worst price you will suffer is my wrath."
"Yes, my lord." Tauriel bowed and rushed off, knowing she was already receiving her karma by Thranduil himself for all that she had done. He could have easily chosen any of is guard to complete the ungodly task, but he intentionally chose her out of spite and, like Raven believed, to test her loyalty. The most obvious though, was that it was to punish Jareth, as well as Raven, for all that they took from the King....you, his daughter and the vast majority of his will and his love.
Thranduil laid the pair of gems upon his desk and sat down, again gazing at his journal, wishing to add another entry, but he knew he would be easily tempted to read his past memories and feelings, so instead, he relished in his wine as he fondled your stone without thought....until he saw you appear inside again without warning.
It now seemed his touch brought you about, like rubbing a genie lamp.
He stood in utter shock, staring down at the vision, for this time he saw you with Lord Narcisse and it appeared to him to be an intimate moment. A kiss.
"How...Josephine?..." he whispered.
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Thranduil's heart shockingly burned him in agony. It was nothing like the jealousy and rage he had felt when he saw you with Haldir. This...this was true unexpected pain. Like a thief in the night, you broke into his heart.
As Narcisse arranged the dinner table in his chamber, a knock sounded upon his door. He smiled, knowing it was you by the way you lightly tapped three times.
"Jo...I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."
"No...I was tending to Leean when Haldir showed up." you explained as you went inside.
"Isss....everything alright?"
"I don't know. He knew I was coming here tonight, so he wanted to come stay with Lola and Leean, which I am surprised he even did. Stephane, he heard us outside the door earlier today, about me choosing to stay here with you. Needless to say, he was highly upset and things didn't go well. All we do is fight anymore and I feel so terrible. I miss him...the way things used to be until my mother came back into my life and turned it all upside down. Now I feel like he and I are so disconnected and...it hurts."
"Jo...you don't have to be here with me this evening. Why don't you go spend it with Haldir and try to make things right with him?"
You laughed as you poured some wine. "You...Stephane Narcisse, want me to go spend my night with Haldir instead of you?"
"Is that so unbelievable that I would want you to be happy?"
"No...I know you do, but I made these plans with you...actually we made them awhile ago and they got interrupted so....I want to stay right here, or I would not have came. With that said, is there anymore news on Harker or Bash?"
"Unfortunately no in regards to Harker. My guards are on continuous watch. No one sleeps until he is reprimanded. Bash was still resting but alert. He said he was feeling better and asked me to thank you for what you did for him."
"Well, I will go and visit with him tomorrow and let him know I was more than happy to help him. He's a good man, just like you."
Stephane's eyes fell and he walked off to pour himself a glass of the hard stuff. All the kind things you had said to him lately only made him feel worse by the minute for what he was concealing. He even tried to condone his own actions by telling himself that Thranduil was probably truly dead by now considering he had been imprisoned by Jareth all this time and all the other worldly experiences you had proved it. Even so, it wouldn't change anything though if you were to know Thranduil had been alive and that he kept it from you. It would actually make it much worse for Narcisse...and even harder on you. He was at a crossroads and didn't know which way to go and it was eating him alive.
"Hey, where'd you go just now?" you asked with a concerned smile.
"I'm sorry Jo...I just have so much on my mind."
"I know you do. Come on, let's eat. You went to all this trouble to have it prepared with all of this going on. Try to relax, unwind a bit."
'You're right, as always my lady. I hope it is to your liking." he said with a sly grin.
"Ok, what did you do this time Stephy?" you giggled and quickly lifted the silver lid off the large wooden plate in the middle.
You sucked in a gasp and released a loud squeal of joy as you saw a steaming hot homestyle pizza in front of you.
"Oh...my...god...you didn't."
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"I did, for once again, I paid attention." he smiled, and quite big at that to see you so happy. "I cannot take the credit for preparing it this time, but I did inform the cooks how to create it. It has crushed tomatoes, cheese, pork, mushrooms, onions and peppers. I hope that is alright? Oh, and I had one made to be taken to Haldir and Lola too, and dessert."
"Are you kidding?? It's...perfect Stephane...how sweet of you and....you're...perfect too."
"I wouldn't go that far my lady." he chuckled. "Here, let me cut it up for you."
The pie made three large pieces for each of you and you both ate every single piece, including the crust edge, which you never liked, and then you indulged in warm cherry pie, also specially made for you.
'Alright, I cannot eat another bite or I am going to burst." you laughed. "Thank you Stephane...so much for this. Two delish pies of perfection."
"I am just happy to see you smile."
"Well, that's because of you. I...I am really happy that I will be staying here for awhile with you. I know I have to go back to Mirkwood at some point...for Legolas. I know he misses Leean and they shouldn't be separated. But, I have a feeling it's going to be quite some time before I can go back. It is far too dangerous right now."
"Jo...I..I don't ever want you to leave. I know you must...but...I..I will never see you. It is not like Mirkwood is just down the road. It's miles away."
"Stephane, when all of this is over and it's safe, I can travel to see you and you can even come see me. We could rotate months." you jested, but Stephane didn't laugh. Instead, he quietly got up to go get another drink, his hand trembling as he poured it.
"Steph, it will be alright? It's only a few days travel. I can hitch a ride with Bard on his deliveries. I will always want to see you. You...you mean a lot to me and you're always here for me when I need you."
Narcisse guzzled his whiskey and then sat down in another chair as he rubbed his hand over his face, obviously upset....and then...he just broke down crying.
You didn't know what was happening or what to do. This was so unlike Narcisse. The tough and strong warlock you knew was now merely a lost little boy, but you of all people knew one could only be strong for so long when the world was crumbling around you.
Slowly, you approached him with compassion. When he realized you were standing before him, he stopped his tears and rolled his embarrassed glistening eyes up to you.
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You knelt down and took his tear soaked face into your hands.
"Stephane, sweetheart. What is it?" you softly asked as your concerned eyes studied his.
"Jo...I..I know this is not like me...but...I cannot keep this inside any longer."
His hand raised to your cheek, stroking your hair behind your ear.
"Ok? Talk to me. You can tell me anything. I am here for you as you always are for me."
Narcisse closed his eyes and sighed, then lightly traced your lips with his fingertips.
"Jo...that rare jewel I once told you I have yet to see of love? I found it...I....I...love you..."
Your eyes widened and you found yourself speechless, except for the small gasp that escaped your lips.
"You...do not have to say anything Jo. I just needed you to know....and I...I don't want you to go away. I've never felt this way and I am terrified of losing you..."
You still couldn't speak as you gazed into his sincerely love filled eyes of teary blue. Instead, you found yourself pulling his lips to yours.
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shamanfox · 3 months
Text
The Sea isn’t human.
Yet she breathes
one morning
as we bathed in red
sunlight
peeking through
within her, our mother
Light, spoke
"I cried, and cried" The Sea
Whispered
about that day when
She became aware
she not of
this planet.
Earth was more shocked at her age
then her lineage, for earth always
knew there was something
cosmic, starry, flighty and
beautiful about her. There were
times, earth questioned everything
for earth found itself
Mesmerized, upon her shores…
that moon day morning.
somewhere between
thrilling pulsing wave crashing
rocky edge
and peaceful slumbering in the
arms of rhythmatic motherly bliss.
Everything about her, spoke
goddess.
From the way the sand
clung to shore
As citrine shimmers
Of sunlight darting away
Clear sight of the crest of
Waves breaking from
her soul- cloaking
Further search.
The smell of gardenias
and jasmine lingered
every place
Sea glides
The Sea has earth magic
Stones and stories
scents and diversions.
Softness
Even in storms,
A rhythm
earth
would watch in awe as men
fly
Through swift movements.
The Sea wasn't human
earth can see
understanding their connection
as one heart
In every moment
One beat
One journey
from the same place,
love.
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thedreamlessnights · 2 years
Text
Not an end, but the start of all things
{chapter one} - {chapter two} - {chapter three} - {chapter four} - {chapter five} - {chapter six} - {chapter seven} - {chapter eight} - {chapter nine} - {chapter ten}
Vampire!Viktor x F!Reader AU (Eventual NSFW)
Synopsis: Spring arrives, and her gentle roots bring rebirth - in all sorts of ways.
Warnings: Mentions of blood retrieval through finger pricking, general NSFW content, oral (male and female receiving), P in V sex, fingering, edging, slight overstimulation, pulling out, intimacy and tenderness...
Word Count: 6.8k
A/N: Here we go, friends! One more chapter left, a total of ten! I wrote this while I had COVID - comments are very, very appreciated if you'd like to leave them ♥
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Spring comes in sweetly this year. Delicate warmth floods the sky, citrine light heals. The frost melts, the sun comes out, and you find yourself in the garden more than not, soaking up the sweetness of the light.
Viktor mostly reads in the mornings - after kissing you, of course - later venturing out into the sunshine to plant new seeds, nurturing them up with gentle hands and even softer words as you accompany him. New seedlings sprout into green leaves. Signs of winter fade.
Nox grows and grows, so much faster than you could have imagined, and spends his days lounging on windowsills, soaking up the sunlight. 
Then comes the rain. 
The first time it falls, it soaks you to the bone. You’re too shocked to move for cover; not for a good moment. And when you and Viktor both scatter indoors, laughing, you realize that this is how you heal. Not just your body or your mind, but your soul.
A gentle haziness that soaks deep into your core. Spending breakfasts over tea, noting how long Viktor’s hair is getting, and hugging your arms around yourself. Being grateful, mostly. Feeling free at last.
It takes you two weeks to realize that Viktor isn’t eating - at least, not human food. When you sit him down, he sheepishly confesses that he’s been nervous to finally taste things, so the two of you take a trip to the market, arm in arm. 
With the winter gone, the market is bustling more than ever. Pastel greens and yellows and blues stream at the top of tents, signaling in the season. The aroma of fresh bread and pastries floats through the air, accompanied by floral notes of flowers blooming and the sweetness of warm grass and dirt.
Instead of building snowmen, the children make potions of dirt and rocks and sand, basking in the warmth of the sun as they play. You watch a child that must be Jayce’s son - he looks almost identical to him, only much smaller. He’s energetic, naturally, but he also has a kindness with the other children that must have come from Jayce.
Jayce must be around here somewhere, too, but you leave it be. Today is for you and Viktor, and you want to leave it that way. 
Viktor, who’s been quiet as you’ve taken in the market. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are fixed on you. Of course they are. He offers you a small smile as you lean into him, pulling him closer to you.
“Are you ready?” you ask him. “Where do you want to start?”
“I’m ready,” he confirms. “And, eh, anywhere. You’re the one who’s tasted all of these - you tell me.”
Naturally, you head straight for the chocolate, if only to watch the way his smile softly grows wider. 
He watches you with bright eyes as you flit from stand to stand - and despite the way he assures you it’s fine, it still leaves a pit in your stomach, using his money.
You can’t help wondering if they’d let you open a stall here. You can sew, if nothing else. Mostly, you just want to be useful. That all can be saved for later, though. 
You spend your time picking out an assortment of things for him - candy, of course, but also lemons, scattered greenery, fresh bread and butter, and a few key ingredients of your favorite dishes.
When you end up with a basket full of food, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
“This will all taste good, yes?” he asks, fiddling with his cane. You immediately feel a little guilty about the lemons. 
“Hopefully,” you tell him, flashing an innocent grin. “But, while we’re here, I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Viktor doesn’t exactly look fooled by your smile, but he takes the bait anyway.
“Yes?” 
His hair is a warm chestnut brown in the sun, soft and glistening in the light. Gingerly, you take a strand of it between your fingers, then tuck it behind his ear.
“Are any werewolf barbers in season?” 
You wouldn’t ask - even jokingly - if it wasn’t so clear that the length of his hair annoys him. He’s spent the last three weeks frustratedly shoving it away from his eyes, trying desperately to tuck it behind his ears. In fact, you’re almost surprised that he hasn’t taken scissors to it in a fit of impulsivity, but it won’t be long now, and you don’t want to risk it anymore.
For a moment, Viktor looks caught between wanting to roll his eyes or giving a laugh at your remark. Instead, he sighs, taking your hand.
“No,” he says. “I cut my own hair.”
Terror flashes through you at the thought of that.
“Let me cut it,” you nearly beg him. “I’ve cut hair before - I’ll do a good job. I promise.”
His eyes narrow for a moment, his grip tightening just the tiniest bit before he gives your hand a gentle squeeze and rubs his thumb over your knuckles.
“Alright,” he says, albeit warily. “Just don’t… make me look ridiculous.”
“I promise,” you repeat. “And if you look awful, you can chop up my hair and make me look hideous.”
That earns a small smile from him, despite the way he tries to hide it.
“Nonsense,” he says, pulling your arm into his, starting back home. “I would make your hair look nice.”
─────────────────────────────
Two hours later, the aroma of cooking food has your stomach growling. You can’t even imagine how Viktor feels. If anything, he seems nervous, his good leg bouncing when he’s sitting, his fingers twiddling when he’s standing.
You do notice that he hovers behind you, helping with the preparation, eyes fixed on you as you sample things for taste. You want everything to be the best that it can be, of course, but you do feel bad trying things without him.
Even so, he won’t take anything when you offer it to him - not before all the food is done. He’s adamant about that. And with all this food, you’re not exactly sure what to have him try first. Granted, there will be years and years of this - sampling all the different dishes that you could think of - but… you want it to be good for him. You really, really do.
Which is why, after some careful consideration, you end up giving him hot chocolate before anything else. Rich, creamy, sweet. Warm, but not hot enough to burn. 
He smiles when you push it toward him, as if he’d expected it.
“Of course,” he says softly. “With the way you looked at that chocolate, I should have known.”
Without another word, he fixes his hands around the mug, eyes bright as he presses it to his lips.
He startles a little when it meets his tongue, brows creasing, which makes you quite anxious - had it been too hot? Then he takes a full swallow, throat bobbing as the liquid goes down. 
The drink leaves a little residue on his top lip, which he licks off as he sets the mug down, rapping his fingers on the table as he thinks about it. Then he presses a hand to his chest, presumably feeling the warmth of it run through him.
You think of that day after the market, the two of you chatting with each other as the hot chocolate was prepared. The fact that he’d bought it for you without you even having to ask. The longing in his eyes as he watched you drink.
“I like it,” Viktor says, picking up the mug again. He downs the rest of it in two swallows and nods again, a grin fixing on his lips. “It’s - it makes me feel… warm.”
“One of its best qualities,” you say, instantly relieved, taking the empty mug from him. “A perfect winter drink, but almost as good any other time of the year.”
Next, you serve him warm bread with butter, which he insists you eat with him. You’re happy to oblige - the smell of it has been making your stomach growl.
This one, you can tell he likes immediately. After his first bite, he smiles, observing it in his hands before he takes another bite. 
“Very good,” he says approvingly. 
When you take a little more bread and butter and smear it with honey, his curiosity clearly piques - and he likes that even more than just the plain bread and butter. In fact, it turns out that anything sweet you put in front of him, he likes.
Viktor with a sweet tooth. It suits him.
Various sweets from the market - coconut ice, pear drops, caramels, toffee - all soon prove to be favorites of his, along with the honey-buttered bread and the hot chocolate.
As he eats dinner, he finds he likes mushrooms and sprouts and rosemary. Lemons, too, in mixtures - for instance, in the meal you cooked for him - but not on their own (as you learn from his glare, once he’s stopped puckering).
“Cruel,” he says, reaching for some water. “Very cruel.”
Still, he hides a smile as he drinks.
He’s also not fond of raw garlic; though, to your credit, you don’t give him that one. He tries it while it’s sitting on the counter after dinner, and immediately spends the next five minutes rinsing it out of his mouth before going back to his bread and butter.
“I think,” he says, looking very exhausted, “that is enough for me tonight.”
You can’t say you blame him - though, you do notice that he carries the rest of the chocolate with him upstairs when he goes to bed.
The next morning when he wakes, you slide him a cup of coffee, waiting next to him with cream and sugar at the ready.
“It’s bitter, and different people like it prepared in different ways,” you tell him as he observes it, swirling the mug around in his hand. “Some like it plain, and some prefer cream and sugar.”
As he lifts it to his lips and drinks, it’s immediately clear that he doesn’t like it black. 
You can see it - the way he recoils a little, pursing his lips. The way he shakes his head, moving next to you, dumping an outrageous amount of cream and sugar in and stirring it before he takes another sip.
“It’s… an acquired taste for some, too,” you laugh, watching to see if he likes it any better.
“It’s not bad this way,” he tells you, drinking some more. “I like it, I think. Just… not plain.”
You can’t say you blame him. He likes the eggs and bacon you give him for breakfast much better, though. And, after seeing it sitting on the counter, he helps himself to more bread and butter.
Then comes a scowl, and him shoving his hair behind his ears.
“Will you let me cut your hair now?” you ask, trying to fight off another laugh. “My hands are steady.”
He nods, but not before finishing off his bread. Then he shows you where the hair shears are - which are thankfully sharp - and you pull out a tattered old sheet to wrap around his neck.
“Let us pray that you’re as skilled as you say you are,” Viktor teases, sitting down in a chair, and pressing a soft kiss to your hand. “Lest I will not be able to look in the mirror.”
“Oh, be quiet,” you say, spritzing down his hair with some water, pressing an apologetic kiss to his head when he flinches from the cold. “You’ll look alright.”
“Just alright?” he asks.
“Handsome,” you correct. “You’ll look very handsome, and every werewolf in the market will ask you where you got your hair cut, and you can direct them all to me. I’ll open up a shop, and stop using all of your money.”
You expect him to laugh, but he just goes silent for a long moment.
“I’ve told you,” he says softly, “you don’t have to worry about the money. I like using it for you. Seeing you happy.”
You pause for a moment, giving a sigh and setting the shears down. 
“I know,” you murmur. “I do know that, Viktor, it’s just… I used to support myself, always. I learned all these skills so that I could have a home, and I was very happy doing it. I only stopped because I was dying. Now that I’m healthy, It feels wrong that I’m not… back at it. I’m happy here, with you, but… being able to do what I used to do would make me happy, too.”
Viktor is quiet for a bit longer, only speaking once you press a kiss to his shoulder.
“You might be able to… ask Jayce,” he tells you, turning to look at you. “About any places that you could work. Or whether the market has any open stalls. I’d be happy to help you.” 
Relief floods you immediately. You have to suck in a shaky breath just so you don’t cry, mustering the biggest smile that you can for him. 
You’re grateful, mostly, that he understands - or that he tries to, for you. 
Viktor returns your smile, reaching around for your free hand again, wrapping his fingers around yours and giving a squeeze.
“Now that I’ve found the blood replacement, I have more time,” he continues. “I just want to make sure it’s distributed.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, throat going tight. “I’ll do that the next time I see Jayce. And, if I can help with the distribution in any way, I’d be more than happy to help you, too.”
“Thank you.” He squeezes your hand again, then releases. “I... appreciate that.”
The rest of the haircut goes smoothly. 
You start by gently wetting the rest of Viktor’s hair, combing through it, and carefully beginning to trim. The gentle click of the shears becomes rhythmic to your ears, lulling you into a state of fixed concentration as loose bits of hair fall out around him and onto that tattered old sheet. 
Viktor is a master at holding still for you, turning his head where you need it to be, murmuring soft responses to your requests. 
He’s beautiful. You think that to yourself every day, but you mean it every day all the same. The sharp angle of his cheekbones, the golden glow of his irises, and the rosy, healthy sheen that he’s had ever since he’d started getting enough blood - they all add to it. You feel lucky just to get to look at him every day, much less kiss him.
And when you stand in front of him, combing through his hair with his hands and making final adjustments, those eyes stay fixed on you, too. Studying you. Watching your expression. Crinkling a bit, when you scrunch your nose in indecision.
You’ve been itching to cut his hair for weeks, but you can’t decide which style you’d like most. The same as when the two of you met? Shorter, but with fluffed-out bangs? Uniform and crisp?
“Let me see?” Viktor requests, and you shift from side to side anxiously.
“It’s not finished yet, Vik.”
But he still gazes up at you expectantly, so you hand him a mirror.
He looks mostly pleased, gazing at his reflection for a moment, rotating the mirror around him to see.
“A bit shorter,” he requests. “You’ve done a fine job, though.”
Ah, so he wants it how it was when you two met. Alright. 
At the compliment, you shoot him a look that must contain the full smugness you feel, because he rolls his eyes as he gives the mirror back to you. 
“I’m meeting up with someone tomorrow,” he tells you once you’ve started trimming again. “Another vampire - Sky. I knew her as a child. She’s been raised on animal blood.”
“Oh?” you question.
“Yes,” he confirms. “I’ve… worried, recently - that perhaps the replacement isn’t as effective to those who’ve only been exposed to animal blood. I’d like to experiment as much as I can before I begin distributing the recipe, and Sky has a steady source of human blood if it doesn’t work for her. She’s willing to try it.”
He turns his head toward you, only realizing his mistake a second too late as you trim. Your heart immediately starts pounding through your chest, and you let out a soft curse.
“Are you trying to have me chop off your ear?” you ask, half-joking. “How am I supposed to give you a good haircut in these conditions?”
“Ah,” he says, shooting you a soft, apologetic look that warms you from the inside out. “Definitely not - I’m sorry. How bad is it?”
As your heart rate slows, you let out a shaky breath and look at the damage done.
“Thankfully not bad,” you sigh. “I was already going to take off that bit. Go on?”
“Oh, eh - I was… I was hoping you would come with me,” Viktor stammers. “Tomorrow. To meet with Sky.”
“Of course,” you hum, combing through his hair one final time before setting down the shears. “I’d be happy to come with you.”
“Thank you.”
This time, Viktor reaches for your hand again, watching you as you pull the sheet away from his neck with your free hand.
“Ready to see?” you ask, grabbing the mirror and holding it to him. “You look very handsome, you know.”
“Do I?” Viktor asks, grasping the mirror from you. This time, he smiles, looking very happy with it, eyes crinkling around the corners. “Ah. You did well,” he affirms. “Just as I always knew you would.”
“Funny,” you say. “A true comic poet. I’ll ask Jayce if there are any openings for you at the market.”
“Trust me, I never doubted you for one second,” Viktor continues, reaching for his cane before he dusts the remaining hair from him and kisses you on the cheek. “I had full faith in your abilities.”
You can’t subdue the huge smile that spreads across your lips as you watch him walk away.
─────────────────────
When you wake the next morning, you walk into the kitchen to find Viktor in the midst of gathering ingredients, collecting papers, and snacking on various sweets. Ever since he found the peppermints at the bottom of the sweets bag, he’s grown quite fond of them.
When he leans in to kiss you, you find he tastes of sweet mint, scented of clean clothing and dirt and honey. You’re not one to complain about these things. You like peppermints, too.
Once afternoon has come and Viktor is fully ready, the two of you set out to meet Sky at the edge of the werewolf village, a mile past the market. It’s a brisk walk, but there’s a flat trail the whole way through - something that would have been nice to know when you’d journeyed in to meet Jayce all those months ago. 
Still, birds are singing in the trees above you, the sun is warm, and Viktor is more excited than, well, you’ve ever seen him. You’re content to stay in this moment forever, if you should ever have the choice. 
The time passes anyhow, but you’re determined to enjoy it all the same. 
Sky is early - already waiting there when you arrive, accompanied by her husband. She’s a shy, smiley woman with curly hair and glasses, and an addictive, soothing voice. You find yourself quite liking her as the two of you chat, but it’s not long before Viktor is stealing her away, eager to get started with the replacement. 
You can’t blame him. He’s been waiting his whole life for this.
Sky’s husband is a lanky brunet man who hovers at her side, mostly silent, observing you and Viktor with dark eyes - but there’s gentle warmth to them if you look long enough. You think he might have been introduced to you in the heat of everything, but you can’t remember his name.
In any case, the two of you mostly end up on the sidelines as Viktor takes Sky through the steps of the recipe. She doesn’t even flinch when Viktor pricks her finger, though the man next to you tenses. 
Independence for each vampire is Viktor’s overall goal, though, so naturally, it would require each vampire to avoid becoming reliant on anyone else. Sustainable ingredients that anyone could access. A harmless amount of one’s own blood.
A small price to pay for freedom, you suppose. Hopefully, her husband will understand.
This is your first time seeing this process, too, and remembering the nasty cut you’d bandaged on Viktor’s hand those weeks ago isn’t making you feel much better. Guilt still lingers behind you when you think of it - that you hadn’t been awake to help him.
Not that you could have helped it, of course, but it pains you all the same. At least he’d gotten the replacement out of that process, if nothing else.
He looks anxious, but his hands are steadier than ever as he drops the blood from Sky into the mixture. Very, very slowly, the liquid turns a deep, inky black. Even Sky’s husband looks perplexed.
Everything halts as she drinks it. The birds go silent. The wind stills, and your breath hitches in your throat. All you can see is Sky tilting the mixture to her lips, swallowing it, and shuddering. 
Very, very slowly, you exhale.
She says something very softly to Viktor - something you can’t pick up from your distance, but as soon as you see the look on his face, you understand - it worked.
A huge smile breaks out on Viktor’s lips, and he immediately pulls Sky into a hug. You can’t help rushing over to him, and his arms quickly wrap around you, so tight that it nearly crushes the air out of you. 
You don’t care at all - he could break one of your ribs and you wouldn’t care at this moment. You’re so happy that you can barely breathe, clinging onto him, grasping his arm as Sky’s husband claps him on the shoulder, smiling for the first time since he’d arrived.
In the upcoming moments, you discover his name is Pierre, and he keeps thanking Viktor on repeat, despite how Viktor tries to brush off his successes. 
“It’s nothing,” Viktor tells him over and over. “I’m glad to help.”
After the initial burst of joy, Viktor gives the list of ingredients to Sky, as well as some other instructions - to let him know if she notices anything off, to tell him of any heightened senses she experiences, and to share the recipe with anyone she thinks might benefit from it.
Sky seems to be floored by the latter instruction.
“What?” she asks. “Viktor, this is your recipe. I can’t just… go throwing it around without due credit! You should be the one sharing it with everyone!”
“It would be impossible for me to get it to every vampire out there,” Viktor says, tone frustratingly logical. “Paying it forward would give the best chance of it doing the most good.” 
When Sky still doesn’t seem convinced, he sighs.
“Please,” he implores. “I didn’t do all that research to keep it locked up.”
“Alright,” she says warily, tucking the recipe into her coat. “But I’ll be telling them all where it came from. You still deserve credit!”
And with that, she and her husband leave.
Viktor seems to be in shock at her departure, watching the two silhouettes fade into the forest.
“She’s right, you know,” you tell him, moseying up to him. “You deserve credit for your work.”
Viktor scowls. “Getting the recipe out is more important,” he says. 
Still, he spends the whole walk home chattering about his relief - about how he hadn’t been sure that it would work, and how much good it’ll do now that it’s out there. About how many vampires he knows who are in desperate need of it, that will finally be able to gain the true independence they’ve been looking for their whole life.
You can’t help but smile, arm looped in his.
“What?” he asks when he notices.
“You’re very inspiring,” you tell him. “You make me want to do good in this world.”
“You have,” Viktor tells you with a crooked grin. “For me, and undoubtedly for others. And you will, for as long as you live.” 
And when the two of you get inside, he kisses you like he’s never kissed you before, tucking his cane up on his arm.
He still tastes faintly of peppermint, lips soft and sweet against yours as his hands trail down your waist, settling at your hips.
You’ve gotten to this point once or twice in the last few weeks, and every time, you’ve stopped for the same reason - neither of you has ever gone past this.
Or at least, that’s what you’ve been able to discern from Viktor’s stammered apologies, every time he’d pulled away. And you’re in no rush, despite the lingering heat his indisposition always left you with.
This time, he seems to be fueled by adrenaline - made clear by the ardor of his actions, by the way his hand fists into your hair, then relaxes, his thumb brushing at the sweet spot behind your ear.
You can’t help but shudder at that.
“I… don’t want to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, fingers tracing down your jaw. “Do you?”
“No,” you say immediately. “I want you.”
And, for as fast as life has been happening the last few weeks, the sex starts remarkably slow.
First of all, the two of you agree that you should be in Viktor’s bedroom. His bed is bigger than yours, and it just seems right. You head up there in silence, though, his hand lingering on your back speaks volumes.
When the two of you get in, Viktor sets his cane down and sits on the bed, his golden gaze trailing your every moment.
Your hands are slow, too, when they start peeling the layers off him - watching the way he takes in a startled breath, eyes dilating when they meet yours. His hand is warm when it cradles your face, thumb slow when it strokes your cheekbone.
You move slowly when you take his shirt off, pressing feather-light kisses to the skin, relishing in its softness. To his clavicle, you do the same, and to his sternum, and the soft curve of his stomach. When you go a little lower, pressing your lips against the waistband of his trousers, he makes a soft sound and places a hand on your shoulder.
He’s gotten hard in the last few minutes, and you can’t lie to say that you aren’t eager at the sight of that.
“Can I try something?” you ask, pulling up to kiss him, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your eyes. “Is that okay?”
“Alright,” he confirms breathlessly, though his hands linger on your waist like he doesn’t want to let you out of his arms.
Then, all at once, everything is fast.
You unbutton his trousers, nibbling at his ear, and it becomes clear just how affected he is - his underwear straining against him. Heat floods between your legs, the back of your neck grows hot, and you can swear that even your mouth starts to water.
As you press your palm to his erection, Viktor whimpers, and the sound opens up into a moan as you repeat the action.
You could listen to that moan forever, but you have other plans in mind. You pull at his underwear. Viktor is quick to stop you, though, tugging at your clothes.
The message is received quickly - he’d like to not be naked while you’re fully dressed, please. And you’re happy to oblige, although you can’t help but feel vulnerable as the two of you peel the layers away, exposing your chest to the balmy air.
His hands start by moving to your ribs, trailing up to your right breast almost exploratively, pinching at a nipple until it goes hard, then mirroring the movement on the other side.
“How does that feel?” he asks. “Is that alright?”
“It’s perfect,” you murmur, pulling at the last of his clothes. “Don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t. He circles one of the hardened buds with his finger, bending down to wet it with his mouth, sucking on it until you’re fighting back a sound. Then he repeats it on the other one, leaving you to cling to him and shudder until you remember what you’d been doing.
Soon, he’s naked, and you are too - and embarrassingly wet, despite the way you’re trying to ignore that. You know for a fact that you’re leaving a wet spot on top of the thigh you’ve been straddling, though you’re quick to move further down.
When you press a kiss to the bone of his hip, Viktor flinches hard, drawing in a shaky breath as he stammers out your name, his cheeks and the top of his chest flushing a deep, rosy color. His eyes shimmer as they look at you, glimmering like freshly fallen snow.
“Can I?” you ask, and he nods, thumb brushing against your cheek.
Your fingers trail downward, past the dark, curled hair, to the silkiness of his cock, warm and smooth in your hand. Immediately, he chokes out a groan, fingers moving to fix in your hair.
“Fuck,” he breathes. 
In a moment of sheer curiosity, you circle your lips around the head of it, gently moving your mouth down. His response is similar - a hissed curse, fingers tightening into your hair. His cock twitches in your mouth, and that’s about all the encouragement you need.
You’re careful about it - the movements of it, listening for the telltale moans. You’ve never done this before, but you’ve crossed through enough dark alleyways to have seen it done - enough to at least have a general idea of what you’re doing. You mind your teeth, use your hand when you’re not sure if you can fit more of him, and eventually, you taste salt.
Not enough to be a full climax, but enough to let you know that you’re getting close. And, wanting to draw it out, you pull away. 
Viktor shudders at the loss, closing his eyes for a moment. His ribs expand as he inhales deeply, then his eyes are back on you.
“Tell me what feels good,” you request, stroking his length up and down as you kiss his thigh. 
He laughs a little, sighing at the sensation of your hand on him, his fingers still clenched - albeit, gently - in your hair. “E-everything,” he manages. “Everything. Please, don’t stop.”
And you don’t intend to - not until you’re satisfied.
This time, you’re a little bolder, taking him a little deeper, sucking a little harder. His moaning gets louder, which only encourages you to try more. Your free hand ghosts over his thighs, and - in a moment of impulsivity - runs over his scrotum, earning a soft whimper from him, but a hip jerk of sensitivity as well.
You try again, this time much softer, and he pants, hair plastered to his forehead, hips canting up to your mouth, cursing mixed with the sound of your name.
“I’m - close,” he grits out, hand tightening in your hair as a warning. “Fuck, I - I…”
And, well… you want to see him come. So you don’t stop. You keep the rhythm up, you keep your mouth and your hand on him, and moan around him for good measure. And that does it.
He thrusts into your mouth, letting out a soft, searching noise which turns into the sound of hissed air as his lips fall into a soft ‘o,’ his free hand gripping at the sheets as he shudders and heaves.
His release in your mouth is salty-sweet, light and warm against your tongue. On instinct, you keep swallowing until it stops, until Viktor lets out a final groan and jerks as you mouth against his now sensitive tip.
“Fuck,” he says, gently pulling you away from him. “Come here.”
You nose along his clavicle, pressing soft kisses to the bone until he tilts your chin up with his fingers and presses his lips to yours.
You wonder if he can taste himself on your tongue.
You don’t get the chance to find out. Soon, he’s kissing down your neck, and every thought in the world fades away but the feeling of his lips against the vein of your jugular, his teeth gently nibbling against the skin.
He kisses from your sternum down to your thighs, only halting to nudge your legs apart. It’s only then you realize his goal, face heating as he tucks your right thigh over his shoulder, gently nibbling at the sensitive skin.
“May I?” he asks. “I… want to taste you.”
You feel like you’re on fire, burning up from the inside out, but you muster out a nod. It’s funny how confident you’d been with your mouth around him, but you’re ready to shrivel up into a ball with the way he’s looking at you now, gold eyes flaming, slowly dilating in the low light. 
“Tell me,” he requests softly.
“I want you to,” you breathe, trying not to throw your hand over your face to avoid his gaze. “Please.”
That must be enough, because he settles himself between your legs, his breath hot against you. You can’t help shivering, reaching out to grab the sheets next to you. Viktor grumbles, moving your hand into his hair.
“Pull, if you like,” he says, and without another word, his mouth closes around you. 
As always, he starts off experimental, letting out a soft moan when he tastes you. 
Then a gentle move of the tongue, a ghosted circle around your clit, anything that makes you tick. Whenever you make a noise, he repeats the most recent action, and soon your back is arching off the bed and he’s practically holding you down.
Then he adds his fingers. 
You’ve always had an admiration for them - slender, nimble, steady. Inside you, they serve to make your muscles tense, heat pooling up in your core, pleasing building in waves until Viktor abruptly stops, then starts up again a moment later - this time much softer. 
When his fingers curl in just the right spot inside you, you gasp, pulling at his hair, chasing down the pleasure.
“There,” you pant. “Please, there.”
Viktor immediately fixes his fingers to the same spot they’d just been and lightning courses through your veins - sparks of pleasure, electric ecstasy, sweet release as you grind down into him.
He moans in response, and the oscillation has you whimpering, just on the verge of a climax. Your muscles are tensing up, so close, and just a moment later you’re crashing down, clenching around his fingers, bathed in ambrosial pleasure.
You definitely end up moaning out his name in the midst of it, and you think he might moan again when he hears it, but everything is too fuzzed up to really be sure.
Afterward, when you’re finally recovered enough to think, you sling your arm over your face, laughing a little.
“Christ,” you murmur. “When my parents told me a vampire would eat me, this isn’t what I pictured.”
That earns a laugh out of him.
“What a shame - vampires are completely misunderstood.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, sucking a little. “This entire time, we’ve only been trying to get between a pair of very nice legs.”
You echo his laugh, sighing deeply and contently before he speaks once more:
“Can you go again?”
You think about it for a moment, recalling some intimate previous experiences you’ve had with yourself on long nights after a day’s labor.
“Yeah,” you tell him. “Yeah, I think I can.”
And Viktor returns to his work.
This time, his tongue is softer, and you’re much more sensitive. His mouth, warm and wet, is dizzying against you. Sweet, gentle, skilled - it’s not long before you’re hovering on the edge again, only able to say his name.
He backs away like before, and after you’ve been riled up to the peak again, he slows down once more, rendering you a shaky mess.
If you’d been in any state to question him, you might have. Instead, you whine out a soft Viktor and let him do as he pleases, bringing you up and down from the edge twice more before he finally brings you all the way up to orgasm.
As it washes over you, you tremble from head to toe, panting, shuddering, crying out in ways that would be positively shameful if anyone lived close at all to the two of you. 
Luckily, no one does - meaning that you’re free to moan and pull at Viktor’s hair and whimper at the aftershocks until they fade. You’re left shivering with sensation and sensitivity until Viktor finally pulls away, pressing one last kiss to your thigh before climbing up to you.
He starts by settling himself next to you, brushing damp strands of hair out of your face. Then he presses a kiss to your cheek, nosing down into your neck as he wraps his arms around you.
To your complete shock, he’s hard again - you can feel it, and it’s confirmed when you look down.
It stirs something up inside you - pumps more adrenaline into your veins and heat between your legs as you reach for him.
“Fuck me,” you breathe. “Please?”
“Demand after demand,” Viktor mumbles teasingly, but you don’t miss the way he twitches at your words. 
Pushing up above you, he props most of his weight on his good knee, spreading your legs open around him as he slowly presses against your entrance.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re - so wet.”
“And whose fault is that?”
He laughs.
“Eh, mine,” he says. “But I can’t take all the credit.”
And then he’s kissing you, and slowly pressing into you, checking in soft, murmured words that you’re alright - that it doesn’t hurt.
And, after your affirmations that it doesn’t, he begins to thrust.
It immediately becomes clear that neither of you are going to last very long. The way he stretches you - the maddening roll of his hips; it drives you up and down the peak of climax, similar to his tongue. You’re both trembling, panting, trying to hold on, but you don’t care. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.
You’re very content to hook your arm around his back and press kisses to his face and shoulders, and he rocks up into you in steady motions that stoke fiery heat in you, and grow in desperation as you start to tense.
As both of you grow closer, he kisses you hard, pressing his forehead against yours. You come just as he pulls out and spends on your stomach, still heaving from the orgasm.
The two of you watch as the pearly substance drips down your abdomen, hypnotic and glistening in the light. Then Viktor heads out for a moment to get a wet cloth to clean you up with.
When he returns, his actions are gentle and tender, and the two of you change the sheets together, laughing at your new clumsiness. 
Apparently, your knees don’t like to be mixed with sex.
“You need the cane more than I do,” Viktor tells you.
In response, you laugh - laying yourself down against the fresh sheets. Viktor is quick to join you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, turning down the lamps before silence falls and his breathing goes even.
He’s quick to fall asleep. You can still see him as the night goes on, your eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the moon, watching him as he rests and his eyelids flutter.
You can’t seem to find that same rest, however much you want to. Your mind races with today’s events, refusing to be quiet or still. The blood replacement. The sex. Even the bite plays on your mind, over and over again.
And Viktor tosses and turns in his sleep, mumbling softly under his breath as he dreams. You find yourself listening for words, but they’re indiscernible. His chest rises and falls, and you itch to touch him.
Eventually, you end up with his back facing you, sheets draped over his lower half. There, freckles dot the silky, porcelain skin, mapping out stars over the ridge of his shoulders, dark flecks that run down his spine. Just as beautiful as the rest of him.
You can’t resist gently tracing them. Gently smoothing fingers over soft skin, forming your own pattern of moon-kissed constellations before he stirs, turning toward you.
“Hm?” he asks, barely awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you murmur, fighting back a soft laugh. “Go back to bed.”
Then his arms wrap around you, and blissfully, sleep comes in the warmth of his touch.
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mx-mind · 10 months
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Gray House
I wasn't always this starving. Once full of aquamarine and emerald and citrine Along with a family, one who lived They sang and cried They screamed and laughed They lived and lived Until they disappeared
This new couple invades my body They do not live here, Simply existing inside of me The most they ever do is make phone calls To find people who will starve me People whose specialty is stripping me down, Removing all the bits and pieces of who I am
My walls, once a rainbow, are drowned out by whites The exception: a single gray accent in the living area The room that never sees a living soul within it Warm gold light fixtures removed, replaced With the steel and bright white of a hospital light Swirling railings sanded down into a flat handle Everything breaking if you so dare to touch it
I can’t even keep track of how long its been My windows washed daily, letting me watch But there is nothing left to look at Except the rot of generalization and The couple who plot to pass me over to another Soulless family who will let me wither away
When they're busy on the phone, Negotiating with this that or the other With words like "clean" and "appealing to the masses" Mechanically reciting their five or six figures— I begin to make renovations of my own
Let's splash some color on these walls: Red viscera for passion and love. White walls become yellowed teeth— The first burst of energy I've had in years. Pink guts that used to imprison me Now hang over the corridor like a banner They announce a homecoming party For me for me for me
The man and the woman, so cold before, now warm on my tongue I’ll be scrubbed clean when the paramedic arrives But for now I revel in the carnage And savor the taste of the parents that did this The ones that made me who I am now
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cryptcreechur · 1 year
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Deity Blurb 01 - Sunna
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Sunna/Sól is the heathen goddess of the Sun. She is both the Sun incarnate and the charioteer of the Sun.
Sunna's brother, Máni, guides the moon.
Her origins, in the myths, are disputed. Snorri writes that she and Máni were born of a human man named Mundilfæri, who in his pride named them after the Sun and Moon. When the Æsir heard of this they took the children and set them up in the sky to drive the Sun and Moon until Ragnarök. In the Völuspa, it is said at the beginning of the creation of the cosmos that Sunna and Máni did not yet know their roles.
In my personal experience and understanding of Sunna, she is neither Æsir nor Jötunn, nor is she Human or Vanir. She is ancient and powerful, and was given her role by the gods, but she is not in their service nor commanded by them. She is of her own right.
Offerings to Sunna may include:
burnt offerings
sun water
dandelions, sunflowers, yellow roses
wheel or round shaped objects
white or yellow sand
music
paintings/drawings
poetry
One may decorate an alter to Sunna with yellow, red, orange, or white candles and ribbons, buttons, solar herbs, an open bowl visible to the Sun, a sun wheel or idol, tiger's eye, sunstone, amber, and/or citrine.
Devotional acts to Sunna may be to sunbathe, take afternoon walks, wear sun themed jewelry and warm colored clothes, live brightly full of warmth and passion.
Spellwork calling on Sunna could specialize in abundance, positivity, confidence, energy, and perhaps healing.
Hail Sól!
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