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late-to-the-fandom · 2 years

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In which Prince Renathal and the Maw Walker hook up for the first time after an unusual Ember Court. Rated M for sexual scenarios (but, you know, the classy kind). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

Takes place before the imprisonment of Denathrius, prior to “The Harvester of Dominion”

The trading of rumours via note was a long-standing tradition in Venthyr courts. A whispered word could be overheard, but a note...

They were slipped from hand to hand and hidden up sleeves, subtly read while sipping from a glass, then passed on for the next guest to peruse. It was a practice as old as Revendreth itself, and one Prince Renathal detested. And this rumour - his eyes widened as he read the note's contents - this one left a particularly sour taste in his mouth.

Have you heard the latest about the Prince and the Maw Walker? It is said they're-"

Renathal dipped the scroll idly into the nearest candle flame, held it out, away from himself, watching as it burnt to ash. And then began seriously to brood.

Had the Maw Walker seen it? Of course she had, she had brought it to him, but had she read its contents first? Her demeanor as she slipped him the folded paper left no indication one way or the other, her face as expressionless as always. Renathal was getting better at reading the little tells in her smooth, lavender face - a blink, a tilt of the head, a quirk of the mouth - but it was still occasionally difficult. Venthyr faces were always expressive, if rarely sincere. Reading the Maw Walker was a challenge, and one he usually relished. But now...

Turning casually, as if contemplating the offerings of the terrace, Renathal searched for the Maw Walker's purple glow, something he found himself doing often during Ember Court sessions. There she was - refilling the Countess's tea cup at the furthest cliffside table, her face as generically pleasant as ever. No discomfort could be detected at this distance. He watched as she attended the table's guests: the Countess, her coterie of fashionable Venthyr socialites whose names escaped him, and 'Picky' Stefan, chatting away in a voice loud enough to carry across the terrace. "Ah yes, the fragrance reminds me of my many years in the Banewood! Have I told you-"

The Maw Walker had just straightened, turning as if to leave, when the Countess murmured something Renathal could not hear under Stefan's chatter. The two females debated between themselves for a few seconds before the Nightborne nodded politely, filled another cup, and took the seat at the table behind it.

Instantly, Renathal's hackles were raised. A scandalous rumor and the Countess present at the same court? He knew this Harvester of Desire too well to believe it a coincidence. If the Countess had not written the note herself, she had certainly encouraged one of her entourage to do so. And now she would try to trick the Maw Walker into giving the truth away.

Not that there was any truth to it. Which bothered Renathal almost as much as the existence of the salacious rumour itself.

He had been grappling with his growing feelings for the Maw Walker for several weeks, debating the various practicalities and possibilities of initiating a more... intimate relationship with her. Bedding the realm's champion did hold the potential to complicate his rebellion, but Renathal had decided he could overlook this. Partly because he really wanted to, and partly because he trusted the Maw Walker completely. She was practical and loyal - and therefore unlikely to abandon his cause if their hypothetical affair ended poorly - as well as exceptionally private when it came to her personal life.

Which was exactly why a rumour such as this might offend her, before he ever had a chance to make it a reality.

Renathal glanced again at the Maw Walker, searching for potential clues. She was listening to Stefan wax on about the tea, while the drink in her own hand remained untouched. She leaned against the high-backed chair, seeming, for the moment, entirely relaxed. Hardly the posture of someone incensed by slander, but then, the Maw Walker was generally unflappable.

Renathal sighed. There was only one way to find out what she knew and what she was thinking and that was to ask her directly. He glided over to the Countess's table at a carefully dignified pace.

"My friends, I do hope we are all enjoying ourselves?"

The Maw Walker glanced up at Renathal's approach - but it was only her familiar, focused look that indicated she was assessing his mood, determining whether anything was amiss. He made sure to comport himself entirely at ease.

"Oh, assuredly," replied Stefan, to whom the question was really the least addressed. "I always appreciate the opportunity to slow down and savour the moment. The last two courts have been far too full of chaos and mess for my taste."

"There is certainly truth to that," Renathal acknowledged. "But our Maw Walker proves once again she is capable of anything, including arranging a most relaxing soiree for a change."

"Oh, it is … quite relaxing," the Countess inserted languidly. "Possibly too relaxing. One might even say... dull." She dropped the word delicately into the air like a fallen parasol she fully expected someone else to pick up. And sure enough...

"Dull?" The Maw Walker perked up instantly, setting down her undrunk tea. She did take the discontent of Ember Court guests as something of a personal insult, thought Renathal fondly. "And what might be done to liven it to your taste, Countess?"

"Hmm... well, let me see..." The Countess tapped her chin with a finger, feigning thought. Renathal was not remotely fooled. "Well... Kassir could not stop talking about the dancing that went on the last time he attended the Ember Court. He said it was lively enough to rival any castle ball..."

"I remember that," chimed in Stefan. "Yes, quite fun, I'm sure. I've never been one for dancing myself but certainly entertaining to watch. I'm afraid the refreshment at that court was not quite-"

"I was told," the Countess cut in smoothly, "that our own Prince and the Maw Walker made a particularly striking pair dancing together."

The Countess turned her head minutely as she spoke to observe Renathal's reaction, but he had spent too many centuries with this harvester to be caught off-guard. His face was a mask of impassivity to rival the Maw Walker's.

"Ah, yes..." Renathal said slowly, as if dredging up this memory from some deep recess instead of replaying it behind his eyes every night....

The way the Maw Walker had leaned into him as they moved together, allowing him to lead her through the crowd of dancers, surrendering herself entirely to his grip on her hand and waist. The dress she wore to court revealed far too much flesh to be appropriate for Revendreth, but Renathal had appreciated the chance it gave him to stroke his fingers over the warm, bare skin of her lower back. And the way she shivered deliciously when he had, canting her body closer to his as if on instinct....

"Yes... I believe I remember the court you refer to," Renathal continued thoughtfully. "As I recall, we were all of us rather caught up in the delightful music. The Lost Chalice Band can have that effect on the soul."

"The Lost Chalice Band?" queried the Countess. "Why, they're here today, are they not? And yet they do not play! Your guests are forced to entertain themselves as best they can with tea and" - she cast a haughty glance at Stefan - "the dullest of conversations."

Stefan, for whom self-awareness was never a strong suit, missed the insult entirely. He set his own cup down as if anticipating a change of venue. "Why, I'm sure our Maw Walker can easily arrange for dancing to be added to the Court’s offerings. She is always so resourceful."

Renathal's eyes glowed briefly at the prospect, but he checked himself before the Countess could notice. Was there any harm in permitting it? It was obvious the Countess had orchestrated the conversation to ensure this exact outcome - subterfuge was always her special gift - but surely it would be more suspicious to refuse now a precedent had already been established?

Additionally, it would make a perfect excuse to speak to the Maw Walker privately without seeming too obvious; determine whether she had read the rumour and establish how she felt about the idea. And, the truth of the matter was, Renathal had been itching to dance with her again for weeks now. Holding her against him for those few minutes had been a pleasure the likes of which he had not encountered for over an age, and he wanted more. The thought of indulging his craving was too good to pass up.

"Of course, Countess, if it would make the Ember Court more enjoyable for you," Renathal said magnanimously. "Maw Walker, would you kindly inform the Lost Chalice Band their services are required? I shall make the announcement to our guests."

Renathal allowed his eyes to meet the Maw Walker’s, forgoing a wink lest the Countess should catch it, but allowing a spark of humour to shine in their amber depths, as if the whole thing was a joke between the two of them. The Maw Walker, on the other hand, looked strangely … nervous? Renathal could not be certain. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her carefully bland smile.

“I don't think that will be possible, your Highness, Countess.” She nodded at them each in turn. “I’m afraid Chiu has misplaced her lute, which is the reason the band has not played today."

Renathal raised his eyebrows before he could stop himself, but the Countess - busy watching the Maw Walker - did not see.

"Oh, she's always losing it,” commented Stefan. “One would think musicians would take better care of their instruments.”

“One would think,” the Maw Walker agreed.

"But surely they can manage without one player?" said a Venthyr socialite seated beside the Countess. "How essential can the lute be?"

"Apparently extremely," answered the Maw Walker, a note of finality in her voice. "And a band of only two could not hope to create the proper ambiance for a dance. Perhaps next time." She rose smoothly from her seat before anyone could protest further. "This has been a most invigorating rest, but I'm neglecting the court's other guests. Please excuse me."

She gave a small respectful nod to the table at large, then adjourned as quickly as propriety allowed in the direction of the ramparts, sparing Renathal not the least half-glance on her way.

“How unfortunate,” declared the Countess in affected dismay. “I am most disappointed.” A statement very much at odds with the glitter of triumph in her beady eyes.

"Your disappointment is a crushing blow, Countess," said Renathal idly, frowning after the Maw Walker.

The Countess, much more conscious of subtle undercurrents than Stefan and highly affronted by the insincerity in Renathal's tone, rose from her own chair haughtily and flounced away, followed dutifully by her entourage. Renathal knew he ought to have been more careful with his reply, ought to care more about garnering the Countess's favor; after all, her medallion was still outstanding. But he was too preoccupied with more personal concerns.

The Maw Walker had never denied a guest's request.

Renathal had seen her go to great lengths to please even the least important Ember Court attendee. He knew for a fact she and Temel had taken extra care with this particular court's preparation, conscious as she was of the Countess's potential to help or hinder the rebellion's efforts. And while it was certainly true the Lost Chalice Band misplaced their instruments with quite unwonted frequency, the Maw Walker had always managed to locate them before. Renathal did not believe for a second she had simply resigned herself to failure this time, not with such a high-profile guest on the line. So why had she chosen not to? He could think of only one reason.

That bloody rumour....

The Maw Walker's distinct lavender outline could no longer be seen from the refreshment tables, so Renathal began a slow glide around Sinfall's center, stealing occasional side-long glances up at the ramparts. Clearly, she had read the note. It was the only explanation for her uncharacteristic refusal to accommodate a guest, and the obvious distance she was keeping from Renathal himself. Usually, they met toward the end of a court to compare notes on guest satisfaction and determine whether or not to let a session run long. Instead, the Maw Walker had purposefully removed herself from him as far as the space of the courtyard would allow. But ... was it to keep guests from reading some truth into the rumour, or because she was now uncomfortable in his presence?

Gliding up the steps to the tribute stage, Renathal surveyed the empty dance floor gloomily, remembering how very different he had felt in that exact place weeks ago...

…at the end of their dance, when he met the Maw Walker's eyes and held them, watched their blue-white depths go oddly dark. She had released his hand almost reluctantly, dropping her gaze to hide a violet flush, and anima surged to his core as he smelled on her the distinct scent of desire...

In that moment, Renathal had been so certain the Maw Walker was as drawn to him as he was to her. But... perhaps he had misinterpreted. She was so damnably hard to read.

He cast a final glance around the courtyard, distinctly unhappy with the way this evening had played out. Being denied something he wanted was still a relatively new experience for the Dark Prince of Revendreth, and while he was sometimes able to appreciate the freshness of not getting his way, other times it was simply irritating. This was certainly the latter. In a fit of pique, he decided he would end the court early without consulting the Maw Walker, since she had not seen fit to reappear. He adjusted the drape of his coat, cleared his throat and opened his mouth, just as a scream echoed chillingly from somewhere behind him.

It was not the shriek of delighted fright that occasionally rang through court when nobles got too close to attacking manifestations or when sheltered socialites were surprised by the sudden appearance of Ardenweald fauna. This was a scream of genuine terror, and Renathal knew, with a sinking in his stomach, what he would see even before he whirled around.

The sky above the ramparts was moving darkly toward Sinfall, as though storm clouds raced in their direction. But Revendreth did not have those sort of clouds, and the shadowy mass held the glint of red eyes and sharp steel. The Stone Legion.

Renathal groaned; fortunately, the sound could not be heard over the courtyard's sudden swell of noise and chaos. Honestly, what else could go wrong today? he thought dismally, as he summoned his own magic and hastened toward the Bridge of Banishment. Rumours and the Countess and now the Stone Legion ... this was turning into the worst Ember Court yet.

Renathal's mood had not improved much even hours later; standing at the table that served as his catchall desk and, currently, valet stand, cleaning the dust, debris, and drops of anima from his armor. He could have ordered a dredger to do it - there were enough of them wandering around Sinfall now - but he was restless, and needed something to do apart from pacing the room pointlessly, possibly kicking the scant furniture. It was a distinct and embarrassing possibility. Just at present, Renathal felt very much like a petulant child beaten at a game.

He supposed it had ended as well as any assault could. The Venthyr volunteer defenders, in a surprising twist, held their positions well, driving back the Stone Legion before they had a chance to claim a foothold. Personally, Renathal suspected the Legion's orders had been to sow chaos rather than carnage, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Let the defenders congratulate each other on a job well done, he had decided as he adjourned to his quarters. It would be wrong to force everyone else to feel as disgruntled as he did.

As he finished polishing the breastplate, Renathal paused, listening intently. After a moment's attention to the unbroken silence outside his room, he sighed and began brushing down one of his greaves, salvaging what anima he could from it and returning the metal to its properly shining green and gold.

And he had thought the Ember Court was doing so well... thought he was doing well. So many new contacts and support from other realms, and more Venthyr nobles each week. Renathal had been proud - perhaps too proud - of having the Maw Walker's power and unwavering loyalty at his disposal, not to speak of her affection. And now...

Denathrius had stripped him of his Court, and it appeared that stupid bloody rumour may have cost him his Maw Walker.

Renathal paused again, straining his ears to catch the sound of quiet footsteps making their way down the stone passage toward his rooms. But there was nothing. Not even an echo of the action he knew must be happening in Sinfall's main hall above. Whether the walls had been enchanted to prevent sound carrying, or the stone was just that thick, the noise of the other floors did not seem to reach to this deep corner of the structure, which was one of the reasons Renathal had requisitioned it. Usually he appreciated the privacy, but now it made him feel alone and cut off from the rebellion's metaphorical life. And it also meant he could not hear if the Maw Walker had come down from the courtyard.

It had been several hours since the Stone Legion's forces had been routed from Sinfall, but the Maw Walker had not yet appeared at his door to report, as she did almost every evening. Nor had he seen her during the battle. Renathal was beginning to seriously worry she was avoiding him, a thought which bothered him even more than his dashed hopes of a second dance, or the tantalising thought of more. All his fantasies of future possibilities aside, the Maw Walker was a friend. A close friend. Dearer to him than many of the Venthyr he had known for millennia, and the closest thing to a confidante he currently had. Everything seemed less terrible, more hopeful, in the light of her soft, lilac glow.

In a sudden indulgence of temper, Renathal slammed the greave he was polishing down on the table. It was too well made to be damaged by the wood, but it did send a shockwave of momentum up his arm hard enough to make him wince.

This was exactly why he so detested rumours, thought Renathal, rubbing angrily at his elbow. They manufactured momentary excitement out of someone else's far longer lasting distress. And if his comfortable relationship with the Maw Walker had been permanently altered by that damned note, he would find whoever had written it, Countess or otherwise, and have them condemned to a crypt for an epoch.

"Really, it wasn't all that terrible."

The Maw Walker's voice behind him made Renathal jump. He had been so busy brooding he had not heard her arrive. Dropping his still-sore elbow, he straightened, trying his best to swallow his agitation before facing her, despite the display of temper she had already witnessed. It was not difficult. Just hearing her voice had already eased some of the tension in Renathal's neck and shoulders.

She was not avoiding him after all.

He made sure there was nothing on his face to reveal any of his former concern or his current overwhelming relief before he turned to her... and started.

The Maw Walker was an absolute mess.

Renathal had seen her battle weary before, but always in the heavy robes that functioned as her armor. Today, she had been forced to fight in the rather skimpy dress she kept insisting to a tearful Lady Rovinette, the Ember Court clothier, was considered a ball gown in her home of Suramar. Reduced to even less material than usual, the tattered ruins of the dress revealed nearly the entire length of both long, smooth legs; much of the midriff was missing, as well. The pale, swirling tattoos shining faintly against the skin of her thighs were brand new information for Renathal, and he had a sudden, powerful urge to trace his fingers over them.

"Everyone is accounted for," the Maw Walker continued, oblivious to - or ignoring - Renathal's open stare. "No losses. Only six injuries of note, even those mostly minor. And none of them guests, so no harm done really."

She crossed the threshold into the spartan chamber that served the fallen Prince as office, study, and drawing room, kicking the door half closed behind her with a completely bare foot - she appeared to have lost her shoes somewhere in the fight - and limping to the dark velvet chaise she usually sat on when reporting to Renathal of an evening. Though, she did not usually bleed on it.

Renathal cleared his throat.

"And do you count yourself among that number?" he asked, now inspecting her leg more in concern than appreciation.

The blood was dripping from a shallow cut down the side of one completely bare thigh. It did not look particularly serious, but the limp had not escaped Renathal's notice.

The Maw Walker's face twisted in annoyance.

"No." She glanced down at the cut with a grimace and tried vainly to hide it from sight with a torn bit of skirt. "That's nothing, hardly worth healing. The worst damage to me was from those ridiculous shoes. Trust the Stone Legion to attack the one time I let Lady Rovinette talk me into wearing heels. I tripped over my own bloody feet and twisted my ankle."

For some reason, Renathal found her ire over something so trivial supremely funny. He positioned a faux-thoughtful hand across his mouth to hide the hint of a smile. The Maw Walker did not seem particularly upset with him, but he preferred not to press his luck by laughing at her when she was so clearly annoyed.

"Anyway," she continued, pulling stray pins from the remains of her elegantly arranged hair. "The courtyard is a bit of a disaster, and the decorations will all have to be replaced. But I've told Boot it's top priority and I'll gather the supplies myself. So, we should have it all fixed up by next week."

"Next week?" repeated Renathal absently, watching her tuck hair pins into some secret place in what had once been the bodice of her gown and was now strategically arranged shreds of gauzy, purple fabric.

Noting his distraction, the Maw Walker stopped and turned her full attention on Renathal for the first time since entering the room.

"For the next Ember Court," she explained.

Renathal blinked in surprise.

"My dear friend," he said slowly, "I fear we will have to discontinue that particular venture."

A few seconds of confusion ticked past as each looked at the other as though they were the one not making sense. It was the Maw Walker who finally broke the silence.

"Why?"

"You have to ask?" Renathal lifted his hands, allowing his distress to manifest as elaborate gesticulation. "Who in the realm will wish to attend after today's events? Now the nobility know Sinfall cannot shield them from Denathrius' forces most will certainly decline their invitations. And as the Ember Court exists largely to gain their support, it is ... hardly worth the effort." He dropped his arms, abruptly drained. "No... Denathrius set out to prove to the people of Revendreth that we ... that I ... could not protect them. And ... prove it he did."

Renathal lowered himself wearily onto the chaise beside the Maw Walker and felt the now-familiar tendrils of despair snake around his chest. It was a feeling he had never known before the Maw, and it was proving far harder to escape. It lingered at the back of his mind, waiting for setbacks such as today's to weaken his steadfast resolve, allowing an opening for despair to creep in and taint all his other thoughts. He rubbed his temples fiercely as if the action might push the feeling back to his subconscious.

"I disagree," said the Maw Walker. The simple pronouncement made Renathal look up. "You did prove yourself to Revendreth. You proved Sinfall can withstand Denathrius' forces. You drove them back, you protected your guests. No one was lost, or even seriously injured. What more could they ask of you?"

Renathal gave her a grateful smile that did not meet his eyes and shook his head.

"I appreciate the show of support, but I am afraid-"

"Renathal."

Her use of his name sans title made him lift a startled eyebrow. Renathal had long ago granted her the privilege, but she rarely exercised it.

"This was always going to happen eventually," the Maw Walker continued. "We can't hold court under Denathrius' nose and expect him to never strike out. We knew he would test his strength against us at some point. But...that was part of the reason for the Ember Court, wasn't it? To show people the strength of Sinfall, of the rebellion as a whole, and of you as its leader."

The Maw Walker reached out to grasp Renathal's hand where it lay limp against the chaise. Her tender touch ... the soft earnestness in her voice ... they were enough for Renathal's mouth to hang open slightly as she plead her case.

"The Ember Court has always been about displays of power and confidence, as well as hospitality. Tonight merely proved we can stand behind those claims. And with no casualties, the stories that spread about tonight will be about Sinfall's victory. Trust me, this time tomorrow the whole realm will be talking about how exciting a court it was. In three days, socialites will be bragging about being there, and everyone else will wish they were. You'll have Venthyr queuing up to attend the next court. To cancel it would be a serious mistake."

Renathal wondered if hope, like intellect, was a spell the Maw Walker could cast with her touch. Already, he could feel the despair evaporating, unable to exist in the same place as the heat she sent rushing through him as she gently squeezed his hand before releasing it.

"Besides," she added with a wry smile, "if you cancel the Ember Court, you will have to break the news to Temel because I certainly won't."

Renathal's small snort of laughter was weak but genuine.

"That would be a fate nearly as terrifying as the Stone Legion," he joked darkly, and she giggled, a brighter sound than Renathal's and one which raised his spirits considerably.

Making the Maw Walker laugh was - he had discovered - something of a rare talent, and Renathal relished his ability to conjure the sound more often than most. He sat up straighter, angling himself to face her more directly.

It was not unusual for them to sit here together. Many evenings, when their talk had drifted away from business, had found them both settled comfortably on this overlarge piece of furniture, probably intended for Denathrius. Although, noted Renathal as the Maw Walker shifted, she was usually much more fully clothed. He was conscious of how very easy it would be to brush against her smooth, bare leg and have it seem an accident.

Something of his dark thoughts must have shown in his face because the Maw Walker cocked her head at him and said, “What is it?”

Renathal wondered if he dared broach the subject still nagging at him after such a thoroughly inauspicious day. Clearly the Maw Walker was not uncomfortable around him, whatever her actions during court might have indicated. Perhaps the status quo was best simply maintained. But ... that urgent longing to have his hands on her again, to feel her lean into him, trust him to lead her body through exquisite movement... it echoed through him like a song he could not forget.

“Oh... it is nothing. Merely…” Renathal drummed his fingers against the arm of the chaise. “It was a shame that Chiu's lute could not be found today. Quite unusual for you to be unable to locate it..."

The Maw Walker blinked at him.

"Well, obviously, I could have found it if I looked. I thought it best for the band not to play today while a certain rumour was making its way around court."

Renathal met her eyes swiftly.

"So ... you did read the note?"

"Of course," she confirmed. "I brought it to you, didn't I? I know your feelings on rumours, and seeing how this particular rumour might catch fire the more we were seen together, I thought it prudent not to give it any additional fuel."

It was such a practical, obvious explanation, Renathal silently berated himself for ever considering any other possibility. The Maw Walker was always so attentive to everyone's wants, especially his own. She had simply made the assumption he would take greater satisfaction in a rumour being extinguished than in dancing with her; which was a fair one, if incorrect.

"I see," he said carefully. Glad as he was to have the mystery settled, it still bothered Renathal inordinately to have the moment he wanted stolen from him.

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed.

"Did I make a wrong choice?" she asked. "You seem..." - she cocked her head again- "...unhappy."

The way her eyes picked apart each piece of his face in turn, it was as though she were translating Renathal from another language, and it occurred to him abruptly that they were two different species, however similar their basic body structure may be. Not that such a thing bothered him. Personally, he found the Maw Walker all the more attractive for how unlike him she was. But she was not obligated to feel the same.

"No, no." Renathal shook his head. "I am sure you acted for the best." He swallowed. It was a gamble, but… "Only ... I was rather looking forward to another dance. And to be robbed of something so pleasurable on account of a rumour ... I confess, I was disappointed."

Silence met this admission. A silence of a few seconds, but they were impossibly long to Renathal who could not bring himself to lift his gaze until-

"So was I."

-her simple words ignited a hope like a candle flame in his chest. He met the Maw Walker's eyes, hers intent but unfocused, as though contemplating something. Before Renathal could think of the proper response, she stood up.

"Come." The Maw Walker held out her hand, lips quirked in amusement. "I don’t want to be accused of robbing the Prince of Revendreth of any sort of pleasure."

It took Renathal a moment to understand. By the time he had, the Maw Walker was already grasping his wrist, pulling him to his feet. Anima pounded a rhythm in the most sensitive parts of him as she placed his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder, resting more weight on him than last time - and Renathal remembered her ankle.

"What about your injury?" he asked.

"What injury?"

Renathal had half a foot of height on the Maw Walker, more without shoes, and she had to lift her chin to look him in the face. Her eyes sparkled with barely restrained mirth when she winked. Her high humour sparked life in his own, so sadly subdued all day.

“And... how shall we dance with no music?”

“Hmm ... that is a quandary...”

The Maw Walker assumed an expression of exaggerated thought, then took a deep breath through her nose and began to hum loudly. Renathal could not help laughing, and she smiled around her slightly off-key song. He waited a moment to catch the beat before tightening his grip and beginning to move her across the stone floor in slow, easy steps.

It could only generously be called dancing. Between the Maw Walker's limp and her attempt at musical accompaniment, it fell to Renathal to support nearly all her weight. Fortunately, they could only go a few strides in any direction without hitting an obstacle - the chaise, the table, the scattered bits of rubble - so there was no room to attempt any more complicated maneuvres. Twice the Maw Walker tripped on a torn length of her own skirt, interrupting her humming with peals of laughter, and everywhere she limped, she trailed drops of red blood from the still-dripping cut on her leg. Renathal was sure they looked ridiculous and was equally sure neither of them cared.

"What is that song?" he asked, when her humming drifted away.

"Oh, just ... something from home. Suramar," she clarified as though Renathal might have forgotten. "It was popular when I was very young, played often at courts. I quite liked it. It always made me wish I had someone to dance with."

Her voice grew thoughtful, and Renathal held his breath. Whenever conversations turned to her homeland or her past, the Maw Walker tended to find an excuse to leave. This time, she merely sighed softly and settled herself more firmly against Renathal's chest. He was suddenly very aware he was dressed in only his shirt sleeves and trousers.

"Surely, you did not lack for partners?"

The Maw Walker huffed a little soundless laugh.

"I was always rather selective about my partners."

She tilted her chin to meet his eyes again. Hers were now several shades darker, and the surge of anima at the base of Renathal's spine made him certain he was not imagining the double meaning in her words. His lips parted as he searched for the best way to ask the question burning a hole inside him, but he only managed to say her name before -

"Maw Walker? Are you down here?"

Both of them jumped. The voice echoed from the hall outside Renathal's rooms, and now footsteps were audible, rapidly approaching the door. It was Sinfall's ceaseless refrain. Someone else with a task for the Maw Walker, calling for her aid, seeking her out no matter the time. And she always answered.

The footsteps stopped outside the cracked door, and Renathal grimaced, the idea of losing this moment almost too much to bear. He groaned quietly, relinquishing his grip on the Maw Walker's waist, and was shocked when she tightened hers in return. She glanced up at Renathal's visible confusion, mouthed Shhh, then waved her free hand in an arc in front of them. Instantly, the same blue mist she had conjured in the Maw sprang into existence, shielding them from sight.

The sparkling, opaque light made it difficult to see the door as it slowly creaked open, or clearly identify the Venthyr who stood on the threshold. But it was obvious, as the intruder turned from side to side to inspect the room’s corners, that whoever it was could not see the Prince and the Maw Walker standing practically on top of each other in the center of the room.

After a few moments, and another call of her name, the unknown Venthyr retreated back into the hall, shutting the door behind them with a muted snap. The Maw Walker maintained her spell for several more heartbeats - that Renathal could feel with the way her chest was flattened against his - before allowing the blue light to dissipate.

"Shirking your responsibilities?" he asked, but there wasn't the slightest reproof in it. For the Maw Walker to choose him over others, over her work throughout the realm, made him giddy.

"Not at all," the Maw Walker replied, replacing Renathal's hand on her waist and peeling herself from his body enough to comfortably move her feet without stepping on his. “I just think I'm best suited here at the moment."

She squeezed his hand, reminding him to move, and Renathal resumed their makeshift dance, now without any semblance of music and barely any discernable rhythm. It was no more than an excuse to stay touching one another, and Renathal was sure she knew it as well as he.

"Oh?" he asked, his voice pitched deeper.

"You need this." When she caught sight of Renathal's raised eyebrow, the Maw Walker continued, "You carry the weight of an entire world on your shoulders. You need to shrug it off sometimes. You deserve a moment to just ... enjoy something. And if this is what you want, and I can give it to you, then you shall have it."

The Maw Walker's voice was forthright, her tone business-like and unemotional, but there was an invitation there, Renathal was certain. It was in the rapid beat of her heart as it pulsed against him, and the way she shivered when he trailed the hand supporting her back slowly down her spine. He could feel his growing need for her, wondered if she could feel it too with how little clothing separated them.

"And what of you?" His voice was a low rumble, and the Maw Walker lowered her head to try and hide her violet flush, forcing Renathal to speak against her dark hair. "You hold the fate of the entire Shadowlands. All of reality relies on you. Surely, you deserve to enjoy yourself as well."

The Maw Walker's hmm communicated disagreement. Renathal was unsure what she meant by it but that was a mystery for another time. At the moment, all that mattered was that she was wrong.

"You do."

He pronounced the words like an edict, and they held a distant echo of the power of dominion, his for so many eons. Not even the Maw Walker could broker an argument. Renathal ended their stilted perambulation and removed one of his arms from around her. He tilted her chin up with two long, careful fingers, forcing the Maw Walker to meet his gaze as he uttered her name.

"What would you most enjoy?"

"Honestly ..." She closed her eyes as she admitted, "Being here ... with you. This is the most I've enjoyed myself in ... in a very long time."

The Maw Walker exhaled deeply as if the confession were a weight from which she had been freed. And Renathal could sense it distinctly on her again: the heady perfume of desire. He would know it anywhere, but from her it was flavoured differently. Whether because of her race or her arcane magic or the fact that it was filtered through her mortal body, he was not sure - but he knew he wanted to drown in it. He leant down until his face was close enough to hers to feel her warm breath.

"I also enjoy your company. Immensely. I should … like to enjoy it more."

Renathal spoke as plainly as he could, mirroring the Maw Walker's forthright approach to truth he so admired. It made her smile.

"I would be amenable to that," she replied.

Her eyes flicked to his lips. And she was still smiling when Renathal kissed her for the first time.

It occurred to him again after their lips met - tentatively, exploring - that the Maw Walker was not Venthyr. Her lips were soft, her mouth as warm as the rest of her, her taste heady and unfamiliar. Renathal wondered what he felt like to her. He would be so much colder and sharper, he knew. But this wary train of thought evaporated as the Maw Walker's kiss grew more eager. Her hands crept delicately up his chest, skimming his face, threading their way through his long hair, and he allowed himself to sink into her.

Renathal was a master of control, but this was a temptation the likes of which he had never faced. The Maw Walker's warmth suffused him, starting at his mouth and leaving trails of thrilling energy everywhere she touched. He could not stop his hands clutching at her waist, canting her hips closer to him as she stood on tiptoe, trying instinctively to feel her heat against every part of him.

And if he thought he would be content with a dance, a kiss, Renathal had gravely underestimated the depth of his own desire. He needed all of her. Everything.

"Would it be considered ... bad manners if I asked you to stay?" he asked, voice ragged, when she broke for air.

"At this point," said the Maw Walker breathlessly, "I think it would be worse manners not to."

She tried to smile at her own witticism but it came out hungry, and Renathal could only growl his approval.

It was hardly the graceful seduction Renathal had been imagining. There was a rough scramble to remove clothes; her hands tugging at his shirt, his claws ripping off the remains of her dress. Every movement was full of an open desperation that would usually mortify him. Sex was as much an art form as anything else. And while he may not have the illustrious reputation of others in Revendreth, he had never allowed himself to be anything less than perfect in his various conquests.

But Renathal could not remember his body ever feeling so on fire. Was this how it was for mortals? Primal and necessary? The sensations were all-consuming at the cost of his focus. But if the Maw Walker was disappointed at the relative inelegance of his movements, she hid it extremely well.

Any further fears she might be uncomfortable with how different Renathal was from her own kind - the cold of his skin, the points of his teeth, the sharp edges of his nails as he dragged them down her naked legs wrapped around his hips - were soothed by her exquisite cries. He was shocked at the variety of sounds he could draw from the normally recalcitrant Maw Walker as he pinned her to the chaise and explored her body.

The nuance of expression ... the generosity of volume ...

Renathal had expected to have to work to discover what she liked. Every other aspect of her was always a challenge, and one he enjoyed. But here, underneath him, the Maw Walker abandoned all fight. She surrendered herself to him completely, giving his hands and mouth free reign of her body. It was so exhilarating, Renathal could not bring himself to hold back for more time, could not resist the way she opened her legs and offered herself to him. He could only give himself to her with equal enthusiasm.

Thought intruded just once when a sharp cry as he entered her made Renathal worry she might be hurt. He shook back his long white hair to inspect the Maw Walker's face with concern, but there was no indication of pain. Just open, panting lips and eyes, wide and desperate.

"Don't stop Renathal please," she moaned all in one breath, pronouncing his name like a prayer.

It made Renathal's head swim, his eyes cloud over in anima-fueled lust, but he mustered enough self-control to pause for a few seconds. The Maw Walker arched her back, crying out in exquisite anguish at the lack of friction, but this was essential.

Renathal leaned down to speak his words against her lips like a kiss: "Do not let me hurt you." And he could taste the smile around her own laboured breathing as she whispered back, "I'm not ... so delicate." Her legs locked around his hips as her body pleaded with his for more, and Renathal vigorously granted her request.

It had been centuries. Or more. Renathal could not recall precisely when he had last done this, and he knew however long ago it was it had never been quite like this. Which must be why he could not control his frantic rhythm ... why he could not contain himself any longer when she suddenly sobbed his name against his ear ... why he felt so entirely sated and pleased with all of reality when he finally sat back against the chaise, letting the dregs of swirling anima settle in his limbs. And why he felt almost immediately ready for her again as he watched her naked form roll off the chaise beside him and bend to pick up the remains of her gown.

Some of Renathal's general good feeling ebbed when he realised the Maw Walker was dressing - or rather, wrapping the shredded fabric strategically around herself to meet the bare minimum for modesty. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat, immoderately pleased when she stopped her work to let her eyes wander his own bare body distractedly. He stretched out an arm to drag her back to him and she complied, sitting astride his lap, moaning softly when she felt how much he still wanted her.

"Stay," Renathal ordered gently, tracing her pale, swirling tattoos. The Maw Walker shuddered at his touch.

"Surely tempting others is a sin."

Renathal chuckled, low and gravelly, and buried his face against her throat, speaking into her lavender skin.

"Not if it is an offer made sincerely."

The Maw Walker ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, and Renathal groaned softly. It had been an impossibly long time since he had known any touch so sweet, so careful.

And there were reasons for that, he reminded himself. But he refused to dwell on them now. She was not Venthyr, she was not of Denathrius. She was something entirely outside the Sire's control. And she would never betray him.

"I can't stay, and neither can you," said the Maw Walker, breaking through Renathal's thoughts. “People will be looking for us in earnest by now, and it wouldn't be wise to worry them." Renathal reluctantly lifted his head, and she smoothed the hair of his goatee back into place with a smirk. "Unless you'd like the next rumour to be about how the Maw Walker absconded with the Prince."

"Mmm..." Renathal hummed unhappy agreement, tracing her teasing smile with his thumb. "Practical as ever."

With a small kiss to his palm, the Maw Walker pulled his hand away, withdrew from his lap, and drew him to his feet. She bent to fetch his clothes for him where they had fallen, smoothing them out with a wink, and Renathal knew she was trying to force him to smile, knew she did not want to leave him melancholy once again. He tried his best to look as relaxed as she did.

Renathal knew she was entirely correct; they had been unaccounted for far too long. It was actually shocking no one had interrupted them since he had neglected to do anything so sensible as locking or barring the door. Although, he supposed, as he fastened his shirt, would either of them have noticed if someone had entered? He eyed the door suspiciously, still working at his buttons. It would not be a good idea for their tryst to become common knowledge in Sinfall - especially after all the Maw Walker's work to quash the rumour - but at the moment Renathal was finding it hard to care. All he was concerned with now was what came next.

The Maw Walker clicked her tongue in mock dismay as he missed the same button for a third time. She came to his rescue as always, moving his hands out of the way and fastening his shirt with quick efficiency. Something about the domesticity of it touched Renathal deeply, in places that had been abandoned for many ages. He fought the sudden instinct to draw her to him again, to refuse to let her leave...

He swallowed hard, and tried to mirror the Maw Walker's amusement instead.

"Thank you." Renathal gave his words an ironic edge and an accompanying mock-formal nod.

"Thank you," she replied with a wink. "This was exceptionally pleasant. We should do it again sometime."

His eyes widened slightly, and the knot forming inside him unraveled. Again. That was exactly what he needed to hear. For whatever reason, the Maw Walker had awakened something in him he had either forgotten or never fully known. An all-consuming hunger, a desperate need. And this moment, as blissful as it was, had barely whetted his appetite. Renathal had not had his fill of the Maw Walker, not by half.

The Maw Walker gave him a chaste kiss on his sharp cheek by way of goodbye, but Renathal snaked an arm around her waist to stop her. With the promise of more to come, he could feel his good mood and dark humour returning.

"Consider this part of your regular duties, then," he said with an arch smile, adopting her business-like tone of address. "After all, we are both very important, very put-upon leaders." He punctuated his words with a final kiss of his own, not quite so chaste, drawing out the time before he had to release her lips. "I believe our mutual satisfaction will prove quite important to the war effort."

The joy in the Maw Walker's full-bodied laughter continued to ring through Renathal like the echo of a bell for a long time after she finally left.

Read Part 4: Interrupted| Visit the Masterpost

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the-writer-nerd-ro · 2 years

Text

Finally finished chapter two!

Chapter 1 can be found here

Fox Bennett is my OC, Ramsay Cole was the best part of Jurassic World Dominion (for me), enough said!

Fox and Ram

Chapter 2

A thousand thoughts were running through Ramsay's mind, least of all was whether or not Ian Malcolm was in fact attractive. But he'd had a lot of time to contemplate that question, sitting in the waiting room with a bundle of roses and a signed copy of Dr. Malcolm's book, made out "To The Incredible, Resilient Dr. Fox Bennett."

It was the least he could do, to get the book signed, considering what Fox had been through.

Hell. It must have been hell, all alone, trying to stay safe and in the end getting mauled by a dinosaur anyway, despite their best efforts. Ramsay wanted to cry. He was aware that Fox was in stable condition after multiple necessary surgeries. More than anything in the world he just wanted to see them, but still, he continued to wait.

"Mr. Cole? The patient is awake and asking for you."

Ramsay let out the breath he'd been holding, his eyes beginning to sting. Fox had just gone through hell and the first thing they thought to do was ask for him. That meant a lot to him, more than words could say. Still, he was worried as he made his way down the corridor to Fox's room.

"Hi, love," he said quietly, barely containing a sob. Fox looked so fragile, slightly sitting up on the hospital bed. There were stitches and bandages and an IV, and their eyes looked a little distant, either due to the pain medicine or the trauma of it all.

"Hi, baby."

Ramsay was always weak when Fox called him baby, but this time it left him feeling worse for wear.

"Foxy, I'm so sorry," suddenly words were streaming from his mouth, "I should have been there for you, I shouldn't have left you alone… I knew things were going down and I didn't protect you." Now Ramsay openly sobbed, but Fox wasn't crying. Fox didn't even seem angry.

"Baby, you didn't do anything wrong. You did what you had to do, you're a hero."

"I let you get hurt," Ramsay protested.

"But I'm gonna heal. Look, Ram, most of the surgery was reconstructive…"

Ram cringed, wracked with guilt.

"Which means," Fox continued, "I'm not gonna end up paying a dime of what ended up being an impromptu hysterectomy and top surgery."

Fox offered Ramsay a weak smile and Ramsay's mouth fell open, stunned.

"Wait, really?"

"Mm yeah apparently they don't make you keep your uterus if it gets mauled by dinosaurs."

Ramsay laughed out of shock.

"Well, at least something worked out for you…"

"Biosyn also owes me like a shit ton of money which means I'm paying for our next date."

"How are you so calm, after everything?"

"I love dinosaurs, I work with dinosaurs, I was prepared for the eventuality that I'd get mauled by dinosaurs."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Ramsay admitted.

"How about this? I knew the world was fucked, so I knew that fucked up things were going to happen. And I knew that I had to stick around long enough to fix the world with you. So I wasn't afraid of dying. I knew I'd see you again."

Ramsay forced a smile, "I really love you, I hope you know that."

"I do. I do know that. I love you too, Ram."

"I got you something." Only now did Ramsay think to present the roses and the book.

"I got Ian to sign the book for you."

Fox's eyes widened.

"Really? That's amazing, Ram, thank you so much."

Ramsay was blown away by Fox's persistent enthusiasm. Even when things were hard or bad they seemed so willing to believe that things would get better, so ready to work towards making that belief a reality. And so content to enjoy the moment.

"Hey," Ram said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"I still feel like I should have been with you when all this was going down, but now that I'm here, I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," Fox immediately promised.

"I know, love, but… What I mean is… Do you want to move in with me? We could get a nice place with the Biosyn money and begin making the world a better place, together." It was Ramsay's way of insuring that next time something happened, he'd get the chance to protect Fox. And in all the moments in between that imaginary next time, they'd just get to enjoy being together, which was also nice.

"I'd love to, Ram." It was hard to tell with all the bandages and medical equipment, but Ramsay suspected his significant other was blushing.

"No more stealing moments at Biosyn," Ram said firmly, "I want the whole world to know that you're the one I love."

He leaned down and gently kissed Fox, who was definitely blushing now. As fucked up as things had gotten, they'd only get better from here.

#jurassic world dominion #jurassic world dominion fanfic #ramsay cole #fox bennett #fox bennett x ramsay cole #mamoudou athie #my oc #otp #self insert-ish #nonbinary #lgbtq

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roleplayermeet · 2 years

Note

Hey I’m Spencer (he/him, 30, CST) and I’m looking for people to play against my OC. I’m looking for:

Billy Hargrove (Stranger Things)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Jim Hopper (Stranger Things)

Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader (Star Wars)

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren (Star Wars)

Montgomery Scott (Star Trek)

Benji Dunn (Mission: Impossible)

Jay Halstead (Chicago PD)

Crowley (Supernatural)

Gabriel (Supernatural)

Lucifer (Supernatural)

Killian Jones (Once Upon a Time)

Negan (The Walking Dead)

Isaac Lahey (Teen Wolf)

Alex Lannon (Dominion)

Gabriel (Dominion)

Michael (Dominion)

Damien Jones (Lovelink mobile game)

Julien Devorak (The Arcana mobile game)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

#18+ rp #cc x oc rp #Stranger Things rp #star wars rp #star trek rp #mission impossible rp #chicago pd rp #supernatural rp #once upon a time rp #the walking dead rp #teen wolf rp #dominion rp #lovelink rp #the arcana rp #criminal minds rp

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findingroleplays · 2 years

Note

Hey I’m Spencer (he/they, 30, CST) and I’m looking for people to play against my OC. I’m looking for:

Billy Hargrove (Stranger Things)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Jim Hopper (Stranger Things)

Killian Jones (Once Upon a Time)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader (Star Wars)

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren (Star Wars)

JJ Maybank (Outer Banks)

Crowley (Supernatural)

Gabriel (Supernatural)

Montgomery Scott (Star Trek)

Benji Dunn (Mission Impossible)

Shoto Todoroki (My Hero Academia)

Dabi Todoroki (My Hero Academia)

Jay Halstead (Chicago PD)

Alex Karev (Grey’s Anatomy)

Negan (Walking Dead)

Alex Lannon (Dominion)

Gabriel (Dominion)

Michael (Dominion)

I’m in a bunch of other fandoms too so if there’s a character you’re dying to play just ask. And I’m always up for a good OCxOC scene if that’s your jam.

#18+#oc x cc #stranger things #once upon a time #criminal minds #star wars #outer banks #supernatural #star trek #mission impossible #my hero academia #chicago pd #greys anatomy #the walking dead #dominion #oc x oc

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powderblueblood · 5 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you.

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor.

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent.

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t.

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t.

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora.

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips.

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be.

Especially now.

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal.

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?”

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little.

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.”

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand.

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height.

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.”

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene.

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.”

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight.

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup.

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom.

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains?

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds.

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen.

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school.

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card.

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?”

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.”

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.”

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else.

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror.

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family.

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets.

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you.

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends.

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina.

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not.

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore.

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause.

Eddie had to take a beat.

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on.

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure.

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head.

Ink stains mixing with precum.

Moaning into your mouth.

Giving you something to write to dear diary about.

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket.

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria.

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you.

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you.

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says.

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally).

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually.

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t.

Fuck.

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you.

—

“Anybody got bleach?”

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag.

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately.

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track.

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition.

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.”

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight.

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning.

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen.

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing.

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing.

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #e. munson by powder

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daze4all · 2 months

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HSR Penacony Reader Drabble Series Ideas

Yandere! Aventurine suggests Reader pay back to debt as friends...

Yandere! Sunday Traps Reader in a dreamscape he controls

3. Jealous! Hubby! Jing Yuan takes it out on Reader during bathtime

Do I want to fix him or do I want him to break me?

Those are the Vibes I Get from plus some prompt drabble ideas I've been cooking. Side note guess I got over smut and diving right in now lol. Tag what wanna see first lol.

considering my yandere writing I guess the later lol

Drabble fics in development

Yandere! Aventurine hypnotizes reader

Reader is Aventurine's respite from work.

Yandere! Aventurine Traps Reader in a deal to pay him back....

Yandere! Sunday traps reader in dreamscape

"Ah... I do love it when you fight however dear it is futile in a dreamscape. However, don't test my patience dear , be a good girl as your in my dreamscape"

though as control freak he wouldn't in the real world however since a dreamscape is his dominion to control so acts of defiance are just an amusing play as in dreamscape he is 'god'

reader Comforts Sunday

Announcing the return of pervert! Husband! Jing Yuan continuation Honeymoon Penacony part 2 NSFW fic but Suggestive SFW Voicelines. Part one link posted as pic.

I didn't expect the beds to be baths but we can make do. -Jing Yuan

Shall you show me how apologetic you are for flirting with those men in front of me.

Might be fun~ land of dreams so I could do anything to you in a dreamscape?-Jing Yuan

Sometimes rules need to be broken- Jing Yuan totally stealing Trailblazer line lol funny if reader is Trailblazer.

Also when reading that rule about not being naked in the baths or else be so in the dreamscape....devs totally did that to prevent us from thinking In canon ppl did sexy stuff in Dreamscapes to keep it pg 13 well in public....granted i would not want to do it in the forgotten zones where monsters are. yea I'm stopping that thought there.

A/N Background to add spice to reader/Dawn oc

-cuz I'm a jing yuan stan and feel guilty lol for writing fic for other men

-plus sort of used the same reader concept for other guys soo cheating?

-but even before jing yuan's marriage to ten commission judge/dan feng sister reader naming Dawn (cuz tags too long)

-can be female version dan feng idk idc up to ppl imaginations lol I leave it vague on purpose no on even reads this section lol

#honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #hsr jing yuan #hsr sunday x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr aventurine x reader

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wednesday-fanatic · 1 year

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Cravin' |Marcus Lopez|

Warnings: Suggestive comments and content, and kissing.

Note: This is Marcus x OC. OC name is Karla.

Karla's P.O.V:

I was singing a lullaby to my baby niece when Marcus walked in. He had been staying with me an day family for a few weeks while we had a holiday at Kings Dominion. I laid my niece in her crib and walked with Marcus back to my -well our- room. We walked in and I locked the door behind us. As I was doing that Marcus sat down on my bed. I walked over to sit next to him when he pulled me down to sit on his lap.

"You never told me you could sing." He said, pouting, almost as if I had taken away his cigarette.

"Well, do you want me to sing for you now?" I asked.

"Yes please." He said, leaning back, also allowing me to get off his lap.

I went to my closet and changed into a sexy black dress to match the mood of the song I was going to sing.

I walked back over to him and tapped his shoulder as a way to tell him to open his eyes, which he had closed when I started changing.

"Wow." He said staring at me.

I cleared my throat and started singing.

"I'm rare Like these diamonds that I wear

Gold lace Please you like no other

Heartbeat racin' I'ma put you through these paces

Be the best you ever tasted Gon' stay on your mind

Come back every time

Baby I'ma keep you cravin' Baby I'ma keep you cravin' (cravin')

Baby I'ma keep you cravin' (cravin')(Cravin', cravin', cravin')(Yeah, yeah, yeah)Yeah

I'm the remedy subject to your abuse

I'm that desire in your blood you can't refuse

Ya picked your poison boy ain't nothing left to choose, now

You can't get enough

Intoxicated can't recover

So don't devise I'll keep you close

Put your hand on my hips

I'll do your wrists

Pressed to these lips

Kiss I won't tell

I'm (I'm) rare (rare)Like these diamonds that I wear

Gold (gold) lace (lace)Please you like no other

Heartbeat racin'I'ma put you through these paces

Be the best you ever tasted Gon' stay on your mind

Come back every timeI'ma keep you cravin'Baby I'ma keep you cravin'(Yeah, yeah, yeah-oh)Baby I'ma keep you cravin' (cravin')(Cravin', cravin', cravin')(Yeah, yeah, yeah)"

"Holy shit!! Your amazing!!" Marcus exclaimed, grabbing my arms effectively pulling me onto the bed.

He pinned me to the bed and kissed me hard. He slipped his tongue into my mouth. I moaned as his hand slipped up my dress and up the my bra.

A/n: There will probably be a part two for this.

#spotify #marcus lopez arguello x reader #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez imagine #marcus lopez smut #marcus lopez arguello

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year

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Hello, Mr. Monster (Three. Shadow)

Summary: Eros and Psyche retelling with soulmate!AU elements. Morpheus x oc/female reader

Master List

Chapter Track: "Dream State (Dark Day)" by Son Lux

18+ (violence, swearing throughout, referenced child murder)

TAGGING: Tag lists break my posts, BUT I reply to comments the day of new chapters, so you'll get a personal update every time you stop to chat. ;)

A/N: Very short chapter this time. Mental health is quietly shitting itself and making writing difficult. Thank you all for your patience.

3: Shadow

The Not Deer smelled blood.

It smelled her blood, sweet with sand, ripe with magic. And this time, unlike all the others before, she had not escaped – and she was alone.

Teeth aching to close on her living flesh, thirsty for the hot blood flecked with its master’s power, it screamed.

She’d fallen too far inside her little moving fortress, and it couldn’t reach her. It could see, though. It could smell. And wasn’t it wonderful? Fresh red bloomed on her face, filling the night with the scent of the hunt.

If it could get through the window or beat down the door, it could have her. Finally. Eat her all up and lick the fluids off the carpet, crunch her bones and chew the soft fat of her pretty brain. Then sleep off a full belly under a pile of last year’s lacy, skeleton leaves, as it did after every good feeding. It caught children who left the path and slipped just beyond their parents’ sight, drunk men daring the dark on a summer’s night, anyone foolish enough to put too much faith in their own skills under the trees when the sun went down. In a hundred years, there had been many.

But she would be the best meal, and the last, because word already spread that the lord was returned, and soon the Not Deer would be missed. Urgency fueled its attack, but its antlers caught on the window frame, and though its legs stretched too long for a deer, its hooves couldn’t strike the valley between the seats.

It rammed the van, furious. Grey foam frothed from its lips, turning the forest floor black with rot where it dripped.

“What are you doing?”

A century was not long enough to forget its master’s voice, and as it heard the whisper of eons at its back, shock froze over delight.

It stalked the dark long enough to recognize prey. It was not a deer, but it froze like one now with fate ringing in its ears. The hunter waited as the Not Deer came to rapid terms with its renewed vulnerability, and the nightmare turned, clicking, to face the Nightmare King.

The Not Deer did not have words. That was not how it had been made. But the king didn’t ask his question in search of an answer.

The Not Deer was meant to hunt in dreams, to threaten and rip at hunters who killed too many, to remind those without caution what they had to fear. But it feasted on living mortals instead. The Corinthian introduced him to the fantasy, made the cut in the nightmare’s mind that festered into fantasy, and when it had the chance, it left the Dreaming to hunt.

It consumed a young dreamer who’d left his bed to catch frogs under the full moon, and the boy had tasted well. So, the Not Deer found new dreamers to eat, glutting itself on muscle and marrow. Until it smelled her. Then it ate others in frustration, because nothing smelled as good as the one with his maker’s name scratched in her heart, glowing gold, drawing him like a new lamb’s bleats or a dying rabbit’s shriek.

The King of Nightmares simply looked at it and understood. He’d already known. He must have. It was in his nature as it was in the Not Deer’s to admire screams.

“You have betrayed your purpose.” The king spoke softly, and the Not Deer bowed, the tattered flesh on its antlers dragging along the dirt. “And you have chosen most dangerous prey.”

Dangerous not because of herself, for all her tricks. Dangerous as the mate of a greater monster, a jealous king with dominion over every night terror and the things night terrors feared.

Eyes darker than any shadow, hard and unforgiving as obsidian, the king stalked nearer. The Not Deer didn’t move. It had witnessed the Endless’s wrath, had seen others of its kind unmade, and knew it was too late to flee.

A low grown and the chime of shifting glass disturbed the dead quiet of the forest, and the Not Deer wondered if the king’s mate would wake. It hoped. She cared for the weaker ones, the creatures of the Dreaming that did not bite into the waking world as the Not Deer had. Even though it hunted her, hurt her, she may show mercy, may ask for it.

But she slept on, disturbed by other nightmares in the Dreaming, and the king’s frown grew deeper. His attention splintered between worlds, and just as her dreaming had led him to the threat in one world, her distress in the other called him home.

Perhaps he would forget. Perhaps the Not Deer may escape to find more dreamers and keep itself as itself.

Even as it began to imagine what it could chase, kill, taste with more days of freedom, the Nightmare King’s eye turned back to it, and he lifted one long arm to spin the Not Deer back to sand.

“I am needed elsewhere. I have not the time to return the tortures you are owed.”

It bucked while it still had legs, roaring and clicking as body, senses, and mind fell grain by grain. If it thought its master would return, it would never have dared. It did not want to disappear. It wanted, it wanted…

“And yet.” The king stooped to take a handful of the witch’s salt from the circle she’d made around her vehicle, and he sifted it between his fingers, thoughtful as the ash stained his fingertips. “Since it was her pain and fear you stole –” he lifted his hand above the half-formed Not Deer and let it rain down “– let her repay it.”

The black salt caught inside the nightmare and burned like it never had before. It wasn’t discomfort. It wasn’t an unpleasant, stinging shock. It was agony without end, and the Not Deer abandoned any idea of survival or escape in an instant.

It needed to be unmade. To stop. To forget.

Its lord did not lift his hand, and the legless, heaving beast of horror whined in desperation.

“Perhaps this taste of her power will satisfy you.”

If it had words, it would beg.

The Nightmare King’s attention had already shifted back to the Dreaming, however, and he paused only long enough for his shadow to swallow the wailing thing before moving on to where his mate’s dreaming mind called for help.

Then all the Not Deer knew was the darkness and its pain within it. Her scent twisted through the sand, and soon it summoned no hunger, no greed, only unbridled terror it could not escape. Not even when it tore itself apart.

----------------------------------------------

In the Dreaming, the Nightmare King pulled her from the nightmares and held her in his hands for the first time, negotiating an opportunity to soothe her, to feel the places in their souls where they met, so she might understand…

----------------------------------------------

She woke with something damp between her legs and glass studding her palm.

Spears of light poked through the forest canopy, glinting sharp through her eyes, into the sensitive spaces behind them, burning her retinas from the inside out. Rainbows danced in the broken window, reflecting in the shattered diamonds over the floor. The driver’s seat. Her clothes. She decided to wait before trying to move, get her senses together, give her head time to steady before she did anything stupid. Like grating herself like Parmesan cheese on the remains of her window.

She closed her eyes for a minute. Breathed.

Something was off.

Her mouth was dry as cotton, and her tongue did nothing to help her equally dry lips as she pulled it over the broken, peeling skin.

Damn.

She felt…

Confused.

Hurt from her encounter with the Not Deer, but also well rested. Lighter almost. Like she suddenly had more attention, more energy, even though she had glass in her hair and a situation she strongly suspected may lead to a UTI if not immediately addressed. Which of course led to the question of what the hell she and the monster had really done in her sleep, if it was just the wettest dream of her life or if she ought to be running for Plan B. She didn’t think he’d go that far without asking, not after he so carefully sought permission. And wasn’t that a hell of a thing?

Sought permission. Honored it. Soothed her and held in a way her waking mind struggled to grasp. The concepts melted in her thoughts like ice as she woke, dripping away in cool streams of sensation and memory.

He’d been grand, and big, and frightening, but he didn’t use his power to crush her, as she’d expected.

After so many years anticipating the worst, she wasn’t sure what to do with this reality. Where things hadn’t gone tits up. With a creature beyond a god who assumed he had boundaries before she even drew them. Where the worst hadn’t happened.

Her monster had made a riddle of himself for her to solve. She’d need time to come to terms with that. With him. After a lifetime of the darkest expectations… well.

Getting up, though. That came first.

She shifted, wary of the bad, bad glitter threatening an unplanned trip to an urgent care as she picked the best spots to plant her elbows.

Rolling onto her knees, she tried to crawl forward, but something snagged her foot, and she finally noticed the pull of a grip around her ankle. Her heart didn’t skip a beat. Her breathing didn’t stutter. None of the normal, horrified reactions burst from trembling lips and teary eyes.

She knew that hand.

Looking towards the passenger seat, she saw the desiccated arm vanishing into the shadows under the pilot chair. Dead skin flaked away from crusty patches of old blood, and misty black shadows curled within, ready to turn into nightmare claws to terrorize small children.

The fingers squeezed, questioning.

“I’m alright, Jeff.” She reached down to pat him, glad to find something as expected and faithful as the needy nightmare worrying after her wellbeing. “It’s okay. Not Deer still lurking outside?”

Two quick squeezes – No.

“Good.”

The bastard must’ve given up when Jeff arrived. Never did like an audience, and Jeff could be a real pain in the ass if he wanted to be. Pretty literally.

As far as she knew, Jeff was only the arm. Maybe he had a few more inky swaths of darkness he kept tucked under low furniture, but he never manifested anything past a bicep. He didn’t speak with words, only by touch, and they’d learned to communicate by squeeze ages ago.

Once upon a time, he’d been the first nightmare to find her, and on the last night she had a family, he’d clung to her leg like a shackle – warning her, begging her not to follow her curious ears to the raised voices outside her door. Ever since, even though he had terrible timing, she never doubted his intentions.

The touches in her dream with Morpheus told her a lot of other things she wasn’t fully prepared to analyze.

She hadn’t had a fucking cup of coffee yet. She couldn’t be expected to contemplate the single greatest threat to her continued freedom before caffeination. Simply unreasonable. Inhumane.

So, she shoved it out of her mind – again – and climbed out of the mess. Her first aid kit was in the back, under the narrow bunk where she usually slept. She popped the plastic case open with her back to the sliding door, the Not Deer’s dent poking into her peripheral vision as a grim reminder of the previous night.

Another nearly.

She had a strange relationship with death. Dozens of near misses over the years made the sickening adrenaline rush and following crash routine. Some people could schedule their periods in their planners. Some days it felt like mortal peril penciled itself into hers. She was afraid, but too often, and she’d lost the technique of it.

As she plucked a few stubborn bits of glass from her hands, cleaned the tiny holes they left behind, and bandaged everything up, Jeff made himself useful. He swept up the fragments he could reach in long sweeps, pulling it all into the fathomless darkness of his home under the pilot seat. When he’d cleared that side of the van, he withdrew and manifested on the driver’s side. He reached up to pluck shards from the cushions, and his fingers spidered along the carpet, seeking little dangers he could remove from her world. In the time she took cleaning herself up and shaking the glass out of her hair outside, the nightmare cleared the interior of debris.

“Thank you, Jeff,” she said as she hauled herself into the driver’s seat.

She caught her own eye in the rearview mirror. She caught her first look at the bloody goose egg over her left brow, too. Could be worse, though the swelling might get some attention she didn’t want. Rusty red flakes peeled away from the trails leading into her hair, and she tentatively poked the edge of the swelling. Like running her tongue over a canker sore – she just couldn’t help herself, even though she knew how it would end.

Yup.

It hurt.

She groaned, dropping back against the headrest. Fan-fucking-tastic. The scratch needed cleaning and antiseptic, which meant a stop at the nearest convenience store with a bathroom. Nothing like scaring some gas station clerks first thing in the morning.

At least gas stations had coffee.

Fresh air breathed through the broken window, washing the smell of fear and blood out of the van. She took in as much as she could.

She needed to go, but she wasn’t sure where, and going never got her very far without a destination. Her pockets had bottoms, and she’d hit the seams fast if she didn’t budget gas money.

Where should she head? What did she need?

Out of sight, Jeff softly grasped her left ankle. He hadn’t been so clingy in ages, and she wondered what the little nightmare knew that she didn’t. It wasn’t like he was a great conversationalist. Their talks took creative shortcuts – yes/no taps, Morse code, even a Ouija board once or twice – but they still chewed up time she wasn’t sure she had, and even when well-equipped, Jeff wasn’t chatty. He couldn’t help her work through this chaos.

Oh.

And there was her answer.

Help.

People.

She needed people. Folks to talk with, to lend her an ear and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to distract her, friends who knew her and would keep her safe from rogue nightmares like the Not Deer – maybe even help her pick apart her feelings over the star-eyed Endless and his… attention.

People. Friends. Plural.

Checking the date on her phone, she did some quick math and determined where her favorite group of miscreants might be found. Hadn’t they sent her a text? A few weeks ago? She’d been so consumed with the pull across the ocean to the Burgess estate she barely read it. No time or attraction. Now, though – different story.

Destination in mind, she put on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the inevitable wind through the open window and turned the key. The van grumbled to life. Bouncing over the rough little road she’d called home for a few nights, she smiled to herself. Happy in the moment, alive with a little purpose and a goal to chase, on her way to friendly faces.

Only after speeding an hour down the highway did she realize what felt so off – the pain in her chest had eased.

Next chapter: Link

#Morpheus x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x reader #hello mr. monster #morpheus x original character

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astrid-sama · 4 months

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Labyrinth of white roses (Effie trinket x fem oc)

Chapter 1)

The harvest

I wake up with the warmth of the sun's rays caressing my face, it's a rare event, usually if I want to sneak away without anyone seeing me I'm forced to get up when there's still the moon in the sky, at first light dawn in district twelve everyone is already at work; today, however, everyone is exempt from work and people sleep late trying not to think that tonight at least two families will mourn the loss of their children.

Today the annual harvest is held, on this day a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be chosen from each district to participate in the Hunger Games, a deadly game from which only one tribute will emerge alive. At school we kids are taught that the Hunger Games are there to ensure that the Dark Days are not repeated, in reality they are just another way for the Capitol City to assert their dominion over us.

I get out of bed, put on my hunting clothes, kiss my brother on the forehead being careful not to wake him and leave the house as quietly as possible. I arrive on the main road and after making sure that there is no one around I head towards the fence; during the journey I feel my stomach growling, it is normal to be hungry here in district twelve and that is why every day I leave the fence to go hunting, putting my life at risk, between dying of hunger together with my brother and being hanged for betrayal by the peacekeepers I choose the second, it is the least painful option. At the fence I find my friends Gale and Katniss waiting for me, we have been hunting together for more than four years now; the fence should be electrified but here in the twelve there is almost never electricity, one at a time we crawl under the fence taking advantage of a point where it is damaged. According to the Capitol, the fences surrounding the districts are there to prevent wild animals from attacking us, but I think they're there to keep us locked up.

We enter the woods, retrieve our bows and hide among the vegetation waiting for prey to hunt. After almost an hour we have captured three rabbits and a squirrel, we go to hide our bows in an old hollow trunk and start looking for fruit and medicinal herbs; when we have finished the sun is higher in the sky and it is probably just before midday. Before leaving the woods, Gale, Katniss and I take a break sitting on a rocky ledge.

-Girls look what I have here- Gale takes a loaf of bread out of his bag, it seems warm and fragrant, few people can afford such bread.

-But this is real bread! Gale where did you find him?- Katniss said as she grabs the loaf of bread.

-The baker gave it to me in exchange for a squirrel-

-Just a squirrel?!-

I can't help but wonder, the baker is a good person but usually a squirrel isn't enough for a loaf like that.

-Today is harvest day, we are all better-

Gale divides the loaf between the three of us, we eat in silence until Katniss asks a question.

-How many nominations do you have?-

-Thirtyfive-

-Twentyone-

Under normal circumstances a seventeen year old like me should only have five nominations, I have so many because I was forced to trade them for food; my father became ill when I was twelve and died when I was fourteen, but my mother died soon after my brother was born so I found myself having to support both myself and my brother and was forced to apply several times in exchange for food, Gale and Katniss are in the same situation as me.

A few minutes later we set off to return to the enclosure; once we return to the district we go to the black market to barter: we exchange strawberries with the mayor in exchange for a bag of legumes, we exchange the squirrel for matches. After leaving the black market, Katniss, Gale, and I wish each other good luck and part ways.

When I arrive home I find my brother waiting for me, he is dressed in a pair of green jeans and a white shirt, his long black hair is tied in a braid and his green eyes shine with happiness when he sees me.

-Welcome back big sister, how do I look?-

-Elia you are handsome, I bet you will make everyone fall in love with you-

Elia blushes and looks away.

-Big sister it's almost time for the harvest, you should go and change-

I nod, I go to the bathroom and quickly wash both my body and my hair, after drying my hair with a towel I put on my best dress, a light green dress with small white flowers and finally I put on some old brown boots. Elia insists on tying my black hair in a braid like his, when he's finished we go to the square to take part in the grape harvest.

As soon as we arrived we immediately separated, I joined the seventeen year old girls while my brother joined the fourteen year old boys. After all boys and girls eligible to participate have been registered, the harvest ceremony begins; first of all (like every year) the mayor goes on stage and begins to read a long speech in which he explains how the Hunger Games are our just punishment for having rebelled against the Capitol seventy-three years ago; after what seems like hours the mayor finally concludes his speech and gives way on the stage to the Capitol emissary who has the task of escorting the tributes of district twelve to Capitol City Effie Trinket.

-Welcome to the seventy-third edition of the Hunger Games, may luck always be in your favor-

Effie walks very enthusiastically towards the glass bowl containing the pieces of paper with the girls' names written on them.

-As always ladies first-

Effie slowly dips her hand into the glass bowl, pulls out a piece of paper, and returns to the center of the stage; in the seconds preceding the reading of the name of the tribute there is absolute silence.

-The female tribute from district twelve is.... Selene Davidson-

All the girls turn to look at me, some look at me with pity, others with relief. My hands are shaking, my body seems to have turned to marble and even though I know I should go on stage I can't move.

-Darling come here-

Effie Trinket smiles at me and calls me to the stage. I force myself to move and slowly advance towards the stage; I'm trying to hold back the tears, I can't seem weak. Capitol City is watching me.

-And now the male tribute-

I watch Effie take the piece of paper with the name of the male tribute and hope that the name is neither Elia nor Gale.

-The male tribute from District Twelve is... Alexander Morgan-

Alexander is a fifteen year old boy with curly red hair and a weak physique, you can clearly see how terrified he is; once he gets on stage he starts sobbing.

-Now a big round of applause for our tributes-

Nobody claps their hands, silence is the only act of protest allowed. After the harvest we are taken into the courthouse and given some time to say goodbye to our friends and family. I'm sitting on a velvet sofa when the door opens and Elia comes in, hugs me and starts sobbing with his head resting on my shoulder. For a while we remain hugged without saying anything, then Elia dries his tears and begins to speak.

-Win big sister and come back to me, I know you can do it-

-Elia I-

-No Selene don't say you can't win, you are an expert hunter you know how to use a bow and knives perfectly and you also know both edible and medicinal plants-

-You're right, I promise I will do everything to come back-

I try to sound confident but in reality I don't think I have much chance of returning home, after all what can a weak little girl from district twelve with a bow (if there is a bow) do against a volunteer from district one who weighs twice as much as she. A short time later, peacekeepers arrive and take Elia away and let Gale and Katniss in in his place. We hug each other, resigned to the idea that this will be our last meeting.

-Guys remember the promise we made to each other, don't let Elia die of hunger! Take him with you into the woods, teach him to hunt, please don't abandon him-

Some time ago the three of us had made a pact, if ever one of us was chosen as a tribute the others would be taken care of by his family.

-Don't worry, we'll take care of Elia, you think about winning-

-Certain-

A short time later the peacekeepers took Katniss and Gale away, I was escorted out of the courthouse and taken to the train that would take me to the Capitol City.

This is the first chapter of my fanfiction "Labyrinth of white roses", I will publish all the chapters of the fanfiction on Ao3 with the name "Labyrinth of white roses".

These are my fanfiction characters created with artificial intelligence:

Selene

Elia

Alexander

#effie trinket #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #effie trinket x reader #hunger games x reader

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bluestar22x · 10 months

Text

BlueStar’s Fanfic Masterlist

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All my explicit fics are labeled with the appropriate ratings and warnings but please don’t interact with my fics if you aren’t 18+.

Warning: I try to keep my reader character physical descriptions blank, but occasionally give minor details for the sake of the plot (or a slip up) and their backgrounds/families are sometimes detailed. I wrote these fics for me first. My reader characters are more like OCs you can jump into than truly blank. If you need 100% blank reader characters, it’s just not going to happen here.

xxx

Pedro Pascal Characters

Baby Fever Series - Marcus Pike x F!Reader (Ongoing Series)

Finding Eden Series - Zach Wellison x F!Reader (Ongoing Series)

Second Chances Series - Marcus Moreno x Female OC

Snowed In - Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Sweet Summer Series - Javier Peña x F!Reader

New Year's Promise - Javier Peña x F!Reader ("Sweet Summer" Verse)

The Weekend - Javier Peña x F!Reader ("Sweet Summer" Verse)

The Fishing Trip - Frankie Morales x F!Reader

The Journey Series - Pero Tovar x F!Reader

The Pool - Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

The Outcast Series - Pero Tovar x F!Reader

The Riding Lesson - Jack Daniels x F!Reader

The Rockford Files Series - Tim Rockford x F!Reader

The Writing Contest Series - Javi Gutierrez x Female OC (Ongoing Series)

Unknown Series - Dieter Bravo x Female OC (Ongoing Series)

Weary - Din Djarin x Omera

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The Last Of Us (HBO)

Reader Fics:

Colors - Young!Joel Miller x Blind F!Reader

One Night - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Visitation Rights - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Morning Routine - Joel Miller x F!Reader (“Visitation Rights” Verse)

A Haunting In Jackson - Joel Miller x F!Reader (“Visitation Rights” Verse)

Other TLOU Fics:

A Bad Fall - Joel Miller, Ellie Williams

The Tree - Joel Miller, Ellie Williams

Christmas In Jackson - Joel, Ellie, Tommy & Maria

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911 Lone Star

Some Good News - Judd x Grace (Pregnancy Announcement AU)

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Supernatural

Losing A Son - Episode 14x07 Fix-It Fic

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Other Places To Find My Works:

BlueStar22 On AO3

DeanCasLover22 On Fanfiction Net (Supernatural, 12 Monkeys, Dominion)

#Fanfiction #Mine

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pumpkinsnhollyhock · 6 months

Text

Mausoleum

Summary: When a secluded ghost at the edge of the world receives a strange visitor, he remembers why he willed this dangerous plot to house his bones in the first place.

Fic tags: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader/OC. AU. Quirkless AU. Song fic. Soulmates. Lost love. Pining. Soft Tomura Shigaraki. Tomura Shigaraki is a Ghost. First POV. Reads like a love letter.

Found myself listening to Mausoleum by Rafferty on repeat while writing my long Tomu fic. Here's the result. Happy spooky season :]

My first tangible thought in countless long years is, What dullard dares to traverse this deadly terrain.

These stone walls I call home were strategically located atop this most avoidable peak, and I reveled in my decision — laid out in clear terms by my final will and testament — when the dismally unfortunate masons cursed taking the job with their every breath. I watched them silently as they fought against the menacing squalls and crumbling ground, letting their ill tempers wash vicariously over my noncorporeal form, and smiled.

For what I craved more than anything in my last days was eternal solitude.

Yet here you come, determined to rob me of it.

Between my isolation and the ceaseless decades, I have become barely more than a wisp of lingering spirit, my memories and emotions eroded away like this baren cliffside. So this stir of annoyance at your unsolicited calling is, I admit, at least some small reprieve from the monotony.

I follow your painstaking progress — a smear of cloak among the tall grasses, winding to and fro, rising steadily through the topology — and find my distaste begins to wane as I resign to tolerate your presence.

But as the minutes turn to hours and you draw ever near, I am decidedly touched by your fervor.

You are panting, relief and pride sculpting your posture, as you arrive on my marble stoop, and I am surprisingly delighted when you rest a soft hand against the entrance to my permanent residence.

I watch, still and silent, as vitality rushes in and out of your lungs, as your hair sticks to your flushed face, whipped into knots and strewn wildly by the merciless gales that claim dominion over this rocky shoreline, and a grin settles delicately on your lips.

I am hollow. I am nothing. Detached from the physical realm. But something within whatever I now am aches at the sight of you.

You, who are alive.

Come inside, I gesture though you cannot see, my ghostly hand reaching toward yours before I decide to do so, Come grace these cold, forgotten walls with your guileless company.

The iron gates rattle and creek when you pull them wide, and I realize for the first time how much my august abode has been humbled.

When I was first laid here, I explain as your eyes alight over every surface, this granite gleamed white and pristine. And the cast iron filigree, I point out when your fingers delicately trace a sconce and search for a match to light the candle there, was as intricate as it was imposing.

But, I amend when warm modest light blooms before us, I would argue the stone cracked and mossed, the iron rusted and worn, has its own certain beauty.

I think, perhaps, you agree, unable as you are to refrain from touching everything you see, studying each surface without concern, but with loving caress.

In life, I recall hearing gripping tales of those beyond bewitching the souls of the living, and how even the most gallant individuals would cower at the thought. But as I watch you, my eyes never wavering from your tender, reverent progression through the walls that hold my decaying bones, I think the stories could not gotten it more wrong.

I, too, lived life through careful study, I start to ramble, the urge to impress you — to capture your attention as you have stolen mine — as inescapable as the grave, Diligently observant, I was a collector of lives, of their tales and histories, making sense of the passing of time through their lives and deaths.

Morbid, perhaps. There were certainly those who thought so. But it was through them that I found any attachment to life.

You smile, and I think it might finally bring me peace, releasing me from this cursed mortal plane.

Forgive me, I say, a flush of long-stilled blood illuminating the silver scars along my transparent neck, Perhaps it is my sudden musings on life, but you... seem somehow... familiar.

There was one... a remnant of memory from centuries past.

She, too, smiled at strangely beautiful things.

Suddenly I am overcome, drowning as forgotten images surge across my vision — fingers interlacing, palms meeting; bare feet in the dew damp earth strolling to meet the blushing sun.

When I resurface, your smile has faded, and I lament that there is nothing I can do to bring it back.

You pause — your fingertips, feather light, as they linger on the ornate brass picture frame.

Those I left behind were kind enough to leave me with a solitary memory, I whisper in explanation.

I drift behind you, my steady presence at your back all the company I can offer, and I catch the fading scent of your perfume as reach forward with long grey fingers to curl around the other edge of the frame.

Aren't we a sight, I sigh.

I pretend I can feel your weight against my chest, imagine gently swaying you, and for a moment we are a macabre lovesick couple as together we hold the only remaining proof of my time on this earth.

I don’t look at it, for I am watching you, your eyes shimmering as they hold the image of mine.

You have a sadness about you, I coo, wishing I could tuck a stray lock back into place behind your ear, It seeps deep within your soul.

My chin drops to your shoulder.

I can sense it on your quiet breath.

My lips are drawn to the flush at your neck.

I hear it on your every heartbeat.

And I curse Kronos, the Fates, and all the years that divide us that I cannot hold you.

A tear falls between us, our faces intimately close but eternally separated. Its splash upon the frame is jarring amidst our easy silence, and finally I tear my eyes away from your loveliness in curiosity of what ails you.

I still, rooted to the spot.

For you stare back at me.

Across the centuries, from the fading sepia page of my history.

From the photograph of you and me.

And realization hits me, as harsh and welcome as the fiery dawn hits these cold cliff walls.

How I have missed you, my everything.

Your tears seem to surprise you as much as they did me, confusion falling delicately upon your features as you wipe them from your beautifully flushed cheeks. You while you press on with graceful poise, and my eyes drink in your determination alighting your every movement as you take the last few strides to the final depths of my crypt.

But as you gaze upon my bones, you dissolve and begin to weep.

Please, my love, don’t despair. Time is cruel and we were destined to forget.

I fail to pry your soft bony hands away from your crying eyes, cursed to merely watch as you fall apart before me.

As I have watched you fall before, your dark locks disheveled by the unforgiving winds that whip at my stone walls, at these cliffs which claimed your life and house my tethered soul.

You are so tragically beautiful it pains me.

My love, do not be troubled, I breathe, enveloping you in my ghostly arms, Your sorrow is a gift. Your trembling grimace — your bloodshot eyes spilling with donations of love — are proof of a life enrichened with depth.

You begin to chill, but I am loathe to release you after all these long decades without you, so press closer still. I can hear the ocean’s churning, her tumbling tempestuous crashing of waves, echoing in your ears.

I chose to follow you in death, chose destruction over my sorrow.

Desperation — regret — tears at my throat, threatening to overtake me, so I continue.

And now, my everything, you must leave me.

Or else, I will you to stay.

Because as much as I long to relieve you from your despair, I cannot deny how your presence tempers mine.

I think of how I would destroy everyone and everything should you ask it of me, of how I itch to turn this entire world to rot so that the centuries would cease to turn and we might be together once more.

Then — just as our separation becomes too much to bear, just as I think I might rob you of the chance to move on — your feet begin to remedy the distance that must always be between us, and grief and joy flood me in equal measure.

You spare my bones one last glance, those eyes — those very same eyes — piercing my soul, and I see you as I saw you last.

Your billowing dress. Your hair whipped and matted by the gales. My hand, outstretched to you, grasping nothing but cold sea air. Your wheeling arms as your feet no longer find purchase on the crumbling ground.

You leave the candle burning for me as you pass beneath my once-gilded archways, and I watch the wax drip like the tortuous passing of time, the wick growing shorter and the flame dimmer, as you make your careful way down the winding path.

It dies at last, gentle smoke trailing as delicate as a veil, and I wish upon it as it is swept away to sea.

Be well, my love. Until next century.

Find this and my other works on ao3 :]

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x oc #mha fic #mha au #soulmates #song fic #soft shigaraki #shigaraki tomura is a ghost #reads like a love letter #pining #lost love #quirkless au #mausoleum

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late-to-the-fandom · 2 years

Text

The stress of running a rebellion is affecting Renathal's sex life. The Maw Walker is as helpful as ever. Rated E for explicit (yep, there's smut here). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

Takes place many months prior to Taking the Tremaculum, before the imprisonment of Denathrius

Renathal closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and tried to concentrate on the beautiful Nightborne beneath him.

The Maw Walker lay spread out for him, naked and pliant, like the most delectable feast; her long hair a dark halo fanning across the sheets of his Sinfall bed. The gift of her exquisite body was something he knew she did not give to just anyone and he certainly never took it for granted, but even more rare and precious was the gift of her time. She was probably the busiest, most sought after being in the Shadowlands. There were a hundred places she could be and things she could be doing, many of them of great importance, Renathal knew, and she had chosen to snub them all and come here to do ... well ... him.

And he was not doing very well.

Renathal's fingers dug into the Maw Walker's hips, as he ground against her again, frustration leaking into his movements in spite of himself. What was wrong with him tonight?

He had been looking forward to this moment all week - an exceptionally trying week and one he thought would never end. Denathrius' loyalists had kept up a constant siege against the Bridge of Banishment, the Stone Fiends' attacks had disrupted his communication network, and the marauders lurking in the Ember Ward had attacked the Sanctuary of the Mad, damaging the lift and sparking a litany of inconveniences and complaints from everyone in Sinfall. It seemed his Sire meant to inflict on his rebellion a death of a thousand cuts; Renathal could sense their momentum bleeding out little by little with every new minor setback.

Through it all, Renathal had pictured this evening, when the Maw Walker had promised to be here no matter what. His greatest fear through the week had been that something more urgent would steal her away, but she had kept her word, had arrived in his quarters only a few minutes late, robes freshly cleaned and eyes sparkling with anticipation like some divine vision. And to repay her for her effort he himself could not seem to rise to the occasion.

What was holding him back? Renathal wondered furiously. He wanted it, wanted her - there was a tension curled so tightly in him he thought he might burst from it. But no matter his rhythm or his pacing, no matter what he grabbed, or kissed, or sucked, he could not release it. It was maddening.

The Maw Walker shifted sharply underneath him, and Renathal became aware the flesh trapped in his tightly clenched fingers had turned white. He relaxed his grip on her hips, turning his attention on her breasts instead. The warm flesh that bunched deliciously between his fingers, not to mention the way her body arched into him automatically whenever he squeezed, were pleasures Renathal had not grown tired of. He lowered his mouth to one of her dark nipples, rolling it in between his sharp teeth, waiting for her high-pitched cry.

Because there was her to think of as well. Renathal knew he was not imagining the Maw Walker's responses were more subdued than usual. Little hums of pleasure instead of the breathless gasps and impossible-to-stifle cries to which he had become so addicted. She was a surprisingly vocal lover considering how implacable she was in all other situations. But tonight.... as Renathal let his fangs graze that perfect hardened bud, he could tell her noise was less robust than it was the last time he had done this, her body still languid against the bed instead of taut and responsive to his every touch.

Which was more than merely embarrassing; it was worrisome. If this - whatever it was between them - stopped being enjoyable for her...

Renathal grimaced as he released her nipple and leaned up to bathe his strangely quiet lover's neck and jaw in sharp, desperate kisses. And what was this between them, anyway? That was another of the many dilemmas troubling Renathal at present. He had not found the right occasion to broach that conversation yet. And if he did not step up his performance it was likely he never would. The ever-busy Maw Walker would find an excuse to bow out of their stolen moments together. Courteously, of course, but no less painfully for him. And the thought of losing this... whatever it was... made him feel almost as mad as he had in the Maw.

Which meant he had to do it right. Renathal's lips finally reached hers and he clung to them like a font of anima, but even her tongue tracing his fangs could not reignite what was fading in his body. His mind raced frantically, searching for something new, something he had not tried. He had planned this whole evening down to the last atmospherically-placed red candle, and everything had gone as smooth as glass. Why wasn't it enough?

The thrust of her hips meeting his petered out, and Renathal knew he had failed. Again. The way he had failed against Denathrius, failed to protect his fellow Venthyr, failed his entire charge to the Shadowlands as Harvester of Dominion to keep those in his realm from betraying their purpose. Was there nothing he could do correctly?

The Maw Walker's knees locked around his hips, and Renathal knew what was coming. He let her flip him, moved with her as she guided him back to the bed and sat gently astride him. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the look on her face. Disappointment, or pity; or that look she wore before a fight or at court, like she was fitting together pieces of a puzzle; analyzing what was wrong so she could make it right.

Just once, thought Renathal bitterly, he would like to be the one solving the problem, saving the day. Saving her. But she never needed it. She, unlike him, always succeeded at everything she did.

The Maw Walker's hand caressed the side of his face, her thumb stroking the sharp angle of his cheekbone, but she still did not speak. It was not comfortable like their usual silences. It was a silence that held expectation, and Renathal disliked it.

"I fear I am a bit preoccupied tonight," he said, trying for casual chagrin.

"With what?"

The Maw Walker's voice betrayed nothing, and Renathal sighed. He suddenly felt exhausted.

"Oh, merely... everything."

"I see," she said slowly. Her fingers crept up his forehead, nails lightly scratching his scalp as she ran her hands back through his hair. "Were you planning on using this time to solve every one of Revendreth's problems and I interrupted?"

Renathal gave a short huff of mirthless laughter and finally opened his eyes to look at Revendreth's champion.

Sure enough, the Maw Walker's face was back to smoothly impassive, a small smile at her own joke the only expression. Nothing to indicate what she had been doing only minutes ago, except a small patch of color left in her cheeks.

"How do you do it?" murmured Renathal, her hand combing through his long hair lulling him into a trance.

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Do what?"

"One minute, you are ... the Maw Walker! Saviour of the Shadowlands. Un-killable, indomitable. And the next ... you are in here with me..." Renathal felt anima rush to his groin again, and his voice came out lower. "So yielding ... so submissive. Begging me to take you without a trace of pride."

The little shudder that ran through the Maw Walker at his words made her squirm against him, and Renathal heartened. He still seemed to have some effect on her; that was a good sign. If he could just concentrate, focus on being here with her and not on the hundred and one problems he somehow had to solve. Renathal attempted to flip his lover over, ready to try again, but she held his hips in place with her knees. He let himself fall back against the bed, lifting an eyebrow at her. Not that he could not have forced her over easily if he tried; not that she would have minded, he was certain. But the Maw Walker had never stopped him doing anything before, and Renathal was apprehensive about what that meant.

"Do you trust me?" she asked. Her hand had left its hypnotic stroking of his hair and now traced his jutting collarbone with a gentle nail.

Renathal gazed up at her, infusing the word with all the sincerity it deserved. "Entirely."

She smiled at that; a true smile, warm and glowing. He thought it was what moonlight must look like.

"Then close your eyes."

It was a soft command, left open for him to decline. But Renathal did as she bid him.

The Maw Walker leaned over him; he could feel her hair tickling the side of his face. Her lips met his just for a moment before ghosting over his jaw, then down his throat, pausing to nip at his cold skin along the way. Each tiny attempt at a bite she graced with a precious kiss or a small, sweet lap of her tongue. It was nothing dramatic, nothing she had not done before. But Renathal thought it felt somehow ... different, more sensational, this time. Maybe because he could not see, only feel. Or maybe because the Maw Walker was gentler than usual, almost tantalisingly so.

She reached his chest, her tongue and teeth working in tandem, leaving little ghosts of kisses beside her blunt-toothed mortal bites. Eyes still closed as she had commanded, Renathal reached out his hands for her, caressing the soft planes of her shoulders, enjoying the warm, smooth skin.

Until her hands took his, firmly, and tugged them away. Renathal's eyes shot open.

The Maw Walker made a noise of disapproval and shook her head. She dragged his hands up over his head the way he had pinned hers often before. Only her hands were so small it took only one of his to hold both her wrists. He wondered in amusement how she planned to keep him there, then winced at an unexpected prickle of freezing cold.

It was not painful, only surprising. As an Arcanist, the Maw Walker rarely used frost magic, though Renathal knew she was capable; and she had certainly never used magic on him when they were together like this. But, as he tried to separate his hands from each other and met resistance, there could be no doubt: the Maw Walker had frozen his hands together to the top of the bed.

She met his shocked gaze, hers full of laughter and lust, and whispered against his open mouth, “No hands. Stay still."

Her little orders chafed against Renathal's need for control, and he could not decide if the friction was unpleasant. He flexed his fingers experimentally, but they were held fast enough to prevent his fists closing. Trust in his Maw Walker notwithstanding, Renathal had a few choice words he would like to say to her about this, but she had re-positioned herself already, crawling back down his chest, and tracing the muscles of his abdomen with her lips and tongue. He did not know if his shiver was from her attentions or her ice.

The Maw Walker took her time tasting every inch of his cold skin before sliding in between his legs. This, too, she had done this before - a memory Renathal particularly enjoyed revisiting - and he waited breathlessly for that wet heat to devour him. But the Maw Walker turned her head, continuing her stream of slow, heavy kisses down his thigh instead.

Never had Renathal thought he would dislike a kiss from his Maw Walker, but her mouth was decidedly not where he wanted it. He thrust his hips in a gentle reminder of what she was neglecting, but she acted as though she did not notice - or did not care. He waited in growing impatience as she finished her slow ministrations - first on one side, then the other - and Renathal was sure she was letting her hair brush against his cock on purpose just to torture him. He had never known the Maw Walker to have such a cruel streak. Perhaps she had spent too much time in Revendreth, he thought bemusedly.

When her lips finally skimmed the tip of his dripping cock, a deep groan escaped Renathal without his consent. The Maw Walker lifted her head and met his eyes. She let the little drops of red anima linger wetly on her mouth before licking her lips, and Renathal decided he was ready for the torture to end. Every fiber of his being was quivering with anticipation; waiting for her to descend, to swallow him into that perfect mouth. But the Maw Walker did not move. She hesitated above him, the tip of his cock just under her chin, and his hips twitched, instinctively trying to get closer.

Renathal could not fathom what the Maw Walker's plan was. If she was waiting for him to beg her, she had misunderstood him greatly.

“Maw Walker," he said hoarsely, the syllables all rough edges. "Attend your prince."

There was a hint of threat in the half-sarcastic words. It made the Maw Walker smile; a wicked thing that crept slowly up the sides of her face. She dipped her head as if to comply, but merely trailed more faux-innocent kisses down the side of his cock. Renathal's teeth ground together at the feeling - so good and so inadequate - until, at last, her lips parted and she let her tongue gently lave at his shaft.

The Maw Walker worked her mouth down until she ran out of length and just kept going, her lips and tongue doing all the work while her hands pressed gently against his thighs to hold him still. Her fingers traced delicate patterns on his jutting hip bones as she continued to lap at him languidly. Another time, Renathal might have had more patience for her teasing, but he was full to bursting with frustration, and her refusal to do what he wanted or be where he needed her so furiously was wearing on him.

He called her name this time, his voice a warning growl. The Maw Walker merely hummed against him, then pulled away entirely.

Tossing her hair behind her, she slid backwards to the edge of the bed, out of Renathal's reach. Ignoring his low notes of protest, she sat back on her heels, long legs spread, giving Renathal a glorious view of every dusky purple inch of her. The distraction momentarily took his superfluous breath away. Her hands abandoned his body in favor of her own, her fingers spreading and rubbing gently, exactly where he so desperately wanted to be. And desperation boiled Renathal's anima.

Was that her plan? To tease him until he wept? To deny him until he lost his mind entirely? This was an exercise in trust, Renathal supposed, and he did trust the Maw Walker, implicitly; but, at the moment, he was not sure he agreed with her.

Renathal clenched his hands against the ice of her spell and felt something crack. Water was dripping down his wrists, the magic obviously weakening without her concentration. He could wiggle the tips of his fingers, but still not quite free his hand.

"It would be best… not to try my patience, Maw Walker."

Any Venthyr would have cowered under the undisguised menace in the Dark Prince's voice. But the Maw Walker ignored him. She was no longer even looking at him. Her eyes closed, she leaned back and canted her hips toward her own fingers. Renathal knew she could not possibly get them as deep as she preferred, but she still sighed as if in pleasure. Her other hand now circled her own nipple exactly where Renathal's mouth had been earlier, and he growled again, the frustration beginning to eat him alive.

The Maw Walker had never denied him anything. He trusted her with his very existence. And now, when Renathal needed her most, she would simply tease and tease and give him nothing. He no longer knew if the fire in his body was desire or rage, no longer knew what he would do to her once he got his hands on her.

Renathal said her name again, and every decibel of his voice held the echo of dominion.

"Come to me.”

Renathal might not have a medallion any longer, but he still possessed eons of power, and even the Maw Walker could not ignore his direct command entirely. She opened her blue-white eyes, dark with desire and sparkling with mischief.

"Come and take me, Prince of Revendreth."

Whether her husky whisper contained the power to release her spell or to simply snap the last of his self-control, Renathal could not tell. Because as soon as he flexed his hands a final time and felt the ice shatter, he stopped thinking of anything at all except launching himself onto his Maw Walker.

His hands were wet and freezing, but Renathal had no thought to spare for how that might feel to her skin. He dragged her to him, nails scraping against whatever parts of the Maw Walker they found first, but the feel of soft, warm flesh was not enough to bring any sort of balm to his body's furiously-coursing fire. It was an entity of its own now, beyond his ability to stifle, and it demanded everything.

Renathal yanked her legs out from under her and the Maw Walker fell backwards, her head hitting the edge of the bed with an audible thump, her dark waterfall of hair spilling over the side. Some far distant part of Renathal worried about that, but worry of any kind had no hold over him anymore. He had thought he knew need for the Maw Walker, but this was a new thing entirely. He was a creature driven by absolute necessity without thought for anything but its satisfaction.

Gripping her thighs in a vice, Renathal spread her legs and, at last, drove himself inside her, reveling in the way the Maw Walker moaned his name: a husky, broken surrender. He leaned over her to watch her face as he thrust - in and out, in and out - a slow rhythm intended to punish her teasing, but he could not maintain it for long. That unbearable heat in his core was Renathal's only compass. It guided him deeper into the Maw Walker, setting a pace to match the crescendo of her cries; now keening wails, as he bent her legs over her shoulders, leaning in to tug at her lips with his fangs.

It was barely a kiss, more a capture, and through it Renathal's amber eyes burned into hers, wide and yearning. Every single part of the Maw Walker was his, and she would know it.

"You think to undo me?" Renathal barely recognised the heavy, throaty rumble as his own voice. "Mine is dominion. And you are my domain."

The Maw Walker's voice in return was all breathy ecstasy, the only time Renathal ever heard it pitched so high. And he was the cause. That sent more anima to his groin, and he tilted her hips further to reach still deeper, her accompanying cries full of words he could barely interpret.

"Yes yes yes my prince take it it's all yours.”

Words failed Renathal. Coherent thought abandoned him. He could only pound the Maw Walker into - and nearly off of - the bed. Take. He would take. He would take everything she had to give him, and then more. He would use every inch of her, and she would worship him for it. Renathal could feel her clench around him, her body begging him for his essence, and he, her Prince, would oblige.

His climax hit him all in a rush. Its momentum ripped a guttural sound from Renathal he could not control, could barely hear over the thudding of anima in his ears. This was right. This was perfect. This was bliss. He continued to thrust as he savoured the feeling of spilling into his Maw Walker, the instinct to give her everything, all of him, pounding like a heartbeat through his body.

It was a few minutes before Renathal was aware of himself again. He suddenly realised his forehead was crushed against the Maw Walker's, the little whimpering notes of her comedown blowing strands of hair across his face. He groaned, and took stock of his body. His legs shook slightly from the awkward position. His fingers ached for some reason, but he had to look at them to realise he was gripping the Maw Walker's calves so tightly her mortal bones might break. Retracting his nails from her flesh, he watched drops of red blood fall where he had gouged an unwitting tattoo. The sight of the viscous liquid shocked Renathal back into conscious, rational thought.

He sat up, letting the Maw Walker's legs fall to the bed, inspecting her where she lay. Her arms dangled off the bed behind her, her hair a sweaty, tangled mess; her chest rose and fell rapidly and Renathal's own anima leaked from between her splayed legs. He knew he ought to feel some shame at reducing the Maw Walker to this. But that primal part of him she had freed reared its head in satisfaction at the sight of her so utterly used. By him.

The Maw Walker's eyelids fluttered open, head turning slowly to search for him. She met Renathal's apprehensive gaze. Apparently not ready for words, she could only hum contentedly. But for once, she seemed unable to stop emotion invading her face, and she glowed with adoration at him.

Renathal relaxed. The injuries on her legs notwithstanding, the Maw Walker did not seem in any particular discomfort. Quite the contrary. She smiled gingerly and stretched out a hand for him, not quite able to reach his body without moving which she showed no inclination to do. Renathal contemplated relocating them both to a better position on the bed, agreed it would be too much effort, and let himself collapse beside her.

The Maw Walker stroked a hand lazily along Renathal's face, then into his hair, the better to tug him to her lips without lifting her head. Her kiss was a messy, clumsy thing that spilled across his mouth and into his goatee.

"Feel better?" asked the Maw Walker when she finally broke for air.

Renathal imagined his smile must be a mirror of her own as he ran his fingers through her tangled dark hair, pushing it out of her bliss-tinged eyes.

"As always, my dear, you have the solution to every dilemma."

She laughed at that, and leaned her body into his. The way her hips arched longingly against Renathal's brought an uncomfortable thought to his mind.

"Did I - or rather, did you-"

"Yes," she interrupted firmly. "And yes. And yes."

It was Renathal's turn to chuckle softly. He let his arm trail down her back to grip the soft swell of her rear, molding the flesh between his fingers in absent pleasure. The Maw Walker shifted, giving him a better angle, and accidentally smearing the blood on her leg against the sheets. Renathal closed his eyes, repressing a wince, regret for his actions creeping closer now his need had abated.

"I am sorry. It was not my intention to hurt you. I fear I got a bit ... carried away."

"Well, I did provoke you rather terribly."

"That is no excuse."

"Renathal," and the gentle way the Maw Walker said his name made him open his eyes. “I ... appreciate your concern for me. But ... you cannot hurt me.” She put a finger to Renathal's lips to stop his protest. “You can’t. I don’t think there’s anything you could do to me that I would not want. And if there was, I wouldn't allow it. You must stop thinking I can’t handle all of you.”

The Maw Walker wet her lips, speaking slowly as if her words weighed down her tongue. "You are an ... extraordinary leader, Renathal. Your control over yourself - over everything - is … astounding to me. And you will need every ounce of that to succeed in this rebellion, but ..." She propped herself up on her arm to lean over him, looking at every part of Renathal's face but his eyes. “When it’s just us ... you don’t have to hold yourself in check. I can take you entirely as you are.”

She placed a soft kiss on his forehead and leaned back, examining her handiwork: Renathal's slightly dazed face and unfocused eyes as her exquisite words washed over him. Apparently satisfied, the Maw Walker let her head fall back against the bed.

“That’s the answer to your question, by the way.”

Renathal had to wrack his overwhelmed brain to remember his earlier bemused query.

“Out there, I am the Maw Walker," she continued, pronouncing the moniker with a wry twist of her lips. "I am ... what everybody needs me to be. Powerful, or decisive, or indomitable, as you say. But here with you..." The Maw Walker sighed deeply, smiling up at the ceiling. "I can be ... the other part of me. That doesn't want to make all the decisions or solve everyone's problems. That just wants to ... receive."

She let her voice trail off, her confession clearly exhausting her. Renathal, on the other hand, could feel himself rising again. Anima pumped through him in a hot and powerful thrum. Had the Maw Walker ever been so willingly open and vulnerable with him? He could not recall it if she had. And to hear her secrets, to know this was a part of her only he could have...

Renathal reached for the Maw Walker's face, rubbing the long nail of his thumb across her lips. Obediently, they parted, and he let her lave his finger briefly, before leaning in and replacing it with his mouth. This kiss was one of dominion, deep and slow and possessive, a survey of an estate now his.

"I trust you with myself," the Maw Walker murmured against his lips, when Renathal paused to allow her a breath. "And I don't trust very many. Trust me. With you. With this."

She wound her fingers into the strands of his long, pale hair and let her eyes travel the length of his body languidly.

"With this?" Renathal flattened himself against her, grinding his naked cock against her thigh, and she moaned, "Yes..."

"Can you take more?"

His words were a low purr against her ear, and it worked on the Maw Walker like magic. With a sharp gasp, she arched against him, her body seeking his on instinct.

"Yes more please!”

Her whimpered words were quick and breathless; her hands, soft and powerful, clutched at his back, trying to force him more fully against her. But Renathal evaded the Maw Walker's scrabbling nails. He sat up, noticing as he did so how much lighter he felt than when he had first been astride her. He was not sure exactly how much time had passed since the Maw Walker arrived in his rooms; it could not have been more than an hour, but it felt like a different age. Sitting up straighter, cracking his neck, a satisfied smile curled past Renathal's fangs. This was the most like himself - like a Harvester; like the Prince - he had felt since before the Maw.

Beneath him, his Maw Walker squirmed in a restless attempt to gain more friction, and Renathal's laugh was soft and wicked.

"So greedy, Maw Walker."

“Mmm... I confess," was her coy reply.

And if she could still joke, thought Renathal smugly, then she was not nearly desperate enough.

"I am willing to forgive you for your, admittedly, exquisite torture,” he said, abruptly adopting a formal tone of address that made the Maw Walker blink in surprise. “But binding me without my consent…” Renathal clicked his tongue. "Too far. I believe some small... atonement is in order."

He trailed a long claw-like nail from the hollow of her throat to the dusky skin between her heaving breasts, leaving the faintest of visible scratches and making the Maw Walker gasp again. Renathal's smirk was comfortable on his face as he bent down to murmur against her lips:

"Let us begin.”

Read Part 3: An Ember Court to Remember | Visit the Masterpost

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