OH FUCK YEAH!!!! That is so sick omg. I think Iâve seen this video before but I was amazed then and Iâm loving it even more now thinking about a Demon Ringmaster.
That would be so sexy. Bc like why is that whole ringmaster outfit so hot?! Iâve been to the circus a few times and like damn thereâs just something about them.
I appreciate you for coming to me with this fantastic information. I may just have to write something for it bc itâs too freaking goooood!!!
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An elf maiden dances on feet of living wood sung into shape, planted in soil and watered when she takes them off. Every year she plants the old ones and sings a new pair. (Incidentally, the pair of peach saplings from three years ago have produced an excellent crop- She makes preserves from them, and despite the inevitable jokes about âtoe-jamâ, they are appreciated.)
A dwarf king has a metal fist, all tiny gears and fine wires, kept wound by a mischievous mine-spirit bound to the spring as punishment- the more it struggles, the tighter the spring.Â
An orc chieftaness is regularly asked for the story of how she earned the name Wyrmthrottler- she boasts of how she strangled the dragon that ate her arm, and had her shaman make a new arm from its bones, with its fangs as the fingers.
A necromancer simply re-attached his old leg bones- Sacrificing a few mice each day keeps it going.
A pirate captain lost her arm to a shark attack: a passing selkie saved her, and gave her tattoos of kraken blood. Now she has an arm made of salt-water, that grows and wanes with the tides, and swings a cutlass as well as the original. (She doesnât sail as far these days though: she doesnât want her wife to worry.)
A wandering swordsman was broken at the waist- his ancestral armour allows him to walk again, as long as he keeps it polished, and burns incense to the ancestors regularly.
A high priestess has an eye made from a crystal ball- to predict the future, all she has to do is wink.
A bard was struck deaf by illness- he struck a deal with the god of music. Now he wears hearing-trumpets made from his old pipes, and dedicates his every song to the god of music- the better he plays, the better his hearing. (It is said his music could make statues weep, and he can hear a mouse fart at 60 paces.)
A princess has the arm of a golem, enchanted clay with mystic words carved in- her music tutor despairs of how her harp playing has become even worse, but her calligraphy tutor is ecstatic over her handwriting.
A goblin pickpocket has an arm made of whatever he steals- no-one feels his fingers, and even if they did, they couldnât find their possessions amongst all the rest. Â
A witch has eyes made from shadow and starlight, given to her in a game with a demon. Nobody dares to ask what she wagered- they arenât even sure she won.
A warg was born deaf and blind- his people learned of his power when the nearest birds started staring at them, and dogs pricked up their ears as he walked past.
AN: Honestly, nobody is more surprised than I that I'm finally posting this chapter. Not only did I have the shittiest year, hence the sudden hiatus, but I rewrote this chapter 6 times. Hopefully, this chapter will live up to your expectations. If anyone is still here. đ
Warning(s): Brief mentions of death
  There are many tomes in the temple library that depict the realms beyond the living world. And you could vaguely remember your teachers explaining that your ability to speak with Eia would guarantee you a fortunate afterlife. You'd be greeted by a feast hosted by the gods, and your ancestors would be in attendance. And for all eternity, your soul would reside in Eiaâs palace.Â
  But you couldnât see, hear, or feel anything around you. Swallowed within a void, with only your thoughts to entertain yourself. Was your soul simply trapped between realms, waiting for Hedis's aid? Before your thoughts begin to spiral, a voice mercifully cuts through the silence, âyou thought I would let you die? Do you think so poorly of me?â Instantly, the darkness disappears, and you land on a hard surface. The void has been replaced by candlelight and marble floors. A tall figure in a velvet cloak deeper than the night sky stands with their back towards you. âI will admit, it was getting close.âÂ
  âI am relieved you havenât forsaken me,â you gradually stand up, keeping your eyes on the figure. âIt's been too long, Eia.â
  âWatch your tone, child,â she warns. âIf you haven't noticed, many things are occupying my time.âÂ
  âI find it hard to believe that you didnât have time to spare to give me a sign,â you take a few steps towards her.Â
  âYouâre still alive, isnât that enough of a sign?â Part of you wanted to argue with her, but you decided against it. Eia approaches you, and although she is merely a cloaked figure, you can tell she is looking you up and down. âI see you forgone the pin of my sigil,â she chuckles, âbut yet you believe enough to spill your own blood?âÂ
  âMy faith in you is stronger than a brass pin.âÂ
  âBut something about it bothers you, my dear,â Eia questions.Â
  âThe heraldry of the royal family is imprinted on the back,â a sigh escapes you. âAs I learned more about why the rebellion was formed, and as the horde began to feel like home, it felt wrong to wear it.â
  âWell, that makes me feel better about what Iâm about to ask of you. When you awake, you will need to destroy it, and the one Yanna wears. All the pins are embedded with tracking magic.âÂ
  âBut wouldnât they already know where we are?âÂ
  âThe tool used to track them, which the lieutenant had, glows brighter as it gets closer. Thankfully, it is not precise. And the king would need to send another one to find the two of you again.âÂ
  You sigh in relief, âthatâs good. I will be sure to destroy them⌠Although it might prove difficult to convince Yanna to give up her pin. Sheâs still so young, and she clings to the words of the king's council.âÂ
  âIf she resists, tell her that once she gives up the pin, Karlâs coughing sickness will never return.âÂ
  âI will,â you promise. You glance around the ornate marble hall that youâre standing in, a million questions rushing through your mind. It takes you a second, but you decide to ask the most important one, âEia, what is happening?âÂ
  She sighs heavily, âthe royal family needs to end.â Neither of you spoke for a minute, letting the words sink in. âGenerations ago, your people pledged their loyalty and subservience to us in exchange for freedom from their captors. We helped them create treaties with the Dwarven Council for their excess land. We chose who would become the royal family because we had faith that they would uphold those values. But their bloodline has since been tainted by greed and ignorance.â
  âAnd by end, you mean killing them?â
   âAll of them,â she confirmed. She lets you sit with that information before continuing. âWeâve tried many times to correct their behavior, but the royal family continues to ignore us. And this is more than our egos being hurt; the kingdom is suffering. Treaties with the Dwarves keep being broken, more and more magic is outlawed, theyâre dead-set on isolating themselves from the rest of the world, and people are starving.âÂ
âThen this is your last resort?âÂ
  "No, that would be releasing demons onto the mortal plain," a quiet chuckle comes from the cloak. "This is our second-to-last plan. And considering how well the rebels and the horde get along, I'm fairly confident in its effectiveness." You could only nod in agreement as your brain processed everything Eia revealed.Â
"If I had heard this from anyone else, I would laugh in their face," you glance at your hands, unable to keep from fidgeting."What will happen to me if this grand plan fails?"Â
  "It won't."Â
  "But if it does?"Â
  A spectral blue hand reaches from the cloak and lands on your shoulder, âas long as your faith in me doesnât waver, you will be fine.â You glimpse at where her face would be, but you couldnât make out anything beneath the cloak's shadow. âThere is something else you will need to do for me when you awaken."Â
  "I presume I know too much to say no?"Â
  "Exactly," she teases.Â
  "What do I need to do?"
"This plan relies on your budding relationship with the Otoschlibt." She holds up her other hand to keep you from interrupting, "it was Frua's idea, don't blame me. But she is right, love is a powerful motivator."Â
  "I can't force him to love me.âÂ
  Eia laughs, âhe already does, my dear. He hasnât professed it because you are keeping him at arm's length. How many people need to point it out to you for you to believe it?âÂ
âToo many, apparently,â you mumble while wringing your hands. âIt still feels wrong. All my life, the elders have warned me that romance and lust will stray me from my divine path. Wonât our connection be severed if I lose my maidenhood?âÂ
  âYour elders have filled your head with lies. They told you that to control you.â Her hand moves from your shoulder to gently cup your jaw. âTheir rules are worthless to you now, so forget them.âÂ
  âYou wonât be mad if I choose to live a more Orcish life?âÂ
  âAs long as it is me you are praying to, I do not care. Do what feels right, what makes you happy, and rediscover yourself. Promise me?âÂ
 âYes, Eia, I promise.âÂ
  âGood. Now wake up.â You didnât even have a chance to process her command before everything around you vanished. The shock makes you bolt upright from your slumber. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the light in the room, and you looked around. Somehow, you were already back in your quarters, buried beneath the furs on the bedroll. The flickering of the fire caught your attention, but the sight before it was truly a surprise.Â
  Kurakh knelt beside the fire, sitting on the heels of his feet. His eyes were closed, and his hands rested on his lap with palms facing upwards. You couldn't help but be amazed at the sight of his supplication. Not only because the orc's form of prayer was so different from your own, but also because you could hardly imagine Kurakh begging for anything. "Kurakh?"Â
  His eyes opened as he turned to look at you. Relief washed over his face as moves toward you. "Otoshkar heard my prayers," he says, kneeling beside the bedroll. His hand quickly envelopes yours, turning your arm to access your wrist. The cut you made was already long gone; only the pale mark of the sigiled iron was left as you expected. "A little warning would have been appreciated."Â
 "There was not enough time," you shrug and glance at your wrist. "I've done it many times before."Â
  Kurakh sighs but doesnât bother to argue. âYanna took care of the rest of the injured while you were asleep. The Lieutenant hasnât woken up yet, but Yanna thinks he should be fine.âÂ
  âPoison wreaks havoc on the body; heâll be sleeping for a while.âÂ
  âGood, the less I have to deal with him, the better.âÂ
  âYou'll have to deal with him eventually,â you sigh and pull your knees to your chest. âHow is Yanna?âÂ
  âVery quiet and timid. But, she seemed to be happy with her placement with Galta, Maaga, and Schelura.âÂ
  âGood,â you unceremoniously kick the blanket and furs off with your feet. The motion was suspiciously easier than it has been the last couple of weeks. You lift the skirt of your habit, not caring that Kurakh could see. You gently pressed on the warg bite, and for once, there was no pain at all.Â
  âWhat is it,â Kurakh asks, concernedly. You untie the garter, roll down the stocking, and rip away the bandage. There was absolutely no sign of the warg bite. Kurakh looks at the leg, shocked, âis that normal?â
  âI don't know,â you touch the skin almost in disbelief. âI've never been injured when doing that kind of ritual before,â you shrug before pulling up your stocking. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that Kurakh has graciously focused his gaze elsewhere. Once your garter was secured, you swung your legs to the edge of the bedroll.Â
âWhat do you think you're doing,â Kurakh raises a quizzical brow.Â
  âI need to see Yanna.âÂ
  âIt can wait; you need to rest.âÂ
  âKurakh, Iâm fine.â Your stockinged feet hit the floor, the stone immediately sucking away the warmth. âWhere are my boots?â
  Kurakh sighs and stands to retrieve your boots. âI suppose nothing I say will stop you?âÂ
   A smirk tugs at your lips, âyou're learning." You watch as he sets your boots on the ground. Although his face was neutral, you could see the concern in his eyes. âWould it make you feel better if you walked me there?âÂ
  Kurakh smiles, âit would ease some of my worries.â Â
 âThen itâs settled,â you finish tying your boots and raise your hand. Kurakh takes the hint and pulls you onto your feet. Once youâre standing, his other hand lingers on your waist to steady you. You chose to ignore the heat crawling up your neck, âhow long was I asleep?âÂ
  âAll day, the sun will set soon.âÂ
  âHeavens, it certainly didn't feel like that long,â you sigh, hesitantly stepping to the side. Kurakh moves to let you pass, and you could feel his good eye watching you like a hawk. Embarrassment quickly washes over you as you take the first few steps forward. Your feet feel as if stones were tied to them. Kurakh quickly moves beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. âIt seems my legs are still sleeping.âÂ
  âShall I carry you,â he asks with a smirk.Â
  âYou would like that too much. I will be fine in just a moment.â Kurakh chuckles as he follows behind you. You carefully walk to your chest of belongings, grabbing the sigil pin from atop the chest. âI need to get Yannaâs, and we need to destroy them. They have tracking magic.âÂ
  âYou didnât think to mention that before,â Kurakh frowns.Â
  âI didnât know until today, she just told me.âÂ
  âWho told you?âÂ
  âEia,â you show him the sigil in your hand for emphasis.Â
  âWait, you and Yanna can talk to your gods directly?âÂ
  âOnly I can speak with Eia when she wants to,â you explain as you head towards the door. Thankfully, your legs were cooperative by the time you reached the door. You turn to look at him, âare you coming or not?â Kurakh simply hums in response, confusion written all over his face. âWhat is it?âÂ
  âItâs interesting, realizing how much power you have. âÂ
  âI donât, itâs simply dumb luck.âÂ
  âYou may not see it as power because it is all youâve ever known, but you are powerful. Even the wisest Orcish shaman cannot speak to Otoshkar directly. I have only heard of this ability in myths.âÂ
  âDoes it make you think of me differently?âÂ
  âI have only gained more respect for you,â he smiles as he steps closer. He glances at the pin in your hand and motions to the door, âI suppose we should follow Eiaâs order.â A smile creeps onto your face as you open the door, turning quickly so he doesnât see. Luckily, the hallway didnât feel as cold as it did when you first woke this morning, which made the walk to your friend's quarters more enjoyable.Â
  It didnât take long for the two of you to reach their quarters. Laughter could be heard from inside, prompting Kurakh to roll his eyes. You knock on the door and mentally prepare for whatever may be happening inside. The door swings open, and you are instantly greeted with Schelura shouting, âyouâre alive!â She didnât even give you any time to react before wrapping her arms around you.Â
  Kurakh laughs as she pulls you into the room, lingering in the doorway as she fawns over you. âOh, we were so worried,â she rolls up your sleeve and inspects your arm. âNo scar?âÂ
  âThere never is one when I do a ritual like that,â you shrug as she shows your arm to the room. You look around the room for Yanna and find her sitting on a bedroll in the corner, trying to keep her distance from the others despite the size of the room. She sits up straighter once she notices you looking at her. You step away from Schelura and knelt before her. The younger girl's eyes land on Kurakh standing in the doorway behind you. Upon noticing this, you choose to speak in the Vorren tongue, âtrust me, he wouldnât dare put a hand on you.âÂ
  Yannaâs eyes darted around the room, and she nervously responded in Vorren, âI watched him kill our countrymen.âÂ
  âFor him, it was a matter of survival. Despite what youâve been told, there is not a bloodthirsty bone in that Orc.â You sigh and gently take her hand, âI wish I could explain everything to you, but the gods will be angry with me if I say too much too soon. But, I can promise you everything that has happened, is the gods trying to save us from something worse.â She bites her lip as she stares into your eyes, searching for any hint that you may be lying to her. âI promise you.âÂ
  âI'm scared.âÂ
  âI can imagine,â your eyes land on the sigil pinned to her apron. âBefore I forget, while I recovered, Eia spoke with me in my dream. We need to destroy our pins; they have tracking magic.âÂ
  âI want to be found,â she frowns.Â
  âI understand that you are uncomfortable being surrounded by those you believe are your enemies, but I need you to trust me. And, if you cannot trust me, then I need you to trust Eia.âÂ
  âThis is madness,â she pulls away from you.Â
  âKarl's coughing sickness will never return.â Her eyes widen before looking at her pin, then to the sky as if to ask for guidance. âEia always keeps her promises.âÂ
 With a deep sigh, she removes the pin and places it into your hand, âI pray I will not regret this.â
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At Toba aquarium in Japan, after closing time, some clever little otter pups help their grandpa tidy up their toys. As a reward, he gives them ice cubes
The first time he calls you bird, it isnât planned.
It slips out low and rough over comms, threaded between gunfire and static.
âGot eyes on the east stairwellâtwo hostiles,â you murmur, voice steady despite the chaos crackling through your headset. Your fingers move fast across the keyboard, pulling feeds from three separate cameras, stitching angles together in your mind like a map only you can see. âThird one lagging behind, limping. Might be wounded.â
A beat.
Then, in your earâgravel and smoke and something almost amused.
âChrist⌠you see everything, donât you, bird?â
A dim operations room buried somewhere deep in the base, humming with electricity and recycled air. The overhead lights are always too soft or too harshânever just rightâso youâve taken to leaving only your desk lamp on. It casts a warm, golden pool over your workspace, leaving the rest of the room in a kind of permanent twilight.
Screens line the wall in front of youâsix in total, each flickering with different feeds: satellite imaging, drone footage, helmet cams. One is always reserved for him.
Ghost.
Though you never call him that out loud. Not really.
To you, heâs just a voice. A presence. A constant thread in your ear during long nights and longer missions.
You know the cadence of his breathing when heâs crouched and waiting. The way his voice drops half a register when somethingâs wrong. The quiet, almost imperceptible hitch when heâs injured but refusing to say it.
You know him in pieces.
âTalk to me, bird,â he says one night, softer than usual.
You glance at his feed. Heâs tucked behind a crumbling wall, dust coating the camera lens. Thereâs bloodâdark and dryingâon his glove.
âTwo tangos left,â you reply. âOne on your six, slow approach. Otherâs posted near the exit.â
A pause.
Then, quieter.
âYou always watchinâ me that close?â
Your fingers still for half a second before you recover.
Late hours. Your voice guiding him through shadows. His voice grounding you when the silence between updates stretches too long.
Sometimes, when the mission lulls, he talks.
Not much. Never too much.
But enough.
âYou ever leave that room, bird?â he asks once.
You glance around at your little corner of the worldâhalf-empty coffee mug, a blanket thrown over the back of your chair, a sticky note peeling off your monitor with scribbled doodles and coordinates.
âSometimes,â you say. âI think.â
âThink?â
âItâs⌠easy to lose track of time in here.â
You imagine the man underneath. The lines of his face, the thoughts in his mind, the way he probably looks at a room before stepping into it.
You build him from fragments.
From silence.
From the way he says your nameârare, but it happens.
From the way he says birdâlike it means something.
The first time something goes wrong, really wrong, your hands shake.
âGhost, you need to move. Now.â Your voice is tighter than youâd like, eyes darting across the feeds. âTheyâve reroutedâthereâs a squad heading straight for you.â
No response.
âGhost.â
Static.
Your chest tightens.
âSimon.â
The name slips out before you can stop it.
And suddenlyâ
âIâm here.â
Relief hits so hard it almost hurts.
âI lost visual,â you say quickly, forcing yourself back into focus. âCameraâs down. Youâre blind to me.â
âNot blind,â he mutters. âStill got you, donât I?â
Your throat goes dry.
You guide him anyway. Off memory, off instinct, off the rhythm youâve built together over countless missions.
Step by step.
Breath by breath.
Until heâs out.
Safe.
They tell you later it was close.
Too close.
You stay in your chair long after the room empties, screens dimming one by one until only your desk lamp remains.
Handlers donât meet operators. Thatâs not how this works. Youâre voices, not faces. Ghosts in different ways.
So when your door opens one eveningâquiet, deliberateâyou donât look up right away.
âRoomâs off-limits,â you say absently, eyes still scanning reports. âYouâll needââ
You stop.
Because the room feels⌠different.
Heavier.
You look up slowly.
And there he is.
Filling the doorway like something pulled straight out of shadow. Broad shoulders, tactical gear, the skull mask stark in the low light. Real in a way that steals the air from your lungs.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
Thenâ
ââŚBird.â
Itâs quieter in person. Rougher. Real.
Your heart stutters.
âYouâre not supposed to be here..â you manage.
âYeah,â he says, stepping inside anyway, boots barely making a sound against the floor. âGot that impression.â
He looks around your spaceâyour screens, your notes, your carefully controlled chaos.
âThis where youâve been watchinâ me from?â
You nod, suddenly very aware of how small the room is. How close he is.
âAll of it,â you say. âEvery mission.â
His gaze shifts back to you.
You canât see his eyes. Not really. But you feel them.
Heavy. Intent.
âThen I figured,â he says slowly, âitâs about time I saw you back.â
Something tightens in your chest.
âYou didnât have toââ
âWanted to.â
The words land heavier than they should.
Silence stretches between you, but itâs not uncomfortable. Not like before. Not like the empty kind.
This is⌠full.
âYouâre quieter in person..â you say softly.
A faint tilt of his head.
âAm I?â
âYeah.â You hesitate. âBut less⌠hidden.â
A low exhale. Not quite a laugh.
âFunny..,â he murmurs. âWas gonna say the same about you.â
Your lips twitch.
âGuess weâre both a little different off comms.â
âMaybe.â He steps closerâslow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you want to.
You donât.
Up close, heâs overwhelming. Not just in size, but in presence. Like standing too close to a storm.
But thereâs something else, too.
Something familiar.
âYou called me Simon.â he says quietly.
Heat rushes to your face.
âIâthought I lost you.â
A pause.
Then, softer..
âDidnât.â
Your breath catches.
For a moment, it feels like youâre still on commsâlike this is just another fragile thread of connection stretched across distance.
Except thereâs no distance now.
Just him.
Just you.
Just the quiet hum of the room thatâs held your voice for so long.
âGuess Iâm not just a voice anymore.â you say.
You had only just arrived in this completely new realm and you were already being brought to the castle to marry the great Monster King. It was the deal that was struck between your two realms so you shouldnât have been surprised but you couldnât help it.
There was no time to see the sights or to, hell, meet your damn husband to-be. It didnât help that no one would talk about him or tell you anything. Sure, he was a monster, but you needed to know⌠was he a beast? Would he be cruel or dismissive? Were there things he didnât like or anything he loved?
The fact that no one was talking couldnât bode well for your future. You werenât sure if they were scared of him or just scared of you, all the servants sending you wary glances. As if youâre the one with claws and razor sharp teeth.
When the doors opened to the church and the fearful cries of your new subjects met your ears you started to understand. As you walked down the aisle their whispers of âa human queen, what a scandalâ met you in various forms and sentiments but you got the gist.
Yet your soon to be husband just stared at you with hearts in his eyes and a smug grin on his lips. Boldly declaring the words âI doâ for all to hear. As if daring his subjects to defy him, to speak out against the union.
When no one did you started to understand just how powerful he was and a fiery heat bloomed between your thighs as you noted how he used that power to stand up for you.
No one expects the marriage to last or even be properly consummated. You hear all their quiet complaints as the following reception wears on. A human and a monster could never work. Heâll end up destroying you, without a doubt. It simply wasnât compatible. According to them anyway.
When the wedding night arrives and your cries, shrieks, and screams echo throughout the palace they surely think it has been done. Already they prepare to mourn you while secretly scheming on how to become the next Queen.
But the only thing your new husband is destroying is not you but your sloppy fat cunt. His fangs donât sink into your flesh to draw blood but to claim you for everyone to see. Using his claws not to wound you but to mark you as they dig into your plush waist so that he can slam you back down his massive cock.
Making you bounce on it while driving his cock deep into your untouched fuck hole, over and over again, dragging his length along your silken walls and rearranging your guts. He hadnât been gentle and told you as such, he wasnât a gentle monster. But he promised a pleasure that has never previously been known to your realm, that pain or suffering would be an unknown sensation with him.
With every hard thrust he made good on his promise. His spongy engorged cockhead swiveling through your insides, catching dollops of your combined previous releases and using it to plow into you even deeper. Drawing harsher cries and mewls of ecstasy out from your already raw and aching throat. Wrecking you in the best possible way.
Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, using anything, trying desperately, to ground yourself in him. Heâs simply too tempted to lure you higher and higher into undiscovered levels of pure bliss with every climax he squeezes out of your poor bruised and battered cunt. Taking you against every surface, piece of furniture, and angle that a human and monster could reach.
The drive of his hips as he pounds into you, the motion a rapid blur, grows sloppier the closer he gets to another release. Only allowing himself to slip as your silken walls flutter and throb against the veins of his shaft, shooting zaps of pleasure straight to his tightening twitching balls.
âDoes my Queen wanna ânother load of their Kingâs cum? Yâknow we must perform our duties,,, give the kingdom an heir,â he purrs, the sound rolling into a growl as his claw spans your around round belly. All filled up with his cum.
Surely this one will take. He can feel it as you both spasm with yet another orgasm. Your screams of his name have him coming even harder, ropes of hot semen spurting out of him with clear aim, the sheer amount of it gushes out his other loads before quickly replacing it with another.
Nothings gonna go to waste on his watch though as he fucks you through it, scooping up everything that spills out in order to fuck it back straight into your weeping slutty womb.
And months later when the Monster King is holding his heir in his arms like theyâre the most precious thing to ever exist, after his darling Queen, none of your subjects can deny his love for the royal family.
All whisperings and schemes about being the new Queen go quiet as they bow down to youâŚ
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âWhy do I have to do this?â You whine as you blindly reach behind you, desperately trying to grab an arrow from the bag on your back for the umpteenth time without luck. Itâs just so farrr behind you.
When you went to the Angel Agency looking for work, the last thing you expected was to be assigned as a Cupid. At most you thought theyâd out you in, I donât know, customer service or something. Not whatever this was.
The Grumpy Cupid training you wasnât having that much of a good time either. If his face said anything to say about it. Out of everything he was doing (ei: scowling and crossing his arms) the one thing he wasnât doing was helping. Heâs just standing there watching you struggle helplessly.
With another whine and a huff of frustration you drop your arms. Theyâre tried. And you look at him with that little pout of yours, silently asking for help. Of course he doesnât take the bait, watching you blankly.
âArenât you gonna help me? Or at least answer me,â you grumble under your breath, attempting to look over your shoulder where the arrows sit so innocently. Yeah, right. Innocent your butt.
âBecause itâs what you asked for. You wanted a job and you got one.â
You only got this stupid job was because you were so painfully bored. No one ever talks about how dull the afterlife is. Paradise is pretty subjective turns out.
âI didnât know it was gonna be like this though! The movies back on earth never said cupids were supposed to be some master archers,â you ramble on, complaining without caring if he was listening.
Gosh, you missed earth. Thatâs the one thing about being a Cupid you suppose. Being able to go back to earth and help people find love. Grumpy Cupid disrupts your thoughts with a sharp sigh. Refusing to meet your eye he stomps over and nearly yanks you in the air with the force of him pulling an arrow from your sling.
âWhen has life ever been like the movies?â
âBut this is the afterlife.â
âDonât be smart,â he snaps, shoving the arrow into your chest, letting his hand linger there for a beat too long before jerking away as if heâs been burned.
Your pout returns with a vengeance as you scramble to hold the arrow before it falls. That touch didnât feel too bad. You wouldnât mind more of itâ no! Donât think that way. Focus.
Forcing your attention back on the arrow you fumble around, trying to notch it in place on the bow. Low grunts escape from you as you literally turn in circles trying to keep it in place. Frustration growing by the minute till youâre sure youâre about to explore.
A delighted gasp instantly cuts you off from your subtle complaining as you finally get the arrow in. Yes, you did it! One step down and a million more to go to become a professional Cupid. In order to properly celebrate your hand lifts in the air to cheer but the release causes your arrow to fly⌠right into your leg.
The silence is deafening as you refuse to meet Grumpy Cupidâs eye. It takes a moment to gather your courage so youâre not surprised that when you do look you see him staring at you with a knowing disappoint. Wanting to snap back at him your mouth opens to shoot out some clever retort when all words die on your tongue, a sweet scent gracing your senses instead.
Soon after the nerves in your body begin to hum with a burning warmth, spreading throughout your body and shooting straight toward your glistening cunt. More and more slick begins to gush out of you, making a mess of your thighs, preparing your body for whatâs to come.
âS-somethingâsâ hah!â wrong,â you stammer out, breath heavy, your pussy clenching around nothing and aching to be filled.
Grumpy Cupidâs eyes start to widen as they flicker over your frame, realizing that indeed something isnât right. Thatâs when it finally clicks and he notices the color of the heart on the arrow. You let out a squeak when he curses under his breath, already making his way toward you.
âI mustâve accidentally picked up an aphrodisiac arrowâ dammit!â
âAccidentally?â You ask, full of innocence. Not noticing the brief flash of uncertainty that moves across his face.
âCâmon, lemme take care of this for you. Consider it part of your training as a Cupid,â he all but purrs, the rasp in his deep voice causing the pressure at the bottom of your belly to tighten already.
Can someone make you cum just from their voice alone? If so you may be about to because itâs doing things to you that you didnât even know were possible.
All it takes is your meek little âpleaseâ and heâs pouncing on you quick for someone you thought hated you a moment ago.
Thats how you find yourself a few moment later, cheek smushed against the practice room floor, his steadying hand curled gently around your throat to feel your every moan. Your uniform was practically torn to shreds to make room for the pounding flesh of wet hips smacking against each other with a loud crack!, the brutal pace of his cock driving into your plush frame shakes you to your very core. Only making you burn that much hotter till a thick squelch meets your ear every time.
You try and release a soft mewl but his fist merely tightens around your throat, blocking off all air. Rolling your eyes back he fucks all of your thoughts right out of your head, leaving you deliciously wrecked and slobbering all over his cock, your essence dripping down between your bodies and creating a puddle beneath you.
No matter what you were doing or how many times heâs fucked you to completion, the burning needy sensation of the aphrodisiac refuses to leave your body. Not even a body anymore, youâre nothing but a mush of limbs to be used for his pleasure. And you want it that way, to be thrown around and manhandled while his throbbing tip make-outs with your poor bruised cervix.
âThought you were pretty before. But like, mmph, like this youâre perfecttt,â he growls, watching the way your body presses into his touch as he caresses every shape of you.
Grinding his teeth from the force of holding back he slides one hand against your hips, dipping it into the small of your back, angling you down to take him even deeper. You cry out, body jerking forward as if to run away despite the desire ravaging through your system.
âW-where theâ fuuuuuck, yesâ dâyou think youâre goinâ? Ya asked for this âmember?â
He doesnât let you get far, using his hold on your back and your throat to bottom out inside you in one solid snap of his hips. You canât even catch your breath as he rolls his cock deeper and harden inside your molten hot cunt, every swirl of his length mixing up the loads of cum sloshing around inside you.
If you could talk or do anything besides take what heâs giving you while you sob out your gratefulness, hiccups and sloppy blubbering pushing past your lips, youâd do it. If only to push back harder into every smooth slippery glide of his veins brushing so perfectly along your sloppy chubby pussy.
Truly, Grumpy Cupid had never seen a more beautiful creature than when he first saw you. And now heâs never felt anything like you either. He thought he knew what heaven felt like but he had no idea. This was so much betterâ true paradise.
For the both of you it felt like the beginning and the end, your entire worlds shifted on their axis as he slams his cock inside you like he wants to live there. Maybe he does, maybe he wants to live within the warmth of your cunt and never leave. Spend the rest of eternity filling up your greedy little fuckhole.
Your jaw drops as he starts driving his length right into that special spot inside you again and again, aiming to demolish youâ mind, body, and soul. He simply laughs like he knows exactly what heâs doing to you and relishes in it. At least youâve found something youâre good for.
âLook at you, youâre meant to be my pretty fuck doll, huh? Keep you stuffed with aphrodisiacs all day and leave you tied to my bed all day just waiting for me to give you the relief only I can provide,â he growls hotly in your ear and you shiver from head-to-toe, body curling into his in agreement.
Itâs nearly impossible to speak through his grip on your neck that sends you soaring toward your peak. But you choke on every moan, whimper, and sob he brings out of you.
With one more steady pounding of his cock right where you need it most youâre thrown for a loop, drowning in pleasure as you cum. Every inch of you convulsing as it wracks through you and takes control, your essence painting his cock with even more of your precious cum. Heâs not far behind you, burrowing as deep into your cervix as he can reach before flooding your tight silken channel with as much of his release as he can manage.
Finally it seems as with this last orgasm the heat that has been consuming you all afternoon pours out of you with your climax. Taking all the remaining crumbs of your energy left with it and you melt into the floor, landing in your own combined fluids with a wet plop.
âLesson one: donât mix up your arrows,â he whispers in your ear a moment later, chuckling darkly and pushing out you, giving your ass a small slap on the way out.
His words leaving you even more confused about his feelings toward you than when you first started training. Eh, who cares so long as he keeps fucking you like that. And maybe thatâs the real first lesson of whatever is going on between you two now.
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i think its absolutely soul crushing that han is just so entirely besotted with minho, absolutely endeared by the weird awkward hot cat butler of a man and tries so damn hard to balance his besotted behaviour with an air of nonchalance/"oh this is normal", only to have homotron 3000 aka the emperor of yearning lee minho throw him back off balance
whoever said "its not han fell first and leeknow fell harder, its leeknow was thrown down a flight of stairs to find han waiting at the bottom and smiling at him endearingly," I NEED TO HAVE A WORD
i'm going to say something and i'm only going to say this once and be done because i've seen it across multiple social media sites and this is the only one where i have any sort of platform
stop saying that "changbin looks better now" i am so fucking serious
now listen, we're the same age but mentally (and physically that is not the point) changbin is so much stronger than i am but as someone who is bigger and recently lost weight in the unhealthiest of ways (ed, health issues, etc.) it does not feel good hearing about how you look so much better now and suddenly getting a lot more compliments than you've ever gotten
again, he's mentally stronger than i am but he is still human. you hear, or read, something enough times and it fucks with you. especially late at night when you have time to think and replay everything in your head.
changbin looks/looked great when he was bulking and he looks/looked great after cutting (that's the actual term before any of you freak out because you only know the other meaning of that word)
I understand there is a lot of controversy going around about Changbins debauchery last night. I understand theres a lot of us who are losing our minds meanwhile a lot of us are upset given the way Changbin has been talking lately in regards to weightloss and 'getting in shape'. A lot of you feel like he was pressured into showing off his body by Stay, and a lot of you are angry that he "gave into the pressure" of "losing weight to please us" (wdyem??). But how do you know that's what made him do it?
Yes, he's always been proud of his bulking and the body structure he built since debut. Yes, he's talked about never wanting to show off his body and giving into the pressure set on him by society and by the fans. But those of you who are going off saying youre disappointed and angry at us for "making" him do it, do you even hear yourself?
Changbin is his own person. We didn't make him do shit. And people change. Yeah, predebut Changbin wanted to bulk up. He did that. But did you guys ever stop to think that maybe he's changed his mindset as he's grown older? Maybe his ideal body goal has changed in the last 7 years. Whose hasn't? As we grow, our self-imagine and our mindsets change, and its perfectly okay. Its normal.
Am I saying his did? No. But I'm also not saying his didn't.
Either way, we don't know. could Stay have played a big part in what he did and he felt pressured to do it? Yes. Could it all have been his own doing and he wanted to do it because he is becoming proud of the body he has? Also yes. The point is we don't know why he did it, so why the fuck are we assuming shit and fighting about it like children? The only person who knows why he did it is himself.
Call me insane, but I think we should be focusing more on the confidence and happiness hes found within himself lately, regardless of Stays opinion or not, and stop speculating what goes on in his mind and why he did what he did.
He's happy and he's healthy and he's alive. Isn't that enough?
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please help me- i used to be pretty smart but iâm having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!
gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.
SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:
diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.
non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.
the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.
now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.
if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.
if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic⢠in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.
this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.
it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.
but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.
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