#and jarring AS A MORTAL reading this
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a really fun fact about my copy of city of ashes is that the format of the interior pages is completely different from my copy of city of bones. mind you, they're literally both from the same box set! yet for some reason coa is so ugly 😭 like look at this!
#this isn't really a fun fact :) it lowkey pisses me off#it's so jarring to read 😔😔#whoever made this box set is my mortal enemy like. who decided this looks good#bella talks#bella reads coa
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[ A LITTLE DEATH — FT. KINICH ]
synopsis: sometimes, he comes back to you with a beating heart. other times, his body is cold and limp until he reemerges from the flames. you never get used to kinich falling during the pilgrimage, but you’re certainly used to the feeling of his body
word count: 4.4k words of emotional porn. ty & goodnight
before you read: female reader ; major spoilers for natlan archon quest and kinich’s character story one ; kinich falls during the night warden war and resurrects so technical character death (but not for long) ; graphic descriptions of injuries and blood from war ; mentions of gambling, alcoholism and abuse (his father’s lore) ; slight exploration of mortality ; hand jobs ; orgasm delay (kinich to himself) ; cunnilingus ; fingering ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read because i wrote this all in tumblr drafts like the psycho i am
notes: this is an unhealthy progressing obsession. this boy is not good for my health unfortunately
“Will you stop crying?” He sighs softly, thumb tracing your cheek as it catches yet another rivulet of your sorrow.
You glare up at him, lips curled into a scowl as you sniffle and counter, “how about you stop dying?”
Kinich is no stranger to dying. He and death are good friends, in fact—he visits often, and in return, it houses him kindly for however short his visit may be.
He likes traversing the Night Kingdom, likes to speak to those who have borne his name before him. Dying isn’t so bad when you get a chance to see the things he does in the realm of the Wayob.
But you don’t like to see the aftermath. Blood. Bruises. Cuts. Gashes. Sometimes mangled limbs. Every time he falls in battle, the aftermath serves as a jarring reminder that revival is miracle you can’t take for granted.
Kinich doesn’t understand it, but he tries to. He holds you when he comes back, listening to you sniffle into his chest. He’s always silent as his hand rubs along your back, always unsure of what to say.
I lost you, you’ll always whisper first.
I was always going to come back, he’ll always respond.
The Pyro Archon, you think, loves fiercely enough to rival the God of Cryo herself. The Tsaritsa, God of Love, loves clearly. It’s delicate as it leaves chills, and yet, it is reserved, rare to find after she’s hardened herself. The God of War’s love takes form in the exact opposite. It’s blazing. Warm. Unrelenting. Irrevocably bright. It’s a flame that never dies out, that never needs a ceremony or ritual to keep burning like the contending fire.
She loves all of her children—you know that because you see it on her face, too.
The brief, fleeting flash of horror every time she sees a body. The bitter pride that comes with such a noble sacrifice. She loves her people, and that’s why, when your tears hit the ground as you cry for a fallen Kinich, she gives your hand a squeeze right before she brings enters the night kingdom to bring him back.
The people of Natlan are proud of their history. So much, that they find honor in dying for the cause.
You think you’re the only exception.
You and death are not good friends. You don’t like the way it mocks you with the limp hands of the boy you love and his beat-less heart. You don’t like the way it cozies up against him, dragging him away from you with its hand clasped firmly in his.
It never takes him away for too long before it gives him right back, but you don’t like sharing.
Not Kinich. Not with death.
Your broken out of your thoughts when his fingers gently press into your cheeks, squeezing them together as his hand tilts your head up from his chest to look into his eyes.
“I’m okay,” he insists bluntly, but never without that gentleness.
You’d laugh any other time. Always so straight to the point, you’d tease if it were some other day.
Instead, this time, you sniffle once more before you croak, “you don’t know what it’s like to witness.” Slowly, your hand creeps up his body, traveling over his abdomen before coming to a stop right over his heart. “This time…this time it was here.”
This pilgrimage, Kinich comes back to you with a stab through his heart. Other times, he’s returned pierced through his lungs from behind. Or perhaps with a bloodied head, split open by a blunt force.
It never gets easier. This time, however, you think it’s gotten even harder.
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s contemplating what to say before he decides to toss the idea of words out entirely. Suddenly, his hands find your waist, flipping you to sit on his lower belly, legs straddling his hips.
Kinich isn’t always good with words. He can count on one hand the number of people he’s had in his life to love. His life has not been kind enough to him to allow keeping all fingers up at the same time.
One for his mother. Down.
One for his father. Down.
And one for you. Up.
He’s sure one day, he might be able to lift a finger for Mualani and Kachina, too. He cares a great deal about them, of course. But love is a difficult thing for him to grasp—perhaps because it’s always been something he never got in full.
Not until you.
More than most people, Kinich understands loss. You know that. He understands it too well, in fact. Sometimes, he wonders if he’d lost his father’s love long before the body was limp and lifeless to show for it. Sometimes, he wonders if his mother ever loved him enough to count as a loss at all. Maybe if she had, then she wouldn’t have walked away. Maybe she never loved him quite as much as she loved herself.
But you’re different for him. You love him more than you love anything else. More than yourself, too. He’s never been loved more than anything else. His father loved gambling, maybe even the burn of alcohol on his tongue, too. His mother loved freedom, and more than that, she loved the idea of living in the absence of fear. Neither loved him more than any of those things.
So, you’re different. You know that, too. You’re a loss he can’t comprehend. Not that he’s ever had to, of course, but his brain cannot handle the idea of being without you.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t fully understand your pain. Maybe that’s why he wonders why knowing he’ll always come back from falling isn’t enough to soothe you.
He’s never loved someone who he knew would come back even in the face of death. It’s a luxury, he thinks sometimes—you get to love him with the luxury of a safety net. But you’re too precious to feel the weight of a real loss. He hopes he can shield you from it for as long as he can, one pilgrimage at a time.
His hands settle for your hips, squeezing once, twice, a third time before he sits up and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.
You kiss back easily. Drinking the breath straight from his mouth is best proof that he’s alive. You take it in greedily.
“I’m okay,” he repeats one more time. This time, it’s a much softer tone. Like a gentle reminder. Like a plead to understand.
His hand grabs yours, pressing it right over his heart so you can feel the erratic beating under your palm. Just from kissing you, it’s rapid enough that he almost feels he should be embarrassed. But you close your eyes and let out a shaky breath, making him watch you carefully as he takes in the relief in your face.
“You’re okay,” you nod slowly.
“I am,” he agrees.
You don’t know when it happens or who starts it first. One moment, your hand is traveling under his shirt to feel his bare skin, to have better contact with him so you can feel more proof he’s alive.
Warm skin. Flexing muscle. Damp sweat. When your hand finds his heart again, his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you into a heated kiss.
Clothes come off after that. It’s a blur. It’s not until you untie the bandana to uncover his forehead do you really take it all in.
Bare under you, Kinich is alive. The proof his body is breathing and pumping blood through his veins is right there before you—standing tall between his legs in the form of a flushed, red cock. Blood rushed there to prove his desire for you.
“Last time, it was here,” you whisper, thumb tracing a pale, faint scar over his ribcage, right where his lung is. “Did it hurt?”
“It did,” he nods, studying you as you don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t remember much of that, though.”
“Do you like it?” You whisper. “Is that why you do it?”
He’s silent. And then, quietly: “Sometimes.”
“Why?” You breathe, cupping his cheeks as you search his eyes for an answer.
Finally, in a rare moment, he chuckles. “Because it’s good to remember I’m alive,” he murmurs, “right before you die is when you realize you’re alive the most. Why you’re alive, too.”
“I don’t understand,” you furrow your brows in frustration. He smiles fondly, kissing your jaw as he lets out a low hum.
“I think of you,” he whispers, sucking sweetly into your skin, “and then I remember how you’re alive, too. Every time I die, you get to stay alive a little more.”
The abyss never goes away. Now, more than ever, he’s aware of that. It’s a war he has to see the winning side of, no matter the price.
There’s a loss this time that he’s unwilling to pay. Can’t bear to witness. Can’t allow to happen.
You decide you give up trying to understand—much like you do every year. Instead, you throw yourself into feeling him, pulling him into a heated, deeper kiss as your tongue glides against his. You give into the battle fast, letting him take the lead and taste you.
You’re not one for battles, not like Kinich is. You’d rather relish in peace than remember the cruelties of war.
“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t lose you.”
“You’ve never lost me,” he argues.
“It doesn’t feel that way,” you admit quietly.
“Then let me show you I’ve always been right here.”
As if on cue, his cock twitches between your bodies, hot and throbbing as it presses against your lower belly. You reach between your bodies, wrapping around the thick girth before your thumb grazes the tip.
He shudders, stifling a groan as you slowly smear the dribbling pre cum along his length, taking gentle care to make sure you don’t hurt him.
You’ve seen Kinich hurt enough times.
“Does that feel good?” You grin slightly, watching his eyes flutter shut as you stroke him up and down, fisting around him in a tight squeeze.
“Feels great,” he breathes, “like I’m very alive.”
“Good,” you nod.
“Fuck,” he chokes when you squeeze around the tip, pace quickening as you glide your palm up and down along him faster.
Faster.
The faster he cums, the faster you’re proven he’s living once more.
But he stops you—right before he can spill into your hand, a shaky wrist comes to force yours to stop moving. You look at him questioningly, and he closes his eyes and takes labored breaths to calm himself from the slow, fading orgasm that would’ve shaken through his body.
“What are you—oh,” you gasp, when your body is flipped to lay on your back, Kinich hovering above you as he stares down at you.
You think love is the look in his eyes when he sees you like this, every time. That longing in his pupils, desperate and almost pained even though you’re right there.
Loving something is always a double edged sword. It hurts just as much as it heals—the scabs forming around your heart from his temporary departure is proof of that.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing along your neck.
I love you isn’t something Kinich says often. You feel his love in other ways. The fresh fruit he brings you on his way back from a commission. The small kiss between your brows he always greets you with, and the delicate kiss to your mouth when he leaves. The hand on the small of your back as he guides you along places, never letting you feel his absence. The pillow he shares with you every night when you invade his space and take up his side of the bed.
You know he loves you. Being reminded is a good feeling, though. Your body shivers as you feel a familiar ache building up between your legs at his sudden confession.
“More than anything?” You ask.
“Yes,” he responds, amused.
“You better not be lying,” you warn playfully.
He chuckles—you’re slowly coming back to your usual self. Causal teasing and playful flirting. You’re all the things he’s not. Open. Vulnerable. So inexplicably bright. You smile and something in him heals. Something in him itches to do better—be better.
“When have I ever lied to you?” He challenges.
You pretend to think for a moment before caving and stretching your lips into a wide grin. The first real smile of the night. You pull him close, kissing him again. Just to kiss him. There’s no heat or desire this time around.
He kisses back sweetly. Just to kiss you.
“What did you see this time?” You whisper when you pull away. “In the Night Kingdom.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, tracing shapes into your hip with his thumb, “I think I was too busy thinking of you.”
Kinich is only flirty when he avoids something. He’s only ever indirect when he doesn’t want you to know something. It takes form in less honest, more playful banter that he learns from you.
You sigh, rolling your eyes half-heartedly as you whisper, “don’t lie to me.”
“I did think of you,” he insists. “It’s not a lie. I always think of you.”
He decided to prove it by dropping down to busy himself between your legs, gently spreading them enough to press his nose against your clit as he breathes you in.
Sweet. You’re always sweet. You taste and smell it. You drip of honeyed, saccharine desire. When his tongue presses between your folds, he thinks he’s dipping it in gold.
“K-kinich, wait—”
“You say that every time,” he raises a smug brow. His fingers press into you, spreading you open as he inspects your fluttering walls. “But you never mean it, do you?”
Filthy, you think. He’s got an air of pure obscenity to him that you’re sure comes only when he’s tired of feeling alone. When he needs to know you’re here for good and not just for the moment.
“You play dirty,” you scowl, twitching when his tongue swirls over your clit, the smooth rumble of his chuckle vibrating against the sensitive bud. His fingers curl into you, pressing against a very delicate, very responsive spot in the back of your walls.
“Is that so?” He drawls, “you don’t exactly seem to mind it,” he murmurs.
And then his lips wrap around your clit, sucking as his tongue rolls in circles against it as you writhe. You can feel the tips of his digits bully into that same spot over and over, making your back arch as you whine.
“Fuck,” you breathe, “baby, please.”
You don’t know what you’re pleading for. He’s giving you what you want exactly how you want it—maybe that’s why you always say it, though. So you can never stop having him. Asking and asking and hoping he’ll give you everything without pausing.
He does, too. Kinich never gives half of himself into anything. For the right price, you get all of him. You pay the price in gentle kisses along his cheek and soft fingertips in his hair. In a warm lap under his cheek when he’s tired and a soft voice to remind him he’s not alone. In a worried look every time he’s scuffed and a soft smile every time your eyes meet his.
You pay the price of your love, and he compensates you with the reward of his. It’s a fair trade.
The only difference is that unlike his other deals, Kinich would still pay his love to you even if you stopped paying yours. He couldn’t stop if he tried. It’s an exception he doesn’t exactly choose to make, but doesn’t necessarily want to change, either.
Lucky for him, you don’t show any signs of pulling away.
“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, whispering the words into your cunt like he’s speaking directly to your desire, “and mine.”
“G-gods,” you moan, hand flying to grasp at his hair and tug as his fingers quicken their pace, fucking into your heat mercilessly as his tongue rolls over your clit.
It’s hot. It always is in the Pyro Nation. But hotter is the growing desire in the pit of your belly, and the heat between your legs that only one person can ignite. The flames lick at your sanity before something erupts in your system and all you feel is a gush of pure, white hot pleasure.
“That’s it,” he praises, working you through your orgasm as you let out a soft cry of his name.
Kinich is alive. You know that because only he could make you feel this way, and he is. He’s making you feel like there’s love between your legs as he coaxes the height of pleasure from you, buried into the apex of your thighs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be. You’re reminded that instead of blood dripping from his fingertips, it’s the essence of your arousal.
You’re reminded that when you need him, he’s never not there. Never leaving you behind from this world into another.
“I love you,” you blurt out in a post-orgasm haze.
He looks up at you with a toothy grin. It’s so rare to see him smile so freely. It’s like a child’s, sometimes. Something youthful and joyful and almost innocent enough that it makes your heart ache a little more than it does feel full.
Only a little, though.
“You say that a lot when I make you cum,” he laughs smoothly, a boyish and sweet little sound. You huff with a roll of your eyes.
“You do too,” you counter. “Maybe we only love each other when we feel good.”
“I always feel good with you,” he grins.
“I can make you feel a whole lot better,” you wink, wriggling your brows in a playful, tempting offer.
He takes it. With another soft laugh, he climbs up your body to hover his face over yours, admiring the sweat clinging to your forehead like it’s proof of his good work.
“Go on then,” he whispers. “Make me feel better. I just died today, you know.”
“I know,” you grumble only slightly, “I remember that very clearly. It was very rude of you.”
“My sincerest apologies,” he offers.
When Kinich was young, love was transactional. His father loved him with a box of sweets when a gamble of wages doubled. His mother was happy enough to afford him her gaze when there were flowers in the vase. He knew from early on not to expect any of it unless the proper price was offered.
And then he learned necessities were transactional, too. To exist is to pay a price. He watched as strangers took away his home, the remainder of his family’s belongings packed away as his mother wiped her tears. Food is not free when she is not there to tend to crops. Clothes don’t come easy when your father spends his days drinking away instead of working.
Without mora, you survive more than you live.
He hated it. Hated not having enough. Not being enough. He wasn’t enough to make his father want to be good and he wasn’t enough to make his mother want to stay. Didn’t have enough to offer for something as simple as unconditional love.
Love with you feels a lot different than what he’s grown up learning. You love him even when he’s closed off and a little cold. When his blunt words are a little too blunt and his words press hard into you with force. When he’s tired, and can’t offer you proper company, you love him, too. When he’s gone for days at a time for a commission further away, you still love him as you wait.
It’s always enough for you even when what he gives really isn’t enough at all.
He stopped trying to understand a long time ago. He’s still human—not everything can make sense with the logic of equal transaction. Sometimes, he just wants. Sometimes, he can’t give enough for what he wants. You always give it, though.
He’s stopped trying to make sense of it all for the sake of finally knowing joy. Peace. Possibly even comfort.
“Why do you love me?” He asks softly, rubbing the tip of his hard cock against your thigh. You rub along his bare back with a gentle hand, feeling the goosebumps raise along his skin under your palm.
“Because it’s easy to,” you answer.
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t life hard enough?” You shrug, “it’s nice having something simple. Loving you is easy, and that’s enough.”
“I don’t understand,” he mirrors your words from earlier. “But as long as you don’t stop, I think it’s okay.”
You want to tell him you’ll never stop loving. Every flame in Natlan will have to burn out before you stop loving Kinich. You’re confident that it’s impossible that will ever happen. But instead of words, you gently reach between your bodies to grab at his cock—it’s been hard and neglected for long enough that he lets out a soft, needy sound at the sudden touch.
You bring him to brush against your entrance, murmuring a soft, “I want you,” before he groans in response.
“Fuck,” he says shakily, “me too.”
And then, finally, he presses his tip into you, pushing past your folds and nudging into the deepest part of you.
He’s alive. You know that because you can feel him in the most rawest, purest way. Bare skin to skin. Warmth on warmth. Sweat against sweat. Body tangled into body. He’s alive and here and you can feel all of him at once.
He’s everywhere. He’s in your lungs as you kiss him and steal his breath. He’s in your heart as you feel it skip a beat for him. He’s in your soul as it burns at the very idea of him. And he’s in your cunt as he presses himself into you with a roll of his hips.
You love him when he’s alive.
You love him when he’s dead.
You love him when he’s resurrected.
You love him when he’s yours like this.
“Kinich,” you gasp, letting out a breathless moan as his tip slams into that spongy spot in your walls, “there—y-yes, like that.”
“I know,” he murmurs, grinning a little smugly enough that you feel embarrassed to already be this fallen apart. “I know exactly where.”
“Smooth talker for someone who ruined my whole day,” you huff.
“I told you I’m okay,” he grunts lowly. He kisses your throat, right over your pulse as he whispers, “I’m right here.” You whine as he rolls his hips particularly harshly to slam his cock into your most delicate spot.
“Knowing something is coming back doesn’t mean you like losing it,” you argue. “I don’t want you anywhere but here.” He gasps when your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as you squeeze tighter around him.
You hate seeing Kinich fall because you’re reminded it’ll happen one day for real. There’ll come a time where he won’t be resurrected. You don’t like being reminded of this simple truth.
He doesn’t understand it because he’s always too busy denying your fall. He’s too busy making sure he fights every battle to win this war so you can live beside him. So you don’t have to succumb to the cruel likes of the abyss.
Neither of you can seem to grasp the other’s mortality very well. So you try to forget in the feeling of being lost in each other’s bodies. Where proof of life blooms in every inch of skin. Every labored breath and drop of sweat, every flex of muscle and rapid thrum of a heart.
You’re alive, and so is Kinich.
He’s not alone, and neither are you.
No one has had to bear a loss, and that’s all that matters. For now, at least.
“You feel so good,” he says hoarsely, letting out a soft, low whine when your walls flutter around him at the praise. “C-can’t…can’t live without you.”
“Don’t say that,” you sob, reaching your limit, “enough talk about living. I’m tired of it.”
“Okay,” he breathes, “then just cum again for me. I want to feel you do it around me this time.”
Your second orgasm makes you forget Kinich is alive. You’re too busy feeling the rush of life yourself. Your body burns with pleasure through every nerve, the familiar snap of pressure between your legs that has your entire form spasming under Kinich.
“’M c-cumming,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, muffling your sounds into his mouth as he swallows them whole.
“For me,” he hums.
“F-for you. Always for you.”
And then he cums too. Hard. For the last time, you’re hit with the evidence that he’s here with you and not somewhere else. Somewhere unreachable. Somewhere in a world apart from you.
He’s spilling warm, sticky cum into your walls with shaky arms holding him up above you, desperate rolls of his hips as he lets out choked sounds.
Skin slaps against skin and a combination of your arousals leaves a mess smeared between your legs, spilling down your inner thighs.
“Fuck—ngh. I’m…I’m…” he trails off.
He’s never been good with words like you. So instead, he buries his head into your neck and presses his nose into your skin, letting you cradle the back to his head so he knows you’re there.
“I know,” you pant, letting him fuck himself into you and ride out the high of his orgasm.
I know you need me. I need you too.
When he slumps over your body, you can feel his heart beat against yours. Rapid. Erratic. Harsh. Pounding. All of it is proof you’re both painfully mortal as you are alive.
“I love you,” you both whisper at the same time, utterly spent.
“You’re alive,” you breathe out a sigh of relief as your eyes close tiredly.
He hums, lifting his head to press a soft peck to your lips before he slumps into your neck against. “And so are you,” he murmurs in exhaustion.
You both fall asleep together with another year behind you.
Writing an emotional Kinich is actually really hard I’m not sure I even got it right bc we haven’t seen nearly enough of him but 😭 I hope this was not ooc enough that it was slightly believable. IDK I had a hard time deciding how he’d be in an emotionally charged moment of intimacy
#writing tag#kinich x reader#kinich x you#kinich smut#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin smut#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact smut
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☆ I WANNA BE YOUR MAN
“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” (1.7k)
contains: loser older brother luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. pt 2 of parent trap but can be read standalone ish. guest appearances! rock / metal music references.
kashaf’s note: i think i can call myself a melomaniac now
LUKE CASTELLAN HAS always occupied that in-between space, the no-man’s-land between something and nothing — his indecipherable gaze as his cold, black, and blued knuckles grazed your cheek when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear swims around your mind endlessly. despite how each thought, each expression, each breath is as familiar to you as your own, you have never quite known where you stand with him, regardless of how quickly he seemed to inhabit a piece of your soul.
the familiar weight of the mixtape that luke made you feels unusually burdensome in your hands, mirroring the heft of the songs on it that you have painstakingly committed to memory, each sleepless night’s offerings of tossing and turning becoming a reoccurring ritual.
you had popped the tape in your walkman immediately after luke had handed it to you, incognizant of the way his eyes softened as you concentrated on the music, trying to identify the first song.
“this is that band you like — l.a. guns, right?”
“you’re a regular sherlock,” luke had said, smiling and sarcastic, twisting his silver rings.
“shut up, no i know this song,” you say, tilting your head and snapping your fingers. “its — um — i wanna be yours? nono, don’t make that face at me, asshole, hold on… i wanna be your man?”
hues of pink crept up his cheeks, and you basked in the warmth of his answering crooked grin, the feeling wrapping around you like the caress of a summer night.
you uselessly stirred the spoon in your now stone-cold cup of chai, leaning across the kitchen table with your head propped up in your other hand. the phone taunts you from its corner on the counter, sitting just by the clear jar of blue cookies, its black hue a beacon among the sea of greens (the cabinets, the tiles — you liked to tell sally that she should try her hand at interior design one of these days) — as of late, the jacksons’ kitchen has become somewhat of a refuge for you.
you set a steaming china cup down in front of him, listening to the sounds of percy, annabeth, and grover in the living room, pulling out the chair in front of him with a slight creak on the slightly worn wooden floors, and watching him as he taps his fingers along to bob marley’s soft crooning, “little darlin’, stir it up”, lost in his own world.
“luke,” you say, breaking him out of his revelry.
luke sits up straight, meeting your amused gaze, “yeah?” he asks, reaching for his chai, and mumbling a quiet thanks as he sips it.
“you look kinda stupid when you think,” you say, watching him blink before taking the bait, and hiding your smile of satisfaction behind your cup.
“y’know, this is why you have a black hole for a heart,” he says, grinning crookedly, filling you with an indescribable longing to reach out and trace his grin.
“what?” you laugh, “what does that even mean?”
“just that you’re mean,” luke says, and the afternoon sun chooses that specific moment to encompass him in its glow, like a kiss from apollo. “and that you’re emo.”
“you literally say this every time, oh my god, i’m not mean or emo.”
“because i’m literally right?”
“you like him,” annabeth says, sympathetically, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, her braids resting across her shoulders, glancing from your untouched cup to your face, an expression of pity gracing her features. her presence caught you so off guard that you don’t even question where percy ran off to, who was usually attached to annabeth like a conjoined twin.
“i know,” you say, shivering slightly, the revelation feeling strangely empty, although you suppose the same part of your soul that recognized him had always known, a small inkling reappearing with every argument, and every nudge.
“he likes you,” annabeth adds matter-of-factly, interrupting your stream of consciousness.
“i know,” you repeat, picking at the lint on your sweater, and while this revelation is supposed to be shocking, it is also hollow, as you suppose your soul also knew this with every hushed conversation in the dead of night, and the slips of silence that only spoke volumes around him.
“his band is playing tonight, at seven,” annabeth reminds you, with the knowing air of someone far wiser, and far older, “you should go.” she turned and stalked back toward the living room.
you sat still for a minute or so, before sighing and putting luke’s mixtape (even in your misery, he is somehow always there) in your walkman, putting your headphones on as axl rose trilled, ‘i said, baby you been lookin' real good’ in his voice that took a while to get used to — something luke gave you a heads up on.
you sighed, conceding to annabeth’s attempts to rewrite whatever fate had pushed the two of you apart, from the hours-long phone calls that dwindled into short, clipped conversations, you can’t necessarily blame annabeth for trying to fashion a phoenix from the ashes of your friendship.
you stood up, grabbed your jacket off the back of the chair you were sitting upon, and walked into the living room, pausing for a few minutes to watch the scooby doo episode on the screen along with percy, grover, and annabeth, who were currently sprawled across the softly carpeted floor, arguing over monopoly.
“you’re literally cheating,” percy was saying.
“i’m the banker, i’m supposed to be innocent,” annabeth argued back.
“percy, i saw you steal a couple dollars behind annabeth’s back,” grover added, rolling the dice.
“guys,” you said, interrupting their three-way argument, “put on your jackets and shoes, we’re going to the fair in five minutes.”
you ignored the way the troublesome trio exchanged glances, walking through the hallway covered in framed photos of percy and sally, going to wait by the door for them.
“so,” percy says, all-too-innocently, “why the sudden change of plans?” once the four of you are a couple of blocks away from his apartment.
“no reason, just wanted to see what was so hot about the fair,” you say, digging your hands in the pockets of your jacket. once more, you ignore the glances the trio exchange.
“so it doesn’t have anything to do with a certain curly-haired individual that we’re currently seeing less and less of?”
you keep walking, trying to feign ignorance, although the question was so pointed even you were concerned with percy’s audacity, “what’re you talking about?”
“oh, nothing,” percy smiles. “just the way —”
“— the two of you —”
“— were inseparable —”
“— for a disgustingly long time —”
“— and now you’re not —”
“— but we’re going to the fair because —”
“— his band is playing —”
“— and you’re going to try and fix —”
“— your troubles in paradise.”
you blinked slowly, as the three of them did jazz hands, matching shit-eating grins on all of their faces, “how long did it take for you guys to rehearse that?”
“a week, give or take,” grover says, and annabeth shoots him a glare.
“not the point, the point is, we support you.”
“gee, thanks, all i really needed was the support of three twelve-year-olds.”
“three twelve-year-olds that know you’re stupidly in love with luke castellan,” percy points out.
“okay, y’know what…” you trail off, frowning.
annabeth nudged percy, “not the point here, again.”
“fine, fine, fine,” you huff, as the four of you approach the brightly illuminated fair, looking for the ticket-selling booth, “i’ll buy you guys tickets so you can go hang out on the rides and i’ll go to the concert.”
the three of them nodded happily, making a beeline for the cotton candy stand a few feet away. you shook your head before pushing through the bustling crowd to look for the concert stage. when you finally do find it, after three excuse me’s and four sorry’s, the concert is already in full swing, with what looks like a mini moshpit already forming somewhere near the center.
once you’ve pushed your way to the absolute front, the darkening night sky serving as a backdrop, the harsh lights illuminate all five individuals on the stage, with a gorgeous girl with shaggily-cut hair and a raspy voice singing as lead (thalia? you think you remember luke telling you on the phone late at night once). however, your gaze almost immediately fixed on luke, who was playing a riff on his electric guitar, looking as hot as ever, his crooked grin on full display.
the band is covering l.a. guns’ ‘i wanna be your man’ at the moment, and you’re suddenly very grateful to annabeth for her unsubtle nudges, because you would’ve missed out on this sight of luke castellan, the view of his muscled arms bulging out of his band tee is permanently seared into your memory.
you’re almost sad when the show is over though, finally realizing why luke liked concerts so much, from the crowd surfing to the drumstick tricks during solos (beckendorf, you think the drummer’s name was — luke had mentioned him before) to the lead’s insane vocals, to the girl with long curly hair that stood next to you for most of the concert (probably the band’s most enthusiastic fan), you savored every minute of it. however, you’re glad for the chance to corner luke afterwards, climbing onto the stage as the crowd begins to disperse in waves, and realizing the curly-haired girl was already among the band members packing up their instruments, helping the curly-haired bassist pack his things.
luke barely looks up at your sudden arrival. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, packing away his guitar.
“i’m here to see you,” you say, trying to drive the hint home.
“i told you that you didn’t have to come see the band if you were busy,” luke says, uncomprehendingly, making eye-contact with you.
“i like you,” you say insistently.
“c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves right now, you said we’re friends so you don’t have to try to make me feel better,” luke says, shrugging and looking away from your face, rubbing the back of his neck.
“i listen to your dumb mixtape every night, luke castellan. does a person who’s not into you do that?”
there is something so raw about the way he looks right now, with his expression stilling as his cheeks are colored in swathes of red.
smiling at his dumbstruck expression, you surged forward to kiss him, ignoring all the wolf whistles and “get some, castellan” enveloping the two of you, tangling your fingers into his hair, his hands coming to rest upon your hips.
© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.
#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo x reader#luke x reader#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan imagines#luke castellan x yn#luke castellan x y/n#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x fem! reader#percy jackson imagines#luke castellan one shot#luke castellan one-shot#luke castellan oneshot#percy jackson fluff#percy jackson and the olympians#woc friendly#mortal au#percabeth#kashaf ki likhai
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♡ 𝐥𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐊.𝐘𝐒 ♡
Day Nineteen - Bath sex
【Synopsis】 : You searched far and wide for the perfect spell to bring Yeosang back to the earthly plain, and now that he's here, you're gonna use your time wisely of course.
『Word count』 : 2.47k
-> Genre: Angst. Supernatural. Smut. Dark romance.
Pairing: Ghost!Yeosang x Witch!Reader
[Warnings] : Magic. Witchy stuff. Pet names. Poorly made up spells. Swearing. Death. Making out. Unprotected sex. Soft sex ish. Kinda mean dom yeo at one point. Loss of virginity. Mention of toys. Religion and other stuff like that, ehehe.
Networks: @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity
Note: I wrote a little something for Sangie a while back [This hehe], and I ended up making a full fic out of it. So if you want to read part one, you can, but this could be read as a stand-alone ♡♡
The title "la douleur exquise" is a French phrase meaning "exquisite pain," but that doesn't convey the full force of the sentiment. It specifically refers to the pain you feel for wanting someone you cannot have.
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It had been over five months before anyone caught on you were still trying to communicate with the ghostly apparition in your family home. Your parents had begged the priest for advice, having been convinced the poltergeist had some sort of spell cast over you, making you some kind of slave to the mortal world.
But they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know the last nights you spent talking, finding out little details about one another that no one knew about. Sharing little moments that would make your heart skip a beat while Yeosang's undead cheeks would feel a phantom feeling of warmth. You continued to look for a way to bring him back, searching far and wide for new grimoires and magical material that could help in your research. But nothing… it always managed to land empty-handed.
Brewing with frustration, you opted for a nice long hot bath. It was almost one in the morning when you concluded that is what your body was craving but you felt it was fitting. And since all the maids were out, you decided that it was the perfect time to try out a new spell you found. A spell you have been saving just for your little ghost friend.
“I hope you don’t mind.” You whispered into the cold room while waiting for the hot water to rise in the golden claw-foot. You were clutching your robe tightly against your body as you placed a basket full of items in it on the counter. “I thought I could give you something…”
‘what did you get?’ was what Yeosang wanted to say as he watched you from the corner of the room. He watched you intensely, making a cold chill creep down your spine. You could sense his energy, his presence. You began to unpack the contents of the basket, placing candles around the bathtub, countertops and windowsill. Lighting each one as you placed it. ‘What on earth are you doing, little mouse?’
The nickname slipped off his tongue but no sound rebounded. He was going to grab some of the water to get your attention but before he could, his eyes locked onto something that would have taken his breath away if he had any. The evocation grimoire. How on earth did you manage to get your hands on one of them and how did you manage to hide it from him? “I want to see you…to know you…”
You opened the book, looking through a recipe before emptying items into the filled bubble tub. A few strands of fresh Thyme, a herb that gives peace to those who have died from violence. Apple skins, Chervil, Myrrh and Almond milk and six lit candles to complete the spell. “I want to be able to touch you…”
You pulled the string of your robe letting it fall before slowly slipping into the tub, feeling the warm water relax your muscles. Yeosang eyes never left your naked body, licking his lips, he groaned. He studied every blemish. Every scar. Every mark on your gorgeous body. If he wasn’t dead already he most certainly would have felt like he had just died from the sight of the goddess in front of him. He felt a tingle in his hands, then his toes and head. He felt like a fire was lit under him but in the best way possible. His chest tightened, making him hunch over. His hands braced for the counter and normally they would simply just pass through the marble but this time, that hit the with a solid ‘oof’. Something was happening. Something… He felt a change. You opened your eyes, looking over to the corner of the room. Your breath hitched.
“H-hi…” There he was, the man you had fallen for. He was even more handsome than you thought. His slicked-back hair, and angelic facial structure. Eyes a deep brown, almost the shade of a classic lathered couch or the richest chocolate. Yeosang placed his hand on his neck for a moment, trying to feel a pulse…but there was nothing. Even though you brought him back to the physical plane it was only temporary.
“Hi…” His voice was deeper than you thought, almost velvety. His eyes gazed down seeing you leaning against the edge of the tub, your shoulders glistened in the candlelight, making you look like a vintage oil painting.
“It’s nice to finally see the man that shamelessly likes to try and woo me.” You giggled sitting back into the tub. This angle gave him the perfect view of your soaked tits. But your eyes wander downwards with a smirk. He hadn't noticed the chill creeping up his body, let alone the fact he was standing stark naked in front of you. But then again, he was probably proud, his cock growing another inch as you slowly sat up, revealing more of yourself to him. He was big, you’d give him that. “So are you going to join me or are you intending to relieve yourself alone from afar.”
Your words made him finally look down, taking in his bareness. But his smirk never faltered, in fact, it grew. He wasted no time in closing the gap between you both. It wasn’t until his shin met the tub that he stopped. Your hand was stretched out, waiting for him to take it. But alas he was frightened. It’s been so long since he had felt another touch and part of him worried that if his fingers grazed yours, he would not feel anything or worse, feel everything.
“Come on, I won't bite.” your soft voice was music to his ears slowly hypnotising him, making his head spin. “Unless you want me to.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He growled, finally grasping your hand. He swore he felt his heart skip a beat in that moment as he took a deep breath, letting you lead him into the large tub. You laid back down while Yeosang caged you from above. His left leg was slotted between your thighs, making his knee brush ever so slightly against your bare, soaking core. “What are we doing little mouse…”
The sombre whisper of the pet name made you shiver as you placed a wet hand on his ice-cold cheek. As if out of habit, he nuzzled right into your palm, taking in your scent. Taking in the warm feeling of you. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, letting you take the lead by slowly moving your other hand over his body. He was beautiful and so young. It still baffles you why someone had to kill him. Take his life away… The night was quiet, only the sound of water shifting and deep shaky breaths could be heard. Everyone sleeping soundly, god, what would your parents think if they were to see you now. Casting spells, having a strange man naked in the tub with you. And worse, the man was their enemy. “You are more handsome than I could have ever imagined.”
Yeosang had to chuckle at the little hiccup in between your words. You looked so small under him, heck, if he was alive he could probably break you. But he wouldn’t no, unlike the hatred he carried for your family he had reluctantly fallen in love with you. “And you are just as beautiful as the day I first saw you.” He finally replied, dipping his head closer until his mouth was mere inches from your own. Your lips part instinctively, eyes darting from his eyes to his plump ones. “Still the cute little mouse trying to play with silly spells.”
“Those silly spells brought you to me, didn’t they? You’re here.” You smiled, lifting your head up to brush your mouth against his, you could feel his tongue snaking over his lips, leaving a trail of saliva on your own.
“I’m not completely here, my songbird…” He lifted his hand that rested on the edge of the tub to grasp your wrist, dragging your hand over his chest until it was over his heart. “I’m still dead. I’m only visiting this plane…”
“Is there a way to bring you back permanently?” You spoke with such desperation it made a lump in Yeosangs throat. Here you were his enemy's daughter, trying to bring him back. Trying to erase your parents' mistakes. He moved back, taking your hand that still held his face and shifting it slightly so he could place a small kiss on your palm. And then your wrist, before slowly kissing up your arm. You held your breath as he went closer to your shoulder, noticing his eyes flicked to your half-covered chest. The milky water only just covering them.
“There is a way… but it requires something you won't be able to do.” His voice was shaky, thoughts flashing through his mind. He felt guilt, mixing with greed. He wanted so desperately to be alive again but he could never ask you to perform such an act. He could ask for you to take someone's life let alone someone that has value to you. Someone you actually love. He wasn’t worth the trouble.
“Tell me, I’ll do anything for you.” you squeaked out, grabbing his face. And without another thought, you smashed your lips on his, causing him to let out a lewd growl. You moaned in response as you pulled away slightly, making him chase your lips. “Tell me what you need.”
“Don’t worry about that…. Let’s just focus on the fact that I'm here right now. You can feel me and I, you. Nothing else matters right now.” he inched closer for another kiss, pressing his lips sweetly against yours. It felt like a broken promise. The sadness lingering behind the gentlest touch. He was here, he could have you. But for how long…
You snaked your right hand down his chest, ever so slowly moving it until it reached his abdomen. Then you stopped. You waited. His grunt followed by a sly bit of your bit gave you all the permission you needed to continue your wonder. Slowly finding his cock hard against his tummy. You breathed sharply through your nose as you traced your fingers along his shaft. He smiled through the kiss, bucking his hips slightly at your soft touch. His shaky thrusts kept up with your hand as you jerked him off. The kiss quickly became rougher, his tongue slipping inside, dancing around yours while teeth clashed against one another. All of it made you dizzy.
“Y-Yeo…” You muttered against his lips, your hand tightening around the tip of his cock. This caused him to pull away with a sharp breath, feeling himself already close to the edge.
“What is it, little mouse…” He sat up slightly, the moonlight that shone through the curtains had hit his chest perfectly, illuminating Yeosang. He almost looked god-like above you.
“I need you…” You have suddenly become at a loss for words, unsure what to say. You need him, desperately. But your voice cannot speak it. So you bucked your hips instead, the water sloshing around as you did. If possible, Yeosang's smirk had grown bigger, knowing exactly what you were trying to ask. But he was not going to give it to you so quickly, nor kindly. He wanted, needed you to say it.
“What is it, my sweet little witch… Say it.” His hand crept up your thigh, lifting it over the edge of the tub so he could fit in between you more snugly. “Tell me exactly what you need from me.”
“I n-need…” You gulp down the lump in your throat as your ears begin to ring and your mind starts to fill with cotton. You felt his cock rub against your soaked cunt, almost giving you what you needed. "I need you inside me. Please. Please."
He leaned down under his lips, grazed your ear, his breath tickling your neck. "Your wish is my command."
A silent gasp pierced through the quiet night as you felt him dive inch by inch into your warm pussy. His whole body shook, feeling like he was about to combust then and there. But he took a deep breath through his nose, finally bottoming you out. "Fuck you feel so good. So tight. Have you ever been fucked before?"
His filthy blabbers made your head spin as you moaned along with him. "No. But I’ve used things."
He sat up stunned, you were a virgin. Of course, you were. You are a young Christian woman, not betrothed and from what he knew you weren't interested in anyone…He had tainted you and he didn’t even realise. “Used things huh. What have you done, baby? Let me.”
He picks up your other thigh, throwing it over the other side of the tub, letting him sink deeper inside your cunt. Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails burying into flesh. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking in hard red and purple marks, drawing high-pitched whimpers from you. “T-Toys…my fingers. Anything. You had me realise what I was missing. What I was craving. I couldn’t stop. I needed to come so badly.”
“Awe, my sweet little mouse, all horny ‘cause a ghost showed interest in her. Did you even care that I was killing your family…” He snapped his hips, making the milky water splash loudly out of the tub. “Picking them off one..” Snap. “By…” Snap. “One..”
“Fuck Yeosang! Please. I love you.” you don’t know why these words left your lips but it felt so right.
“Love me?” He drew back his hips, sitting up so he could, wrap your legs around his waist, locking himself in place. “I’m a murderous witch out for blood, and you love …me.” Even though his voice was deep and dripping with lust there was shock hidden beneath. “You never cease to surprise me, baby.”
“P-please…” You hiccuped feeling tears begin to pool in your eyes, “Please say it back…” You sounded pathetic, but you didn’t care, no all you cared about was hearing those words slip out of Yeosang's mouth, even if they were faked and forced you needed them. Just once.
“Hmm.” Yeosang chuckled, slowly his thrusts until he was only at a slow but precise drawing you closer and closer to the edge. His face was inches from yours again, just barely feeling his lips brush yours. “Open your eyes darling.” You listened, your wide eyes meeting his cold, dead ones. You were both so close, just a little more you thought, reaching down to press a finger on your sensitive nub He stared into the abyss of your soul through your begging gaze. It was like he could almost hear your thoughts. .“I love you too…”
He finally said.
#kvanity#cromernet#wonderlandnet#illusionnet#ateez#ateez smut#ja3hwa#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#ateez fanfic#ateez fluff#ateez scenario#ateez reactions#ateez reaction#ateez fanfiction#ateez drabbles#ateez x female reader#ateez x reader#ateez x reader smut#ateez fic#atz smut#atz drabbles#atz hard hours#atz imagines#atz scenarios#atz x reader#atz fanfic#atz#ateez yeosang#yeosang x reader
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Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2
Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!
SERIES MASTERLIST
pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader
rating: T (evenual E) MDNI
summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.
contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, jealousy, angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.
wc: 3.4k
a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!
Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.
“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says.
You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.
“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse.
“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest.
You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra.
“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights.
You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop.
“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all.
“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug.
“No” you groan.
“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you.
The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root.
“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”
“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies.
Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all.
—
Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox.
It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles.
The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did.
Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire.
He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees.
Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson.
“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored.
Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human.
He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence.
After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out.
River swallows his drink with a chuckle.
“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains.
“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh.
“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says.
“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”
“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds.
“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.
Ezra can’t help but glare up at River.
“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds.
You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.
“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.
His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.
Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.
He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.
Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch.
There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain.
The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe.
He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire.
He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon.
The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat.
The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you— incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.
“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic.
“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies.
“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”
You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath.
“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say.
You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation.
“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared.
You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.
Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous.
“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled.
Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him.
—
It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.
You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety.
I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts.
The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain.
You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him.
Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye.
Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant.
You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles.
“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities.
He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too.
“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved.
He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you.
“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says.
You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege.
“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”
“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”
To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.
“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say.
His gold eyes shift away.
“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.”
“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened.
“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.
–
River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.
You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.
“There you are!” Margot calls.
You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.
“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says.
“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.”
He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.
”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.
River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.
It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.
“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says.
“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.
“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”
—
River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves.
This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic.
Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge.
You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb.
You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.
Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for.
It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there.
“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately.
It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him.
“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said.
You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today.
“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently.
You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.
“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.
“Ezra?” he asks.
“My familiar,” you remind him.
“Oh.”
“He scratched me and —”
“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation.
“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?
“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.
You wince at the thought.
“You’d hurt her?” you ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”
You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.
“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.
“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.
“What does that mean?” you ask.
“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.
“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.
“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.
“What? That was a joke,” River says.
“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.
“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”
Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.
But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained.
Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.
“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”
And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.
🐈⬛
Part 3
Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.
#ezra prospect#ezra x f!reader#witchy#ezra prospect x f!reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#ezra x witch!reader#halloween
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Larys x Alicent Scene in 2x04—Analysis:
The scene opens with Alicent getting a hot stone to ease her abortion pains which were distracting enough that she forgot to hide the moon tea jar. She bids “come” to the visitor who knocks at her door. She’s suffering alone, having refused the maids and servants Larys sent her to tend to her every need. It's her attempt to loosen his grip on her.
Notice how she says “Lord Larys” and closes her eyes when she becomes aware of his presence. He has appeared at the worst possible moment.
Larys knows immediately that something is amiss for Alicent to skip the council meeting, and as per Matthew’s words, whenever something is going on, Larys seeks a way to benefit from it. So he enters the room and Alicent lies blatantly and in front of his face. He doesn’t like that. After all, they had a relationship of mutual trust. Or so he thought. Alicent now reveals that she could never trust him fully, and maybe he should have done the same. There is so much unsaid conversation happening.
Alicent is scared to finally expose herself so openly to Larys who can see right through her and her lies. Look at how Larys stares at Alicent when he says “that is a rich indulgence” referring to the moon tea. The tension is off the charts. He says “it is a sin to deny your appetites” and he means Alicent's natural sexual drives. He is basically telling her that she shouldn’t feel sorry or in need to hide the fact she is having sex; if only she were doing so more openly. Is that an invitation?
“They are what make us fully alive as mortal men.” Larys compares his foot fetish to Alicent's sexual lust. They are both appetites and he offers an excuse for both of them. Larys is already thinking about how he might use this situation to his advantage.
Alicent is evidently afraid and disturbed. Her secret is exposed. She changes the subject to the council. She has to steady herself and grab a chair. She bends her back and looks more crippled during that scene than Larys who again towers over her. He further examines her surroundings for more information. What is going through the Queen’s mind these days? Has he completely lost his grip on her since she sent all the maids away?
“Ser Criston wins every challenge he faces there” and “you must worry for him”—he knows, he definitely knows, and tries to provoke a reaction. Her general response of only worrying for him because he is the Hand of the King, confirms it. Notice how he stands up to come closer to her and Alicent sighs and holds her forehead; she knows this interrogation is not over.
He tells her that she has not appeared herself as of late. It's him, Larys Strong, who knows the Queen so well that he can offer a comparison. Something is amiss; what has so altered her state? This time he is not fishing for Alicole confirmation, he is referring to her frame of mind. What has upset it? Her response is enlightening not because she lets him in on the toll these events have had on her, but because essentially, she tells him off. She implies that he should mind his place, and stop trying to invade her every thought, the same way he invades her space. That he should let her at least have her mind to herself. But he knows how to get her to talk, and she reveals that she started looking into the histories as a source of wisdom like Viserys did.
Notice how shocked she is when he proves that he can read her thoughts and say: “do you think this is why he changed his mind, in the end?” Damn it, damn him, how does he do it every time? He knows what she's thinking. He knows she's been musing over Viserys’ wish for Rhaenyra to be Queen.
“Do you now doubt his intentions?” Larys is a discerning creep. He manages to get what he wants out of Alicent: she responds in a way that matters so much to him and concerns how the war will be fought. Is his Queen going to chicken out now that she has discovered her misinterpretation of Viserys’ words? How is his Green side going to fare in this war? Should he be looking elsewhere, or do they still have the upper hand and go for the win? Alicent reassures him by saying that Viserys wishes have ceased to matter. They are going to pursue their goal nonetheless. And that is what Larys wants to see and hear: that they are still on the same page and she is ready and willing to play the game for herself. That they are still the cunning and scheming allies they have always been, despite Alicent's revelations.
Or, he starts to think, perhaps even more so now.
#this scene was top notch angst and tension to the max#i loved the creepiness#and their dynamic is so interesting#s2 larycent moments#larys strong#larycent#alicent hightower#hotd spoilers#house of the dragon#hotd season 2#hotd#hotd s2#house of the dragon season 2#hotd analysis#hotd meta#welighttheway#greenqueenhightower#team green#the greens#hotd s2 e4#hotd s2 ep4#the red dragon and the gold#alicent x larys#larys x alicent
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Prompt: Calling the Lackadaisy characters by their full name
A/N: University has been keeping me busy, and I've been in a bit of a writers block. So in the meantime, take this goofy little thing!
Includes: Rocky Rickaby/Reader Calvin "Freckle" McMurray/Reader Dorian "Zib" Zibowski/Reader Mordecai Heller/Reader Viktor Vasko/Reader Serafine Savoy/Reader Nicodeme "Nico" Savoy/Reader
Rocky Rickaby:
Rocky's always pleased to hear his name fall from your lips… "Rocky Rickaby…" he loves to occupy your attention, and he's not above doing a silly trick here and there to get you to utter his name like that. But his given name? You can't even finish "Roark" before he's at your feet, begging for forgiveness. Queue the waterworks -- his muse, his winter sunshine, his summer breeze please, please forgive him. For he is naught but a mortal man, riddled with the propensity for mistakes, but is -- Hm? The maple syrup is in the back of the pantry, yes. Yes, next to the peanut butter. -- is that not the natural state of such mortal endeavors? Surely, such a divine being must take pity on the folly of man!
He doesn't register that you were only playing with him. Or, maybe he's realized and is just committing to the bit. You'll never know. What you do know, however, is that you'll have him at your feet for the next hour or so.
Calvin McMurray:
Calvin, Cal, Freckle… Sweetheart, in private. McMurray, when you're teasing. Calvin really gets the gamut of names and nicknames when it comes to you. But when he hears his full name yelled out from the opposite end of the house, he's nothing if not panicked. The past two decades of Irish Catholicism really beats that into you. He rushes to your side, back straight, head down in silent apology for… whatever it is, that he did.
"...Yes, dear?"
He has to bite his tongue a bit to not bring out any honorifics, but the message comes across just the same. There's only 2 times he uses "dear" as his go to-- 1.) In front of his mother, 2.) After he's done something he shouldn't.
Decompresses instantaneously when you ask him to open the pickle jar. He exhales quietly, holding his hand out silently for the jar. His heart can't take this sort of thing. Don't do this to the poor man… too often.
Dorian Zibowski:
Blinks owlishly when he hears his full name shouted out from across the house. If there's any way to sober Zib up… this is it. He's leaping to his feet in an instant, rushing to where you are… and slowing down when he's just out of sight. He smooths his fur and his clothes and takes a deep breath before waltzing calmly into your line of sight. Play it cool.
"Funny way of pronouncing "Zibowski, doll. Need something?"
He takes it in stride, but don't be fooled -- he's quaking in his boots, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels the weight lifted off his chest when you ask him to grab something from the top shelf, although you'd never know that. He does, however, press a lingering kiss to your temple after he passes the item off to you. Don't read into it too much.
Mordecai Heller:
He tears his eyes away from his book, glancing at you from over the rim of his teacup. "Yes?"
He's truly unaffected. He's introduced by his first and last name all the time, and he was never scolded in such a manner as a child. If you were looking for some outlandish reaction, all you've got is his quiet attention. And you might want to answer quickly -- he'd really like to finish this chapter tonight. This is quite a grueling read, you know.
His true name, however, is a different story. But that's for entirely different reasons, and well, you wouldn't know anything about that. Right?
Viktor Vasko:
Yet another one who is unaffected. He looms over you a bit -- which really, isn't unusual for him considering his stature -- humming questioningly.
He's a man of few words, and even fewer reactions. You've really gotta put some emotion in your voice if you want to get any sort of reaction out of him, and even then the most you're likely to get is a raised eyebrow… maybe a bit of a head tilt if you're lucky. And you can really only do this once -- he'll remember your little trick for next time.
(If you really want to get a reaction out of him, use some sort of petname. He secretly finds them rather sweet, and the right one will force-reset his brain a bit the first few times you use it. )
Seraphine Savoy:
Seraphine isn't unaffected by the use of her full name… rather, she revels in it. She's always enjoyed the flow of her name, but it always seems to fall from your lips like some goldly golden ichor. To call it heavenly would be a bit of a misnomer -- sinful, mayhaps? It's a difficult feeling to place, but she strides over to you confidently nonetheless. Her lips quirk up as she leans into your personal space.
"Yes, amou?"
Nicodeme Savoy:
Truthfully, he isn't the biggest fan of you calling him by his full name. Well, his full first name, anyways. Feels too stuffy, for his liking. But he takes it in stride, waltzing up to you lazily. He rests his arm on your shoulder and leans down to be eye-level with you, eyes half lidded with a grin. He throws your own full name right back at you teasingly. Need something? Want him to grab something, or open a jar? Hm?
His grin stretches a bit wider when you pout -- you really thought you'd get him this time, huh? He kisses you chastely, nipping at you softly in jest. Gotta try harder than that to shake him, bebe.
#divider by @cafekitsune#lackadaisy x reader#rocky rickaby x reader#nicodeme savoy x reader#mordecai heller x reader#dorian zibowski x reader#serafine savoy x reader#calvin mcmurray x reader#viktor vasko x reader#lackadaisy imagine#lackadaisy rocky x reader#lackadaisy nico x reader#lackadaisy mordecai x reader#lackadaisy serafine x reader#lackadaisy viktor x reader#lackadaisy calvin x reader#lackadaisy zib x reader
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𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐔𝐒 (𝟑𝟔𝟕𝟏)
𝐼𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛
Dionysus is the Greek god of wine and festivities and has the power of driving mortals insane. In my opinions, wherever this asteroid is in your chart can show how you are when intoxicated/drunk
Note: My observations, if you don't relate Move. Check out my tarot PACs and paid readings of you're interested!
Masterlist || Paid Readings || Tip Jar
⌂ Houses
𐃯 1st: Loud and the life of the party, want all eyes on you, may become the centre of attention, may start getting into drinking competitions at parties, may become a little annoying to some people because they can become a little egotistical and start bragging about themselves, they also love talking about themselves when drunk.
𐃯 2nd: Possessive, they may become a little passive and isolate themselves in a corner, there's a tendency that they can get a little sleepy or tired as well. May not want to socialise at all and may want to leave the party early or if they're alone, will call it a day and do the irish goodbye, could also end up accidentally buying things (me lol).
𐃯 3rd: My cousin has this placement and she gets so chatty when she's intoxicated, she will go on long never ending rants about any topic under the sun. May get really giggly and flirty, at times may even gossip quite a bit about others, love meeting new people and socialising especially at parties.
𐃯 4th: Can get a little scattered and get very emotional, a little bit of a crier and all their emotions get amplified, big laughs, big cries, just feel everything all at once. You can become very appreciative of your friends and can become a little lovey-dovey as well as clingy.
𐃯 5th: So much fun, larger than life energy, they kind of become the host, will talk to everyone, mingle, the type to be in the middle of a dance circle and absolutely kill it. May become dramatic but it's humorous and playful, may also talk/think about their plans for their future in regards to their family life when intoxicated.
𐃯 6th: Can become a little cranky and irritable over small things, can feel uncomfortable so they may not drink or indulge in general, the type to be the mom friend even and may like taking care of others even when they need to more, helpful, compliments flow easier but they can also become a little candid with their speech (a little mean).
𐃯 7th: My friend has this and they do start thinking about their past relationships and ranting about their exes, also the kind to dial their exes but overall so much fun, they love to tease others, and can get really creative when intoxicated, especially when it comes to aesthetics. Also make friends so easily holy shit it's insane, need to teach me how!
𐃯 8th: May like playing games related to gambling to be honest, they'll not be very different from how they usually are and may have a high tolerance, seem calm and composed, can make impulsive monetary decisions as well. Can come off as a bit intense when drunk, emotionally like in a good way they may make big emotional decisions too like telling someone they love them romantically.
𐃯 9th: They start talking about life and existence and very philosophical topics, I've met some people with this sign who get really political and at times get kind of pushy about their views and opinions. Fun to talk to if you want to know their opinions on life and what it means, can get sleepy quite fast frankly speaking.
𐃯 10th: Emotional, can become a little demanding and authoritative, ordering people around low-key. Can be kind of a party pooper because I see 10th house Dionysus as people who can get a little angry/aggressive when drunk and also a little selfish, for example if they're at a party with their friends they won't let them talk to other people or something along those lines.
𐃯 11th: Honestly my personal faves, they're so creative and the ideas they have are brilliant, they would probably love talking about stuff related to the science fiction or fiction in general. They get extremely social and are the type of people who would get a lot of numbers if they want, would also make a lot of new friends, they may get cold easily when drunk/intoxicated too.
𐃯 12th: Get kind of lost in their own world, they unintentionally ignore people because of how consumed they are with their own thoughts, can get really silent and passive, and may get very distracted and sort of unaware of their surroundings, bumping into things unintentionally and stuff like that, maybe daydreaming a lot.
All rights reserved Ukiyowi. Do not copy, reword, plagiarise my content!
#asteroid#astro observations#asteroid astrology#astrology#astro#astro notes#astrology community#astrology observations#astrology notes
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Wands, Wizards, and Wi-Fi (Draco Malfoy)
Summary: you help Draco with Muggle Technology.
Warnings: an angry draco, but fluff.
WC: 500ish
@dawn-petrichor-world asked: I have a question. You know magic exists and one day you meet Draco Malfoy in a library struggling with a computer and secretly he tries to use his wand. Why will you do? Ignore him "destroying" public furniture or act like you didn't see his wand and try to help him. In my case, it depends, if he looks like a furious man I don't want to end up transforming into a frog 😭
A/N: we talked about this back in march of 2023!!!! i've had it saved in my drafts ever since!! lol
Read on Ao3!
--
The comforting aroma of old books filled the air as you roamed the shelves of the small, independent library tucked in a quiet corner of the city. It was a haven for you—a sanctuary where magic and reality seemed to blur. Of course, you knew real magic existed; you’d seen things you couldn’t explain, whispers of a world beyond the mundane. But you never expected to encounter it here.
At a corner table, a blonde man was glaring at a laptop with the kind of venom reserved for mortal enemies. His sharp cheekbones and tailored clothing made him stand out from the usual crowd of patrons. The tension in his jawline seemed to radiate frustration.
Curious, you wandered closer, pretending to browse the nearby books. That’s when you noticed the odd sight: his hand dipped into his jacket pocket, pulling out... a wand.
Your breath hitched. Was he really about to—?
He flicked the wand toward the laptop, muttering something under his breath. Nothing happened. The screen stubbornly remained blue, its spinning wheel mocking him.
Biting back a laugh, you stepped forward. "Need some help there?"
The man froze, his grey eyes snapping to yours. For a second, he looked almost panicked, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I don’t need help," he said stiffly, slipping the wand back into his pocket.
"Right," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Because magic definitely fixes laptops."
His face reddened slightly, though he attempted to cover it with a sneer. "What do you know about it?"
"More than you think," you replied, lowering your voice. "I’ve seen magic before. And I’m guessing you’re not from around here, are you?"
His demeanor shifted, suspicion mingling with curiosity. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows how to make that," you pointed at the laptop, "stop spinning. Want me to show you?"
He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. Finally, with a huff, he pushed the laptop toward you. "Fine. But if you break it, you’re paying for it."
"Relax," you said, suppressing a grin. Sitting down, you navigated the menus with ease. "What are you even trying to do?"
"Research," he said vaguely, his fingers drumming against the table.
"For what?" you pressed.
He hesitated again before muttering, "Muggle technology. My father insists we need to... understand it."
You couldn’t hide your amusement. "So, Lucius Malfoy finally decided to catch up with the 21st century?"
His head snapped up. "You—how do you—?"
"Like I said," you replied, fixing the issue on his laptop with a few clicks, "I know more than you think."
For the first time, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Perhaps you’re not entirely insufferable."
"Gee, thanks," you shot back, pushing the laptop back toward him.
As he examined the now-functional screen, his expression softened ever so slightly. "You’re surprisingly useful for a... Muggle."
"Who said I was a Muggle?" you teased, standing up.
You left him sitting there, his wand forgotten for the moment, as he stared after you with a mixture of intrigue and newfound respect.
#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x male reader#draco malfoy x female reader#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy imagines#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy fanart#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy fic
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Less smut, more meaningful words with such eloquence, well executed plot, characterizations and world building.
A Loki (Marvel)/Reader Fic Recommendation
If you’re like me, who loves to read longer fics then this blog post is for you. This list features beautiful books I have read featuring Loki and the reader for the past 5 years. This is long overdue I have been planning to do this for a while now. I’ll do my best to share all of them in one post (might probably edit this once I remember more). One thing, I really love when an author finds a way to not use Y/N. Enjoy the list!
Completed Fics
Frostbite by Maiden_of_Asgard
Synopsis:
Iceland is nice - sure, you probably should’ve picked a time of year when the weather was a little warmer, but it isn’t too bad, and at least you’re away from your desk job, right? It’s a pretty big adventure.
You’ve always said that you wanted more adventure in your life.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
This one you’ve probably read, if not go check it out. It’s one of the best out there. I mean, need I say more?
The Proposal by BirdsofHermes
Synopsis:
An AU gender-reversal of the 2009 romantic comedy The Proposal. You work for Loki Laufeyson at Asgard International Publishing. He accidentally lets his work Visa expire and is about to be deported back to England, so he blurts out that he's marrying you. Now you have to convince an immigration inspector as well as your own family that you're in love with Loki or he gets deported for life and you face five years jail time.
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I have read this more than one can count fingers in their hands.
Broken Crown by Michelleleahhh
Synopsis:
Your betrothal to Thor was convenient - brokered as an alliance between two powerful families.
Your marriage to Loki... is unimaginable.
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Please proceed with caution and read the tags. When I read this the first time, I was new to this world but I remembered enjoying reading this piece. I just recently re-read this, and I just found some minor stuff I didn’t really enjoy. Overall the story and the plot got me hooked however, there’s just few chapters that I feel could’ve been explored more and executed better. Still, I enjoyed reading this the second time around.
Fǫruneyti by Evaldrynn
Synopsis:
A story in which a herbalist makes a decision that will drastically change her life, and in which a prince begins to realise that there might still be hope for him yet. A tale of danger, adventure, friendship - and, ultimately, love.
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️✨
This one I stopped reading at 70%, I have certain icks when it comes to reading and once I reach that ick jar I’m done. It was still beautifully written, got me hooked and all, loved the progress. What can I say, I love slow burns.
The Devil Inside by Ursus_minor
Synopsis:
You're a free lance artist and just running short of rent money for the month, so when your good buddy Thor offers you a one-off job at his sister's company, you take it - even though helping his little brother out with some paperwork sounds awfully tedious
I always wondered what Loki, Hela and Thor would do if they were 'mere mortals'
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️✨
It’s deleted but I was lucky enough to have read this way back 2020. It was one of my favorite back then, because it was hard to find a long fic where Loki is not the God of Mischief but just a mere mortal living amongst us. I honestly forgot most about this story, I only remember bits and pieces, you’re Thor’s best friend and he helped you gain money by working under Loki, like the synopsis said.
A Study In Suit by lowkeyorloki
Synopsis:
You've worked too damn hard to get into Professor Laufeyson's course, and you're not about to let your pesky attraction to him get in the way. Your Professor, however, has other plans.
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Professor Loki. That’s it.
From the Void, With Love by pilotisms
Synopsis:
Torn from time, you have to navigate the TVA with the one person who singlehandedly tried to conquer NYC. Turns out you & him have a future-past. Time is weird.
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
This is one of the best I’ve read, this is my second to The Proposal. I fucking love this you have no idea. Wished there was a longer sequel though.
Litklœði by GoldTrimmedSpectacles
Synopsis:
“And the sire promised that he would spend the rest of his days searching for the cure of the flower disease which took his friend. And he did find this cure, but not without a cost,” Frigga explained and stroked Loki’s head as the illusions vanished. “But now, when one is fraught with flowers in their chest, a völva can remove these flowers with seiðr – saving the victim’s life and removing the vines from their lungs.”
The Allmother paused and looked at your small, childish face. Her smile was kind and full, but her eyes lay empty and sad. The knowledge of yet to come lay heavy on her features.
However, be warned my child, that with the removal of lung flowers the feelings of unrequited love will be removed too. As will any remaining trace of friendship. So be careful how you give your heart, my dear. You may never know what you could lose.
Review:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Hanahaki Disease AU? Anyone? This one is from my previous blog post. Pure feelings. Loved young loki and young reader.
In Progress or Abandoned Gems
Mea Culpa by OlympianWine
Synopsis:
Six years ago yours and Loki's relationship came to an abrupt and messy end, leaving resentment and hurt in its wake. Now you haven't heard a whisper of him in years, until he turns up at his brother's wedding, seemingly changed for the better, and you're thrust into facing both him and the memories you had buried. But a dangerous figure from Loki's past looms overhead, and Thanos is determined to hunt Loki down and make him pay for betraying him.
Review:
💔💔💔💔💔
I mean based on the synopsis who wouldn’t want to read that? Last update was last year, here’s to hoping it’ll update more or I’m gonna have to kms.
Anagapesis by OlympianWine
Synopsis:
You have a perfect life; a loving husband, a beautiful baby. But when it all comes crashing down, you must put survival ahead of sentiment and turn to a darker prince - your husband's brother. Loki is cruel and cold, and he hates you with a burning passion. Or so you think.
Review:
💔💔💔💔
Just when you think you’re falling, he makes you remember what type of person he is. I feel for Loki, but he’s just cruel man. I wish there was more so I could understand him a bit more.
Seiðmaðr by GoldTrimmedSpectacles
Synopsis:
Amidst the fallen brethren of the Vanaheimr war against Muspelheim, the dark prince of Asgard finds himself lost and riddled with amnesia. His words are barbed, his tongue is gilded and his eyes are sharp. He has no recollection of his name or family, but he soon comes to realise that perhaps it is best for the past to be shadowed by the future, and that life as a beloved commoner is better than life as a miserable prince.
Review:
💔💔💔💔💔
I’m a sucker for fantasy and a well executed world building. I love how I’m instantly transported into the world created by the author and I feel alive inside. I wish there was a way to find out what happens next. I just love this so much I wish there was more.
#loki imagine#loki fic recs#loki is alive#loki#mcu loki#loki fanfic#marvel loki#loki odinson#loki x you#loki x reader#loki laufeyson#loki series#loki friggason#nkx reads#nkx recs#nkx fic recs#nkx loki fic recs#fluff#angst#slow burn#loki x y/n
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-TF2 MERC KINKY HEADCANNONS-
*This is like my first time writing anything on here so have mercy on my mortal soul*
Nsfw warning obvi, so 18+..but also it gets pretty damn kinky in here so beware.
- [x] Spy
Spy in my mind is absolutely a switch. He absolutely has a daddy kink and a knife kink, but he also wants more than anything for someone (scouts mom) (or you ;0) to yank him down by his tie and force him to his knees. He likes surprises. These can be sexual in nature or not. I feel he would also like blindfolds regardless of who’s wearing it. covers your eyes and says “guess who” ass motherfucker. He’d growl too i think.
- [x] Sniper
many thoughts are to be had about this man in particular. For starters, by no means am i one to kink shame. My blog would be more of a testament to that if my likes were public. However, i simply do not think he has a piss kink. I think he puts absolutely no thought into pissing in jars besides the fact that it’s purposefully insulting to his targets in game. With that out of the way, his kinks. Do i even need to say primal kink? This fella read most dangerous game and thought: damn.. that’s kinda sexy. He wants to set you loose in the woods and track you down to fuck you. he wants it outside. he wants it dirty, sweaty, covered in blood and mud. He wants it animal style but literally. Aside from primal stuff, he loooves roadhead and hitting that thang from the back.
- [x] Scout
Now scout is a tricky one. Unlike basically all of the other mercs, i don’t think he’s super kinky. Here’s some thoughts anyways. He’d definitely start out kinda preformatively domineering, but the man has no ability to bluff. he’d ask constantly if he’s doing ok / if there’s something you want him to do. He is an absolute sucker for any praise. Compliment him on literally anything, and he’ll be a puddle in your lap.
- [x] Pyro
The mask STAYS. ON. during sex. The only way i could see them removing it is if they first blindfolded you. It’s not that they don’t trust you, they just refuse for absolutely anyone to see them. So i hope you have a mask kink, because they’ve certainly developed one. Other kinks they may have would be sensory play. I’m talkin hot wax, ice, feathers, incense, maybe even needles. basically the whole shebang. Pyro also has a love for fantasy, and i feel like Ovipositors would lend quite well to that. They probably have quite the extensive bad dragon collection.
- [x] Engineer
He absolutely makes you toys.. and them suckers are POWERFUL. He’d absolutely make a fuck machine, or several. I think he’s extra into having anything you use to get off be made by him. He’s mega into overstimulating you. He likes to watch his handiwork absolutely wreck you over and over. He may even want others to watch too. I think he’d have a size kink whether you’re bigger or smaller than him, I just think he’d like the difference.
- [x] Demo
I think he likes cuddlefucking and somnophilia. Nothin sobers him up faster than waking up to head. Now when he gets in the mood for it, it’s degradation BIG time. like so bad that he probably feels he has to apologize afterwards.
He also likes to spit on you. Also i don’t know how it would work, but there’s potential kink-ery with that ghost eye of his. I don’t know how, but the potential is there.
- [x] Medic
Oh boy this freak..
Did someone say knife kink? yea. yeaaaaah. And it’s pretty extreme. He’s not just threatening you, he’ll really do it. He likes to keep you strapped to a medical bed n shit too. I think he’d like to spoon-feed people. He gets off on giving you sugar pills to make you “feel better” wait.. were those really sugar pills? fuck. You’ll wake up sore with maybe an organ or two missing, but that’s the price to pay for those big sexy jugs he’s got. Don’t worry he’s a master at aftercare.
- [x] Heavy
Size kink outta the way, I think Heavy is into Dollification. He wants to take care of you, dress you in frilly outfits, and keep you on a shelf like a little collectible next to Sasha. He might even share you with medic.. take you in to get “fixed” if he ever brakes you..
……….. fleshlight position 0////0
- [x] Soldier
WAM!!! (wet and messy) for sure. I mean the honey in the comics certainly did something for him. wearing red, white, and blue? you won’t be wearing anything in no time. I feel like degradation is also a certain for him. Don’t tell anyone but he secretly wants you to put him in his place .. he definitely doesn’t want more than anything to follow someone’s orders..
#tf2#tf2 spy#tf2 scout#tf2 engineer#tf2 smut#tf2 pyro#tf2 soldier#tf2 sniper#tf2 medic#tf2 heavy#tf2 x reader#tf2 scout x reader#tf2 posting#smut
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GalexFemYou Boat Scene 18+
Summary: FemReaderxGale NSFW 18+ on the boat in the astral plane after you and Gale discuss the crown. Tried to be a little slower and tender in this one. Done at the request of another, thank you for the idea! :) Content: Explicit and slow piv sex, Minors DNI!
Master List | Read on Ao3
“I don’t think I deserve you at times - I told you of my ambitions, the likes of which many would baulk at - and yet, you remain at my side. Permit me to show you something, please? Indulge me - a little boat voyage, that’s all.”
Despite your hesitation, you obliged - Gale meant more than words could express and you knew you’d do whatever you needed to help him see that.
“Astra navigabimus.” As he uttered the words, you felt your consciousness and body shift, pulling away from the material plane and cast elsewhere. It was jarring and surreal, yet you kept your eyes shut, trusting Gale implicitly.
“Few mortals ever glimpse what you’re about to see,” Gale said in a husky, quiet voice as his warm hand engulfed yours. “Don’t be alarmed, I’m here with you. Open your eyes.”
You inhaled, the air around you a chilled mist. Goosebumps undulated across your skin as your eyes fluttered open, absorbing the impossible swirls of purple and blue iridescence that surrounded you. As you drift on the small wooden boat, your fingers lithely traced the air, trying to capture the gossamer fog.
You turned to Gale, his face bright and the impossible colors swirled in his dark eyes. “The outer planes… this is where gods dwell. Where they observe us from afar. Where they make play things of us.” He frowned, gesturing to the skies, “They would keep all of this from us - the power, the possibilities. They only want us to serve them, pray to them… die for them. What if we didn’t need them and welded their power instead to help ourselves in all the ways they refuse to?” Gale’s voice was thick with anticipation and delirium, “I could make that happen. I could make this illusion a reality… with you by my side.”
You froze, gripped by the possibility of what he offered. You’d be lying if you said the thought wasn’t tantalizing… yet, as he sat here before you, pleading and desperate for approval, you knew that Gale - the man before you - was enough. He would always be enough. When was the last time he’d been told that?
Had he ever been told?
“I don’t need the stars, Gale,” you laced your fingers with his and brought his palm to your lips, brushing them against the skin. “I have you.”
Your romantic gesture fell on deaf ears as Gale insisted: “Then have me, but have the best, possible version of me. The tadpole, the orb, these threats to our existence, the gods could aid us if they wished and instead they cower behind Ao. With the power of the crown, any foe would be rendered impotent, any obstacle dwarfed by our might.” Gale sighed, clutching your hands like a penitent seeking redemption. “I used to believe Mystra was worth dying for. I was wrong. You showed me how much I have to live for. With you, I forget my goddess.” Your heart thrummed violently, threatening to jump from your throat and your body instinctively began to scoot forward, craving him. “I love you. Tell me you feel the same, that you want what I want… please..” Gale’s voice broke and you leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands and rested your forehead to his.
“I love you for the man you are,” you said, brushing your lips tenderly to his and he shuddered, emitting a gentle groan. Your knees were flush to his and you moved forward, chasing the adrenaline that flowed through your veins like a raging river.
“Think of what I offer, the vastness of eternity, the Weave at our fingertips… you’d really prefer me as I am?” Gale looked into your eyes, the dark pools beseeching earnestly for your truth. Could you mean it?
“You’re everything I need you to be,” you murmured before allowing your fingers to twine into his hair, pulling him close as your lips captured his. His gentle moan ignited the blaze within you and you feel the heat between your thighs stir.
Gale returned your kiss passionately, hungrily, a man starved with disbelief that mortality would be enough. “I hope you’re right. Godly power I can live without but you - you’re everything.” His hands ran up your thighs, brushing against the soft skin and teasingly trailed closer to the source of your desire. “You put the stars to shame… let’s sit here awhile, I want to drink you in.” He brushed his tongue across your lower lip before he sought entrance, your tongues gliding together in the familiar wonton dance. He tasted faintly of earl gray and something rich - perhaps a lingering flavor of the nights meal.
Your bodies entangled with familiarity, and you felt Gale’s smirk widen against your lips. He pulled back for a moment to caress your cheek and rested his forehead to yours, “Would you be opposed to staying here a bit longer?” He murmured as his fingers traced the edge of your shirt, tickling your torso beneath. You shivered, feeling the electricity burn and you whimpered as his cool hands pulled the shirt over your head. He licked his lips as his eyes consumed you, his pupils blown wide with desire, his cheeks flushed a dark pink. You shook your head, the bitter mist shrouding you as heat swelled in your center.
Gale leaned forward, his lips brushing against the freckles that littered your shoulder and your hands trailed under his shirt, lifting. He obliged, leaning backward as you slowly pulled his shirt off. Typically, Gale and you would ravage one another if given the opportunity.
Tonight, though, felt different. You craved him tenderly, wanting each moment to be a standalone symphony. You traced the orb, how its tendrils licked up his neck and brought your lips to the pattern. He sighed, pulling you closer to him and the seats of the boat seemed to de-materialize as you and Gale stared at one another, admiring.
A plush blanket appeared beneath you and you rose a brow curiously as your fingers ran over the sensual fabric. Gale wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you into his lap. Your legs circled his waist and you cupped his face in yours, allowing your lips to meet in a supple, painfully slow kiss. You moaned as his tongue sought yours, as he slipped it into your mouth greedily, your hips rolling against his for friction. You felt the girth between his thighs stir as your hips rocked and you pressed yourself tighter to him as the kiss deepened. The carnal need grew, rooted in your core as the lustful dance began.
Gale’s lithe fingers hooked into the waist of your pants and you gasped, the iciness of his touch juxtaposing the primal heat pooling within you. He took his time unlacing your pants before pushing them unhurriedly down. His eyes flick down to your clothed sex and you heard him intake his breath sharply. Gale leaned forward, kissing you lecherously. Each move of his tongue was precise and painfully slow, and you felt your body begin to squirm impatiently. You felt him grin against your lips as he cupped your chin and pulled your face closer to his as his tongue indulged.
Your fingers clumsily worked to remove his trousers and he chuckled, “Let me lend you a hand,” he said as his fingers grazed yours. He shook out of the pants and your eyes widened as you admired the firm tent pressed against his underwear. He guided your hand, slipping it beneath his underwear and he groaned as your fingers wrapped around his arousal. He was warm, firm and you felt a surge of dripping arousal soak your underwear. He groaned as your hand circled him and began to deftly pump, matching his agonizingly steady pace. His fingers sought entrance between the cloth of your undergarments and sex and trailed along your inner thigh, right where the seam met your skin.
You mewled, grinding your hips against his, feeling his erection glide against your covered arousal. Your hand worked quicker before his hand covered yours, his breath hot and quiet as he murmured, “Let’s take our time tonight…” Your body was desperate, wanted to move with a vicious urgency yet Gale continued with such excruciating gentleness. A light brush would likely be enough to send you off the cliff.
His fingers found their way beneath your underwear and you squirmed, seeking him and friction. He chuckled darkly before slipping his fingers away, “The more impatient you are, the longer I’ll wait…” he teased and you leaned forward, biting into his neck. The sinful noise that fell from his lips sent another wave of arousal through you.
“Gale, please,” you begged, your wetness seeping from your underwear and onto his, leaving evidence of your need. Gale traced your lips with his fingers and you shivered, licking the fingers before you before pulling them into your mouth. Gale groaned, his hips bucking upwards into you as you sucked on his fingers. “Touch me,” you whimpered against his fingers and he brought his slick hand into your underwear.
“Rather needy tonight,” Gale teased again and he moaned as his fingers slipped between your folds, “Gods, how divine… how eager you are for me…” as he slid his fingers between your thighs you rolled your hips, whimpering again. His thumb circled your clit, the movements unrushed despite your protests. Gale kissed you again as you gripped his shaft, encircling him as you toyed with him, wanting to feel him inside of you. Gale, as if reading your mind, said, “Have you been patient enough?”
You shook your head, moving your hips, deprived of his fingers. You felt him slip a few into you then, stretching you slowly and massaging you. The sudden entrance made you shudder violently and your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers pressing into his back as you moaned. You nestled your face in the crook of his neck, biting down to stifle your unholy sounds.
“No need to suppress yourself,” Gale murmured, pushing your hair back as he thrusted his fingers harder into you, forcing your body to tighten around him with arousal. “I want to hear you,” he demanded, pressing deeper into you and against the deepest source of your arousal. You cried out and bit down on his neck again.
You lifted your hips, bringing them down onto his fingers and you mumbled against his neck, “I need you, I need more…”
“Woe be it from me to deny you…” he murmured, pushing your underwear off your body and did the same to himself. He held himself for a moment, stabilizing as you brought your hips over his erection. Your hands gripped his shoulders and you gazed into his lustful, brown pools and felt him fill you. Your mouth watered as you brought yourself down deliberately only allowing the tip of him in.
He whimpered, thrusting his hips up and you pulled back, smirking. “Why the rush?” You retorted and he growled, surrendering to you. You rolled your hips before bringing yourself fully over him, allowing him to stretch you full and welcomed him into your slick cunt. You both moaned as he filled you and he thrusted into you aggressively, gripping your hips. Your lips brush against his neck, his jaw, until your tongues are tangled again and he drove into you. Your bodies moved of their own accord now, both of you desperate for release and pleasure, the sensations overwhelming. Every fiber of your being thrummed with sin and you moved quicker, pulling him deeper into you and clenching around his erection. He moaned as you did, gripping your waist tighter, using his other hand to pull your hair back and kiss you. Sweat began to cover you both as your movements became carnal, needy - your breathing jagged and unsteady as you felt yourself swell with bliss and ecstasy.
“I….” Gale moaned, the kiss sloppy and wet, “I… please…” his voice was raspy and deep as he thrusted violently into you and you cried out, begging for more, needing more. Abruptly he flipped you over so you were on your stomach, he hovering over you and pulled your hair back to kiss you. You moaned as you felt him enter you again from behind, your hips rolling backward to bring him further into you. He held your hair to steady himself, the pain from the pull overstimulating as he filled you. Your mouth was full of hot saliva and you whimpered as he grew more urgent, your bodies moving together in a steady, unholy rhythm. He pushed so hard against you that you felt a sharp pain and cried out, enough that he paused for a moment to whisper into your ear, “Are you alright?” And you nod, delirious from the pleasure, and you heard him whisper, “Come for me, then.”
You press your face into the blanket and muffle your cries as he pumps deeper, harder, and his hand wraps in front of you for his thumb to circle your clit. It’s too much. You writhed and every cell in your body seized, tensing in preperation until you heard him groan gutturally, his hot climax filling you as your own climax roiled through you. The unadulterated bliss that pulsed through you was divine, both of your bodies moving in shared harmony, in your shared symphony of pleasure. Gale collapsed onto you, his lips pressing to your ear and neck as he murmured praises, how much he loved you, how much he adored you and when your breath returned to you, you rolled onto your back, cupping his face in your hands. “Mortality has its perks..” You murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as you smirked.
Gale laughed, pulling you tighter to his chest, kissing your forehead. You settled into a comfortable silence, allowing the boat to rock you as you both marveled at how lucky you both were to have one another. “I can’t wait to explore your body a thousand more ways… eternity wouldn’t be enough for me.”
#gale smut#gale bg3 smut#gale of waterdeepthroat#gale fanfic#gale kiss#gale angst#gale fanfiction#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#bg3#bg3 gale fanfiction#bg3 gale fanfic#gale x femreader
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If You Want An ACTUAL 'Feminist Icon' Man With Depth, Then Ares Is Your Best Candidate (NOT Hades!)
He has been SEVERELY misrepresented. Wonder Woman, Percy Jackson, DC Comics ... why didn't God of War use Ares instead of Kratos who is just one of Zeus' lieutenants?
(Don't get too excited just yet, it's still a pretty low bar.)
1) Ares is quite literally the ONLY Greek God (sitting on the Twelve Olympians) who doesn't need to be put on an sex offender registry. (I won't speak for his Roman counterpart, Mars, however ...) The worst he ever did, was seduce Phylonome, an hunting companion of Artemis, in the guise of an shepherd. That's hardly comparable to Zeus seducing Callisto in the guise of Artemis, or Alkmene in the guise of her husband Amphitryon, or Poseidon seducing Tyro in the guise of the river-God Enicepus.
That's right, the 'sacker of cities' isn't a rapist himself. (If you don't like irony, then Greek mythology isn't for you.)
2) Not only is Ares the only one who isn't a rapist, but he has actually stood up for sexual assault survivors more than once (even if they're his mother or daughter!) Ares was famously tried (and acquitted!) for homicide by a jury of the Twelve Olympians, after he slew Poseidon's son for raping his daughter. In one version of the myth, he was found guilty and forced to serve among mortals (which was the same sentence Zeus gave Poseidon and Apollo for conspiring against him). The implication is that all the Goddesses voted to acquit, all the Gods voted to convict, and what with Poseidon as prosecutor, Zeus as judge, and Ares as defendant, there were more goddesses on the jury than gods. Even if Zeus cast his vote to convict, it would have come to a tie and the rule was that the defendant is to be acquitted if there is a tie. (This is what occurred in The Oresteia, the setting of which was also the Areopagus.) When two giant sons stormed Olympus with the intention of taking Hera and Artemis, Ares was trapped by them in a jar, and the implication was because he was defending his mother and he was only a child at the time. He was also present at the punishment of Ixion who attempted to violate Hera, alongside Athena and Hermes.
3) Ares is the father of the Amazons (you hear that, DC Comics?) The founder of the Amazons, Otrera (who, btw, is the mythological founder of the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus), is either his daughter with the wood-nymph Harmonia, or his consort (if she is the daughter of Eurus, God of the North Winds) by whom he fathered Melanippe, Antiope, Hippolyta, and Penthesilea. Their nation's capital city is named Themiskyra in honour of Themis (Zeus' second wife and his aunt by whom he fathered three daughters), whom Ares is on surprisingly close terms with (see the Homeric Hymn to Ares), since he was also the patron god of the law enforcement.
4) One of Ares' epithets is 'feasted by women', in the ancient city of Tegea in Arcadia; during a war between the Tegeans and the Spartans, the women of Tegea defended the city from an invasion led by the Spartan king Charilaus.
5) Women abused by their husbands, as I've read online (but cannot verify), would have likely prayed to Ares for the strength to survive, which makes sense since he is the God of Courage (who else would they have prayed to?), which may have (sadly) further contributed to his unpopularity in Ancient Greece. Likely women also prayed that their abusive husbands would die violently on the battlefield in the next war ... He is, after all, the 'slayer of men'. It's not any different from how mothers would pray to Demeter to bring their daughters back alive, or unmarried girls would pray to Artemis to escape an unwanted marriage ... There's no 'protector of women in Greek mythology' because the Hellenistic religion worked through power bargains with the Gods and their respective domains ...
6) Aphrodite was forced into a marriage with Hephaestus in exchange for Hera's release (Hephaestus initially sued for the hand of Athena which ... didn't work out; see Erichthonius for more detail), Aphrodite expected that she would marry Ares. (They may or may not have been sleeping together before since Dionysus is the one who got Hephaestus drunk enough to do it ... Dionysus is the son of Semele, daughter of Harmonia, Ares and Aphrodite's daughter ... or maybe it's just the wonky timeline in Greek mythology ... ) Love and War. Their children are Eros (the literal Cupid himself) and Anteros (Unrequited Love), Phobos (Fear), Deimos (Panic), and Harmonia (Harmony). They have an open marriage (they are often acknowledged as each other's consort in mythology), despite Ares killing Adonis as a boar (although one version has Artemis killing Adonis as revenge for Hippolytus) and Aphrodite cursing Eos with insatiable lust. Spartans gave Aphrodite the epithet of 'Areia' (similar to how Zeus has the epithet of 'Heraion'). Note how Ares and Aphrodite are the only official couple, whether they're depicted as married or otherwise, on the Twelve Olympians (following her divorce from Hephaestus) besides Zeus and Hera themselves, which brings me to my next point ...
7) Even though Ares was not worshipped by many Ancient Greeks (just as they didn't feel comfortable even mentioning Hades by name), he was always depicted as an handsome soldier, which was the peak of male attractiveness at the time. Legally, he would have been considered as the 'legitimate' heir to the throne of Olympus as the only 'true' son of Zeus and Hera (since Hephaestus was conceived via parthenogenesis), given how the Ancient Greeks projected their own sociocultural norms onto their Gods. He is also one of the most handsome of Zeus' sons (along with Apollo, Hermes, and Dionysus). Bizarrely, he could almost be considered as Ancient Greece's cultural equivalent of Prince Charming in a roundabout way.
8) Ares is the son of Hera (the Goddess of Marriage, Family, and Childbirth, Patron of Women and Queen of Olympus) and the husband of Aphrodite (Goddess of Love and Beauty; Lust and Sexuality; Desire and Pleasure). He is also the rival to his half-sister Athena (Goddess of Wisdom and Reason; Strategy and Warfare; Arts and Crafts) for his father's affections, and shares jurisdiction with his half-sister Artemis over the Amazons. He's also on good terms with his grand-aunt, Themis, and I would assume his aunt Hestia. Zeus and Hera's other children are all daughters (Enyo, Eileithyia, Hebe, Angelos, Arge, Eleuthera), and a part of Zeus is concerned that Ares would overthrow him (more on that in another day, for another post). It's not hard to see why Ares drinks the Respect Women Juice unlike his father, uncles, or brothers.
9) People often use Ares persecuting a pregnant Leto at Hera's orders against him, disregarding that Hera is not only his mother but the Queen of Olympus. Even then, he never did anything more than deny her entrance to cities. The entirety of Ancient Greece itself was under orders to deny Leto sanctuary, and so are you really going to fault Ares for it? ZEUS didn't even hold it against Ares, even though he's his least favourite and Leto is his favourite woman ...
9) Ancient Greek mythology is largely passed through Athens, and they associated Ares with foreigners such as the Thracians (Thrace is said to be the God's birthplace) whom they regarded as stupid, uncivilized barbarians (see 6). His respecting women is likely meant to be seen as a negative trait, and highly correlated with how Ares was seen in general (see 3).
Note: I am NOT calling Ares an 'feminist icon' man, I'm just saying that he is the best possible candidate in Greek mythology.
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Here's what Team Tadpole would do for you for valentine's day!
Karlach: She would get you the absolute BIGGEST plushie she could find, and chocolates. Post-upgrades, she would cuddle the plushie for a few nights beforehand so it smells like her. She'd probably bring you to a carnival- One that *isn't* infested with shapeshifters this time -and try to take turns winning each other prizes.
Wyll: Wyll Ravengard spares no romantic gesture. He brought you your favorite flowers and decided to take you out dancing! He wanted to finish off the night with a romantic walk on the beach, but Mizora crashed your date, and now the three of you are playing board games because she wouldn't leave- Which Wyll isn't exactly happy about, but he's content as long as he gets to spend time with you.
Gale: Gale would probably make you a home-cooked meal in his tower back at home and absolutely shower you with affection and little magic tricks to dazzle the eyes. He's constantly seeking that approval, so you'd better believe he's going all out.
Halsin: Halsin would take you on a picnic in the prettiest part of the woods he could find, and surprise you with a special wild garden bed of your favorite flowers. He'd also have a whittled duck for you.
Shadowheart: Shadowheart would bring you a single night-blooming flower and a bottle of wine. She'd probably take you somewhere dark and secluded where you could simply spend the night enjoying each other's company, away from the rest of the world.
Astarion: Astarion is happy to do almost anything as long as he's with you. You stopped by his grave to leave flowers- A cute gesture he's likely become accustomed to. Perhaps he takes you out to dinner, or to a play he knows you've been wanting to see, but the real treat is when he takes you back home to cuddle and read together. Horror novels and shocking favorites only.- You wouldn't expect it, but he does voices for the characters if you get him to read out loud. His faked accents are awful, but it's cute.
Ascended Astarion: Awe, you didn't think I'd leave you guys out, did you? So. He's likely to do something flashier. A wine tasting, or maybe take you to get a new outfit tailored to fit you perfectly. It doesn't match anything you'd actually choose to wear, but it paints the perfect picture of the vampire consort trophy spouse he's decided that you are. He keeps setting up little things that you feel are supposed to make you happy, but it's filled with a harsh coldness and an empty stare. You've all but given up hope that the Astarion you know and love is still in there until the night comes to a close, and he brings you home. He's being strangely affectionate and sweet. Cuddly. At first, you take this as a sign of better days - until he won't stop biting you, no matter what you say or do. Eventually, he's taken so much blood that you pass out; and you wake up in your locked chambers alone with a pretty, expensive necklace and roses. No note. It doesn't even matter if roses are your favorite flower or not. He doesn't care.
Lae'zel: She didn't know Valentine's Day was a thing. She can't pronounce it and literally had no idea why everyone was making a big deal about the holiday, etc. She was, however, very surprised when you brought her a gift. She tried to seem uninterested in the whole "mushy, romantic stuff," but you could practically see her heart melt when you made a romantic gesture. You spent the rest of the day together - She probably tried to bring you out hunting or sparring.
Durge: Durge would either give you a mortal heart in a jar or a vial of their own blood, and disturbing poetry they wrote for you. They might try to get you to get matching tattoos with them, but they won't push you if you'd rather not. Aside from that, they might take you to a cemetery or a long lost ruin to bask in the macabre beauty of the space. They'd also bring brownies they made themself.- They were going to pack a picnic, but they didn't want to smother you; and they're really better at baking than they are at cooking.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate meme#astarion#bg3 durge#dark urge#gale dekarios#baldurs gate tav#lae'zel#wyll ravengard#shadowheart#halsin#karlach#valentines day#bg3 scenarios#scenarios#ascended astarion
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hi! i love your art! wanted to ask what are the archivists names? and their personalities? does kepler live with them? shes a blorbo
hope you have a cool night!
Oh well here there's reference sheet! :D
(More information below)
Sirius the Archivist
Is the eldest of the siblings in both terms of mental and physical age.
Sirius is incredibly reliable and responsible out of all his siblings and tends to be the main reason keeping the family together, especially post-titan war.
A workaholic who focuses too much on their work.
Favored by The Council, Sirius uses it to give his siblings more freedom and control than what their species would usually give.
The one who adopted Collector when they were born. But, wasn't as present in their years of growing up due to their role as the Head Archivist.
Was the one who told Collector to play with the Titans.
Sirius made a contract with the Titan Trappers.
_
Borealis the Naturalist
The second oldest of the siblings only being born a few decades after Sirius.
Despite being equally as strong as their eldest sibling, their inability to control their emotions hinders them from properly using it.
Being one of the siblings (Excluding Collector) to have emotions similar to that of mortals.
Borealis show favoritism towards their youngest and hypocritical towards their own beliefs and morals.
Didn't participate in the Titan war.
Had attempted to completely put the planet of the Isles into a complete ice age.
_
Ouroboros the Architect
The third oldest sibling.
They lack any emotions or feelings but understand what those are.
They create personas that would match their sibling's personalities.
Collector’s favorite sibling.
Would play games with Collector that often lead to damages of exoplanets that they later on fix.
Was a key factor in the reason the Trappers accepted the contract with Sirius.
Influence Collector’s view of mortals as nothing but a toy they can entertain themselves with.
Was born from the collapsing of a black hole.
_
Circe the Researcher
The fourth oldest of the siblings
Would keep Collector away from their Archives due to what lies inside of it.
Used the corpses of Titans to get a better understanding of their anatomy and magic.
Is fascinated by the ecosystem that has grown from the corpse of the Titans.
Shows great curiosity towards the Titan species.
Was disappointed that the species had to be wiped out due to the possibility of becoming an annoyance to them.
Has souvenirs from the war in the archives.
_
Gabriel the Collector
The youngest of the siblings.
Bothers all his siblings when they’re working.
Keeps releasing all the fuzzy creatures archived in Borealis section.
Is hyperactive and tends to ignore his sibling’s advice.
Has jars of shiny rocks.
Was found by Sirius when they were born.
Often cause trouble to get their sibling’s attention. (It always works)
Claustrophobic from being trapped inside a tablet.
Misses their titan friends.
_
Wolly is somewhere sleeping :D
(Thanks for reading!)
#the owl house#toh#the collector#toh the collector#toh collector#owl house#the archivist#The collector toh#toh the archivists#toh the archivist#the archivists#TSOYB AU
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Mel audiodrama rec list!
I'm gay sad and picky, read into that how you may - in no real order - heed each show's TWs
RED VALLEY!! LOVE THIS SHOW TO DEATH. Great beginner audiodrama, such excellent audio and writing and chemistry and woayfhhtm. Cried a lot. A good amount of existential dread. Ough
Woe.begone: lots of wbg brainrot as of late. Genuinely the most scary podcast ever to me - but only if you think about it. Don't get too attached to the ARG format of the first season. Its long, a mind fuck, and not for everyone. It took me 2 tries over a year and a half to lock in properly. Best consumed in a binge as to keep the plot threads fresh in mind. Great discord server <3 cried a lot too
The Grotto: Wbg has great music but Grottos hits different. It makes me want to teeth. I adore the writing personally, but be OK with your pov character sort of being a toxic person. He's trying he really is. This show portrays nuances of grief and mental health issues so well imo. Also great discord server <3
The Kingmaker Histories: Very very charming writing and world building. The world building is alternate history in a way that the fantastical elements occur to you naturalistically as you listen. Lovely lovely cast. Self aware about its tropes and excellently uses em to their advantage. Acknowledges a lot of the darker facets of history in an almost satirical manner to its absolute benefit
The Bright Sessions: Was actually my first full audiodrama! Was obsessed with it for a while. A good comfort listen imo, it's character chemistry is definitely a strong suit; a very human look at fantastical people
Fawx & Stallion: Narm-y but so genuinely charming. I absolutely love the casting choices, I think they're all so perfect for the characters. I'd almost call it a satire played straight, where the main characters behave in nearly caricature levels of eccentricity, but their consequences are shockingly grounded. It's pleasant! Can't wait for the next season
Ethics Town: I'm a philosophy sociology student, legally cannot not recommend. It subverted my expectations for what the format of the story would be tbh! In a neutral way, it just took me by surprise the first time. The world building is very fun and relatively unique, it gets you attached in a way that can really make your stomach drop
The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: SO GOOD AND SO SLEPT ON!! I loved this show so much, its one of those that leave you craving for something to hit you the same way it did. One of my favourite anthology shows, mainly because of how interlinked the over all plot is to all of it, all while keeping the stories so fresh and invigorating. Listen to it!!!
SCP: Find Us Alive: The characters and cast are excellent; and I like how strained and tense the relationships between them get! It's not necessarily comfortable to listen to, but it's investing and leaves you on edge just like the characters would be. I like their personal lives breaching the strict professionalism of their work gradually. No prior knowledge of SCP really necessary
Jar of Rebuke: Really poignant in the alienation it portrays. I love the way Jared experiences the world and himself; his understanding of his own gender, the way that his innate abilities don't correlate to those of others, the way that he never feels quite like he's saying the right thing, it's all such mfmfjdndmdm good show. Unfortunately audio does sometimes tick off my sensory issues
Neighborly: I LOVE GOTHIC HORROR SO MUCH OH MY GOD. I love the narrative structure and the domestic horror of this show. The ambiance and the dreamy story telling all excellent. The one issue I have is that listening to it with headphones REALLY fuck with my sensory issues :((
Blake Skye Private Eye: Really slept on imo! The exaggerated noir setting and pacing are great, unfortunately the audio leveling does mess with my sensory issues :( is someone willing to lend me a better auditory system
Shelterwood: As aforementioned I LOVE GOTHIC HORROR SO MUCH. THE SUBLIME. THE DOMESTIC SUSPENCE. LOVE THAT SHIT. I really love the sound design here. Characters are so so real. Love them. Can't wait for more
Keep it Steady: Fuck fuck fuck man. I cried most of the way through heart brockoken this is so good I love it cant wait for more.
Speed round for podcasts I like to throw on for light hearted (to me) quick, queer fluff
- Love and Luck
- Kaleidotrope
- The Two Princes
- The Lavender Tavern
- Tales from the Low City
- Monstrous Agonies
#If you've got any to share PLEASE DO!!!#podcast recommendations#lgbtqia#Red Valley#woe.begone#the grotto podcast#the kingmaker histories#the bright sessions#fawx & stallion#ethics town#the mistholme museum of mystery morbidity and mortality#scp find us alive#jar of rebuke#neighborly#shelterwood#Blake skye private Eye#keep it steady
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