#and so much focus was put on endeavour

[obsidianstrawberrymilk]

I will never stop screaming about the untapped potential of Shouto and Fuyumi's relationship

[heavenlyraindrops]

Can I request a bit of lucifer x reader where reader is a new resident at the hotel but also extremely powerful like could almost be an overlord if they wanted but are shy/hate people so they try to just keep to themselves and be as quiet as possible but end up in a forced proximity situation with the king of hell himself (who they have a horrible crush on) and something pushes them over the edge we get some fluffy confessions but also a bit of dry humping (I liked your pervious story with it) and afterwards they realize being tangled up with Lucifer himself probably isn't going to keep them out of the spotlight but oh well? (I hope this isn't too much you said the more specifics the better and works got me to burned out to write it myself )

ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ- “ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ” ——> word count: 3.5k

Warnings: drinking, tiny mention of blood/violence, sexual content, dry humping, forced proximity

hiii anon tysm for the ask I love it, it’s perfectly specific and I had sm fun writing this ! I’m not too good with fluff but I tried my best, I hope you like it!

You didn’t want to be an overlord.

Despite your monumental power- it was just too much. The other overlords scared you, and you despised the attention. 

Instead of choosing any overlord-ish career endeavours, you’d opted to help Charlie, your friend, with her hotel. It was better, it was easier, especially much more than having to mingle with power-hungry demons. And Charlie herself was charming enough to make working with her seem attractive enough. 

“[name], I’m so happy you’ve decided to help me,” she beamed, clutching your hands, eyes sparkling. And as she hugged you fiercely you realized with a rush of warmth that it was worth it.

Vaggie nodded behind her, yet her eyes held apprehension as she swept her gaze up and down you. “We need all the help we can get,” she said tersely. You nodded wordlessly. Charlie turned to look at her. 

“Believe me, Vaggie, she’ll be a great addition.” She hugged you again, sideways. “[name] here just happens to be super powerful! It’ll be really useful to have them around.” You flushed bashfully at the praise. 

Vaggie nodded and smiled stiffly.  

Over time you’d made it your mission to get Vaggie to like you. Need help moving these boxes? Telekinesis. Loan sharks bothering the hotel? Incinerated. Angelic warfare? You were more than willing to paint the streets gold. And you did it, too, terrifyingly easily, without a single word spoken. You were never one to talk more than you needed to. Normally you wouldn’t, but you did it discreetly so that word wouldn’t leak that it was you, and plus, you could use Vaggie’s trust.

You sighed, placing down a box Vaggie had asked you to move as everyone crowded together in the lounge, colouring pencils and markers spilled across the floor. Charlie’s soft murmurs had ceased as she put down the phone. 

You cleared your throat, to catch her attention and focus it on your quiet voice. “Hey Vaggie. What’s in this?”

Vaggie looked up. “Books, for the library. It’s too he-“

It lifted up into the air behind you, and you stared at her blankly. She cleared her throat. 

“Right, you can do that. They belong in the library.”

You set for the door, the box trailing behind you in the air. Charlie sat up properly. “Won’t you join us, [name]?”

You nodded quickly. “I’ll just drop these off first,” you mumbled, before giving a tinkly little wave before slipping in through the door.

Sighing, you quietly made your way down the hallway towards the library. Grappling with the lock before swinging the door open, wincing as it creaked, you switched on the lights. Dust billowed up where you moved and even more as you set the box down with a thud.

“God, this storage unit so fucking tiny,” you muttered to yourself. The door fell shut.

You tried to open it but it wouldn’t budge. It was jammed. You slammed the base of your palm against the door. It took you a good few seconds of pulling and twisting until it clicked back open. 

You sighed, running your hand through your hair before going back to join the others. 

You smiled wearily in greeting, your hand throbbing as you sat down and picked up a piece of paper. It rustled in your hands. You looked around, an unspoken question.

“Mindful colouring,” Charlie replied, the tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration as she carefully coloured within the lines. Vaggie smiled softly. Your eyebrows shot up as Niffty took in a deep sniff of a Sharpie and suddenly began to shake- not that anyone paid her any mind.

“Cool,” you said, not really knowing what else to say before picking up a pen. Angel Dust shifted behind you, his paper catching your eye. 

“Angel, you can’t just draw dicks all over your sheet,” Vaggie chided.

“Sure I can, toots,” he said, scribbling down another one in bright pink marker. You sighed and scratched a few lines into your own sheet. 

“By the way,” Charlie said. “My dad’s coming tomorrow.”

Your heart seized. 

No-one noticed the look on your face as the room fell into casual conversation. Only you could feel the thrumming of your heart in the back of your throat. Heat crept up your face. 

A hand landed on your shoulder. Charlie’s concerned face appeared in your vision. “You okay, [name]?”

You struggled to dredge up words to assure her that you were, eventually stuttering out a single word.

“Y-yeah.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. You gave her a wobbly smile. The conversation resumed without you. 

Eventually night fell and the group had dispersed, aside from you, Angel and Alastor at the bar while Husk rubbed down a glass. You glanced sideways nervously at the overlord, who lifted a gloved finger. 

“Whiskey,” he ordered nonchalantly, leaning on his elbow as he flicked his hand at Husk- who rolled his eyes and grumbled. You hunched over your hands as you quietly requested a drink, before Angel made his own order.

“So, dear.” Alastor’s glass clinked as he set it down on the counter, smile widening as his eyes fixed onto you. “You’re quite powerful, [name].”

You shrugged, taking a gulp of your drink, figuring you’d need it to get through the conversation anyways. It burned the back of your throat, bitter and woozy. “I guess so.” Alcohol had always managed to loosen your tongue. Angel and Husk fell into conversation on the other end of the bar. Alastor leaned closer.

“Then why don’t you become an overlord, darling? You could seize half of the Pride ring with that power. We’d work wonderfully together.” His eyes sparked with excitement. You pulled away.

“Don’t wanna,” you said bluntly, turning back to your drink. You heard him huff lightly, yet the smile never left. 

“Why not?” Radio static buzzed in your ears.

“I can’t. I just can’t. Being well-known…dealing with other overlords and sinners and even royalty…” you threw your hands into the air. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Al, but I’m not exactly a people person.” You threw back your head and took another gulp. “I’d rather live without the attention on me.”

He gave a low chuckle, tracing the rim of his glass. “Oh, but there already is. Despite keeping to yourself, and hiding who exactly you are, you haven’t exactly made an effort to hide your abilities. Not from us, anyways.”

“And I have no obligation to,” you slurred. “I’m content with what I have.”

He seemed to be thoughtful for a moment, finger still tracing patterns against his glass. Then he sighed. “Fair enough, dear.” You blinked, surprised as he patted your shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you may consider me and Rosie allies.” 

With that offer he stood up, dusting down his coat and emptying his glass. He nodded curtly. “Farewell.”

And then he left. 

Angel Dust’s arms were around you within moments, his chest floof pressed against your back. You giggled a little, ticklish. 

“Hey, toots. What was Smiles talkin’ about?” He released you, spinning your stool around so that you faced him. Husk had moved towards you two as well. 

“Just asked me why I wasn’t an overlord,” you mumbled. They both looked at you expectantly. “No, I’m not explaining. I’m sick of it. I just don’t wanna.” You sighed and slumped onto the bar counter, almost knocking your drink over before Husk steadied it.

“That’s fair,” he said gruffly. Angel Dust shifted behind you.

“If you’re not drinking that, then I will.” His hand reached for your glass.

“Take it,” you mumbled. He did.

Husk had disappeared to mind his own business, leaving you and Angel to talk. You could feel his smirk burn into your back, and turned to look at him. “What?”

“So, I’ve been noticin’ something…” he leaned his elbows on the counter, placing another hand on his hip, as his smirk widened.

“Uh huh,” you said, not sure where this was going. 

“And whenever someone mentions him, or he shows up…Don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face during Charlie’s little bonding thing.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Who’s he?”

Angel waved his hands around animatedly. “Devil Daddy. Short King. Ya know.”

“Did you just call him ‘Devil Daddy?’”

“Yeah, I did,” he said proudly, giving you a bold stare. You sighed and ran your hands through your hair, and with your growing silence his smirk split into a grin.

“You’re not denyin’ it.”

“Denying what?” You spread your hands in front of you, exasperated. He rolled your eyes.

“You got a crush, toots.”

You pressed your lips together.

He jabbed a finger at your chest. “See? Y’ain’t denyin’ it!”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Your words seared through your throat and tore from your lips, face burning with embarrassment. “What’s it to you?” 

He snorted. “Can’t wait to see him tomorrow, huh?”

“No,” you squeaked. He chuckled with triumph, ruffling your air.

“Good luck, toots.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

-

You groaned, stirring in your sheets as the red light peeked in through the curtains. Niffty was jumping on you, knocking the breath out of you as she landed on your chest. She pulled away, face inches from yours, hair tickling your cheeks. 

The words came out in a jumbled, hysterical mess. “Wake up! The bad boy’s here and he’s been here for an hour and you’ve just been sleeping!” 

You tore Niffty and the bedsheets off of you before scrambling to get yourself ready as she scurried out. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to fix your hair and stripped yourself of your clothes, stepping into the shower. You tugged a comb through your wet hair and quickly rummaged around for clothes- and all the while your heart thrashed against your ribcage at the thought of seeing Lucifer. 

A few minutes later and you’d managed to make yourself presentable. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands down over your stomach to fix your clothes, and then stalked down the stairs. 

Charlie looked up, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. You tried not to look at the man sitting next to her. 

“Hey, [name]!” She waved and then gestured to Lucifer. “My dad’s here!”

Your eyes shifted to him and immediately burned again- his sleeves were up, coat and hat off. His blond hair was slightly tousled in that perfectly messy way- you tore your eyes away from him after giving him a small smile and back to Charlie. 

“Sorry I slept in. I must have had too much to drink last night.” 

Charlie smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You smiled nervously, feeling Lucifer’s gaze burning through you. Charlie waved you over next to her. You sat down awkwardly, knotting your fingers together in your lap. 

“I’ll just go get a drink of water,” she said quickly, shuffling off. “I’ll be right back.” You and Lucifer both nodded. He turned to you.

“So,” he said. The air burned with awkwardness. “You look- you look nice today.”

Heat flooded your entire body. “Really? Thanks.” You looked away, unable to find the courage to compliment him back. “I mean, I only woke up less than ten minutes ago,” you chuckled nervously. He laughed.

“You seem to have a talent for looking effortlessly beautiful, then.”

Was he flirting with you?

Before you could answer with an absolute stuttering mess of word vomit, Charlie tottered back. “So anyways,” she said, turning back to her father and continuing their previous conversation. “We’re making a library. [name]’s helping with it.”

“Really?” He balanced his elbow on the side of the seat, his eyes fixing onto you. Your face burned. 

“I- yeah, I am.”

He chuckled at your answer, then his eyes flicked between you, Charlie, then you again. Charlie piped up. “How about you show him, [name]?” She grabbed you both my the arm and ushered you to the door.

“Oh, it’s not really- it’s not really ready-

“It’s fine!” She waved you away. You and Lucifer stared at each other. You could see him swallow, then grin and flick his head at the door.

“Go on, then. Show me.”

You briskly walked down the hallway, feeling his presence behind you as you began rambling. “Well. The bigger room is where we’ll eventually have the library but we’re keeping all the stuff in this smaller room right now, well actually the stuff was already there except we’re just moving it now so-“

“You can show me both,” he murmured as you stopped outside a door, breath hot on your nape. You flinched at his closeness and opened the door. 

He glanced inside. “It’s quite…empty.”

“Like I said.”

“I guess so. Other room, then?”

“Sure.” You turned. “It’s just a storage unit, though. There’s books, bookshelves, lights and decorations and stuff.” 

He hummed as you opened the door.

“Wow,” he said, stepping into the dark room after you. “How do you even move around in here?” Something clinked and the clutter shifted, before he almost tripped over a box and into you. 

“I don’t know,” you said, with a light huff of laughter as he grabbed your arms to steady himself. The places where his fingertips pressed into your arm burned. The door swung shut.

The room flooded in darkness. You flinched, Lucifer’s yellow eyes glowing at you, cutting through the shadows and you laughed nervously, shuffling around the mess to reach for the door handle. Your hand closed around cool metal, and you tugged. 

It wouldn’t budge.

You tugged again, and it took a few moments of you grappling with the handle for Lucifer to come over and try it himself. He stood behind you, reaching past your arm to-

CRASH!

You let out a small yelp as you were immediately pressed against the door, Lucifer being thrust up against you. Your forehead knocked against the wall and your head spun. 

“Fuck,” he cursed behind you, breath skimming across your shoulder. You shuddered. “Something fell and I-“ he squirmed, “I can’t move.” Your eyes fell to his palm, splayed out on the wall above you to steady himself. 

You parted your lips but no sound came out for a few moments, until you forced yourself to speak. “It’s okay. Do you have a phone?”

Silence. Then: “No. I left it in the other-“

“Yeah. Me too.”

You both fell silent, and it began to gnaw at you so you scrabbled at the wall, looking for the light. You searched for at least five minutes but couldn’t find it. Your hand fell back to your side.

“Can you turn around?” Lucifer muttered. “This feels…this is kind of weird-“

“Yeah, yeah,” you said hastily, voice breathless as you shimmied to the side so you could turn around, your back to the wall instead. You bit your lip as you looked at him, a blond lock of hair falling in front of his eyes. His breath was warm on your lips. 

“I feel like this isn’t much better.” 

“I guess not,” you laughed nervously. He started to look anxious so you awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“They’ll find us,” you reassured him. “They’ll realize we’re gone and they’ll come looking.”

His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I hope so.” 

You could feel his heartbeat thrumming against your chest. You tried to look everywhere except him, but the closeness wasn’t exactly helping- his eyes searched your face, expression dropping. 

“Hey, [name], I- I know that this isn’t the ideal position to be in, and that you’d rather be anywhere else than stuck with me right now, but-“

“That’s not true,” you said quickly, then pressed your lips shut as he looked at you in surprise. “You’re… you’re nice.”

“I- really?” He chuckled nervously. “I mean- I always thought you hated me.”

You blanched. “What? No, that’s-“ your face grew hot at the look on his face, and your gaze dropped downwards. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you don’t really talk to me that much is all.” He licked his lips nervously. “I mean, you don’t talk much but- me, it’s like you’re specifically avoiding me. So I just assumed.” 

You stared at him for a moment. “That’s far from the truth.”

He gave a low, quiet laugh, nerves eased. “What’s that meant to mean?” 

“I like you,” you blurted out. The stunned look on his face seemed to slow down time. You swallowed and then turned away, not that it would get you anywhere away from him- he seemed to have pressed even closer to you- flush up against your body. Or it could have just been your imagination. 

“Well, I’m glad,” came the relieved reply.

“N-no, I mean, I like like you. Romantically.”

Silence.

Fuck. You should have just not said anything and-

“I’m still glad.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “Huh?”

“I like you to, [name].” He grinned. “I like like you. Romantically.” 

The air around the two of you felt like it was burning, oxygen sucking out of your lungs as your knees buckled. This had to be some sort of fever dream. “Really?” Your voice sounded weak to your own ears. He drew closer, humming. 

His lips met yours. 

Heat pooled under your stomach as he pushed you roughly against the door, lips moving in time with his as you snaked your hands around his shoulders and dug your fingers into his hair. He pulled away, face flushed. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”

“It’s fine.” A smile danced along your lips. “I liked it.” His hands fell down to your waist, then hips, pulling you closer. Your core brushed against his, and you flinched, but he didn’t notice as he buried his head into your shoulder in an embrace. 

“This is nice,” he muttered, and you hummed. “I’m glad- this sounds selfish, but I’m glad that we got stuck in here.” He laughed, a beautiful sound. 

“Really? Exactly how long have you had eyes for me, my king?” You teased, newfound confidence born from how comfortable the vibe had gotten. He shivered at the title you’d called him by. 

“Since I saw you help Charlie with those loan sharks.”

“So…when I commit an act of violence?”

“Hush. Don’t question it.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get into a comfortable position, and he stiffened. “Don’t do that,” he muttered. You did it again and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Don’t do what?”

He didn’t say anything, instead opting to hide his face from you. “Lucifer?”

You felt something press up against your abdomen. 

You flushed heavily, then chewed on your lip, wondering if you should drop it or toy with him. Your own desire flooded you at the thought. You tapped his shoulder. “Kiss me again?” You mumbled. He glanced at you, not knowing whether you’d noticed or not. 

“Anything you ask of me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lip before pressing his lips to yours.

You ran your hands through his hair again, and just as he was about to pull away you sharply tugged him back in, pressing your crotch against his. You could feel his breath hitch. “[name], what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, grinding slowly. His face flushed as you felt him harden, and suddenly you were burning too. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead immediately diving in for another kiss and catching you off guard. His tongue swiped across your lips, which didn’t part, until his hand snaked its way up to your collarbone, wrapping around your neck and pressing gently at the base of your throat. You gasped, and his tongue slipped in, making you shudder. 

“Lucifer,” you gasped as he pulled away, hips rolling into his, desperate for friction against your cunt, which was already drenched. He peppered kisses down your jaw and collarbone, hands falling back to your hips and pushing you back up against him.

“Fuck,” he grunted, a languid grind of his hips against yours making you throb. He latched his lips back to your neck, leaving a hickey. You whimpered as his hands smoothed up your sides, thumbs worming their way under the hem of your shirt and holding you steady by the waist as he continued his desperate humping against you. Your core pulsed, drawing closer to the edge-

Suddenly he pulled away, running his hands through his already mussed hair. “What?” You asked breathlessly, anxiety spooling in your stomach. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, then bit his lip and grinned. “The opposite, actually.” He reached behind you. The handle clicked, air buzzing with magic. You stared at him, finding it even harder to ignore the throbbing in between your legs.

“You could do that this whole time, couldn’t you?”  You accused. He arched a brow and you flushed. 

“Don’t act like you couldn’t either,” he winked before kicking the door open. His hand closed around your wrist. 

You huffed, face burning as you realized- getting tangled up with him wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to avoid attention like you’d told Alastor. But the pleasure you were feeling told you that you didn’t care. 

He turned to you. You flushed. 

“Now. Where’s your room?”

[leeny-leens]

Scents and Warmth

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!Reader

Summary: There was nothing that could melt his heart quite the way her scent and warmth did, especially after a long day.

Content: fluff, glasses wearing reader, history nerd reader, established relationship

Warnings: tiny mentions of a negative self image from Theo, nothing too strong

WC: 2.63k

A/N: originally wrote this for myself but I decided to change it up and post it, lmk your thoughts 🫶✨

Theodore's eyes scanned the room, irritation gnawing at the edges of his mind. He had a feeling she was here, yet save for a few first years spread across the common room, his beloved was nowhere to be seen. Just as he was about to give up and make his way to her room to look for her, he spied the colour of her hair at the corner of his vision, prompting him to turn around.

He stepped closer, rounding a corner hidden behind bookshelves and there she was; tucked away behind the recluse of the shelves, seated by a table near the glass wall.

He stopped in his tracks, his eyes taking in the appearance of his girlfriend who was evidently, deep in thought. She had that ghastly, pale yellow zip up on, the one he swore he'd throw away one of those days because it was just that ugly, a few splotches already present on the fabric. He wouldn't be caught dead admitting that, but he actually loved that sweater on her; it was just loose enough to pool beautifully around her upper hips and the colour brought a pretty contrast to her hair that had her looking like a mesmerising painting. And god that hair, that he adored so much was all shiny and put up, a few strands loosely escaping the metal claw clip. By the looks of her hair, she'd probably taken a shower today, and Theo stepped closer once more to observe her with furrowed eyebrows. It was a Monday, and she rarely ever took showers on Mondays. Something about her routine and how she needed to shower on Sunday night so she could feel clean for a new week. It didn't make sense to him, partly because he showered every other day, but as long as she was happy, he really didn't care. His mind returned to Saturday night, where she'd detailed how busy her Sunday would be, filled with homework, revisions and a much needed deep clean of her dorm room. Theodore concluded that his idiot had overexerted herself, leaving her with no energy to shower at the end of the day and thus she'd probably woken up two hours earlier than needed to do that this morning.

He was close enough to see her expression now; eyebrows furrowed slightly and her jaw tense as her quill scratched rhythmically against parchment. There were various books splayed open around her and occasionally, the scratching stopped in favour of turning pages in one of the books and low murmurs as she spoke to herself. Her glasses sat askew atop her nose bridge, a soft smile tugged at Theo's mouth when he realized she was so focused she didn't even bother fixing them after they'd slid down her nose.

After years of friendship, and almost two years of dating the girl he loved so much, he knew better than to startle her out of her deep focus, opting to slowly step into her space instead. Standing behind her, he tapped her shoulder softly, coughing to catch her attention and leaned down into her field of vision. “Hey bella," he whispered softly, his voice smooth and low in her ear. Her focus had been broken the moment he tapped her, and she turned to look at him with a dazed expression, as if trying to remember where she was and what was going on. That expression however, quickly morphed into a bright grin, her eyes twinkled up at him with adoration and fondness that could melt even the most frigid of hearts. “Hey Theo,” she whispered back and Theo noted the slight hoarseness of her voice with amusement, an indicator that she’d been mostly silent in her endeavours.

So close to her now, her scent hit Theo’s senses hard and he found his brain quickly melting at that. He'd never thought of himself as a guy who'd succumb to something as primal as scent, yet he couldn't help it whenever she was near, especially on the days where he knew she'd taken meticulous care to smell good. Strawberry notes mingled together with floral wisps and her beloved perfume. Gods, the smell of her perfume had his head spinning in a haze. Driven by instinct, he buried his head in the crook of her neck, not caring that her hair tickled his face as he inhaled her scent. Merlin, he wanted to drown in it, never smell anything else but her and have that be what he last sensed as he took his dying breathe.

“Theo?” her voice echoed, the confusion quickly morphing into breathy gasps as he began to press light kisses into her neck. “Yes, tesoro?” his focus was on the feel of her skin against his lips, the smooth curve of her neck and the lightly trembles as he continued to ambush her with kisses and affection.

Theodore almost let out a whine when he felt her push his face away, her eyes narrowed playfully as she stared up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Loving you?” he hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, mainly because Theodore Nott was never unsure of things. He was poised, calm and calculated, meticulous attention to details, from the way he walked down to the way the strands atop his head layed. Yet with her, in that secluded corner of the common room, her smell enveloping him after a long day, he found himself reduced into that soft and domestic version of himself only she could bring out.

He looked at her, blue seas clashed against a galaxy full of love and her face softened visibly at his expression. “Oh, my sweet boy,” her hands tugged on his arms, guiding him around to sit beside her on the plush seat, “Love me all you want darling, I'm yours to love anyway”. It was a tight fit, much to Theodore's glee, and he shamelessly took the opportunity to lift her up and manoeuvre her into his lap.

Any sounds of protest died in her throat as one of his arms wrapped around her waist and the other became entangled in her hair, gently scratching and massaging her scalp with soft yet guided movements. He once more buried his head in the crook of her neck, occasionally pressing kisses to her skin as he smiled against her. “Whatcha working on, amore?” his eyes wandered between the books, trying to make out their subject, searching for any clues in what his beloved might be up to. He hadn't seen her much today or yesterday, regrettably, and he was itching to spend some time with her, just soaking up her presence to feel alive and breathe after facing the suffocating weight of existing as himself.

It was practiced routine by now, she didn't think when her left hand tangled into his, the one around her waist, to play with his fingers as her right one picked up the quill again. “History of magic” she pointed to the book closest to her notes and Theo finally recognized it as the textbook for that ever so dreaded subject. He raised his eyebrows, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Really? We don't even get homework in that class,” that had never stopped his overachiever of writing essays for said class, but he chose to forgo that piece of information now. “It's not an essay or homework,” she said, huffing as she pulled her notes closer for him to inspect. “I'm making notes so I can tutor our idiot friends,” after a beat of silence, Theodore found himself shaking with suppressed laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Their 'idiot' friends were mainly brilliant students, within the top of their grade and he wondered what on earth she'd be tutoring them for. Of course, History of Magic was a bit of a sore subject for everyone at Hogwarts considering Professor Binns was gods awful at teaching, but he didn't think it was dire enough for his friends to get tutored. Someone like Draco, or god forbid Mattheo, would rather die before getting any sort of tutoring.

He didn't to say any of that, voice any of his questions or thoughts because somehow she just knew it all without him saying a word. She always had known, always seen through him like it was the most natural thing. It had been that way since the day they first met, all the way back on the boats that led to Hogwarts in their first year, she'd seen through him with ease and no amount of walls or masks could deter her from seeking out the true Theodore Nott, the one she knew to be hiding underneath the charades. Once upon a time it had scared him to death, having someone see him for who he was, with all the darkness and broken, sharp edges and all that ugliness he kept under wraps. But she wasn't scared of him, she looked straight at his madness and called it her home, nestled herself into the crevices of those sharp edges and taught him to look at himself and not run away. She looked at him as if he were the sun, the moon, the stars all at the same time and held him with such tenderness as if he'd break under her touch any second. And sometimes, he did break into shambles, reduced into nothing but dust. And every single time she was there to hold him, let him break in peace before helping him gather it all up once he was ready.

She didn't let him ask, she simply answered the questions that swirled in his mind without hesitation. “Other subjects require more work at the moment,” she explained “and what kind of friend, no, what kind of history nerd would I be if I didn't help them tackle the workload?”

He hasn't forgotten of course, that his little minx was an absolute sucker for history. It didn't matter what kind, Magic or Muggle history, she would devour it all the same. He still remembered one of their first interactions, both seated together at the back of the room in History of Magic, bored to death by Binns’ lecture before she turned to him and began to explain random historical facts about the subject. He’d listened intently, taking in every word like she was a preacher reading scripture and that had pretty much determined the course of their relationship for the years to come. Theo would sit and listen to her talk for hours, no exaggeration. She had that scatterbrained way of talking about everything and nothing, about writing ideas or books she'd been into, history or psychology or art or whatever other interest had captured her attention, revisiting memories or plans for the future for hours and hours on end. And Theo would sit right there, undivided attention as he listened to every word that spilled from lips.

So of course, it made sense she wouldn't pass up an opportunity to nerd out about her interest, especially if she got to help her friends with one fell swoop. Though the likes of Draco might whine and complain, all of them knew to appreciate her offers of help and support with any and all subjects. She made something as boring as History of Magic sound like the most interesting topic ever, so who would pass up a chance to let her help with coursework?

“Wanna explain it to me then, bella?” his face was nuzzled impossibly close into her neck, almost melting into it as he let her scent surround and calm him. He wouldn't usually be caught dead with such a blatant display of vulnerable affection, yet the day has rendered him weary and in need of her safety. Plus, it wasn't like those pesky first years would come over and disturb them, much less spare a glance into their general direction. It was an unspoken rule to never bother Theodore Nott or his girl if they were sitting in some secluded corner, even outside of the common room, lest you wanted to get in trouble that you'd never see the end of.

And so, Theo allowed himself to sink into her, melt away and leave behind all of his worries, all the weight he'd carried throughout the day and listen to her voice as she rambled on and on about history and her teaching endeavours. Occasionally, he'd throw in a question or a remark about something she'd said, causing her to fall silent in contemplation or to scribble away in her notes with that brilliant smile etched across her face, the one that rivaled every light source in the universe with it's brilliance and beauty.

He could feel his muscles relax, tension seeping out of his body as both his arms come to wrap around her waist, holding her closer until they were basically melting into eachother. Her rambling came to an abrupt stop and Theo grumbled as he looked up from her neck, silently questioning why she'd stopped talking. “Wanna go nap, darling?” the question caught him off guard, yet a quick glance to his watch indicated that they had about two and a half hours before dinner, perfect for a nap in his dorm. And really, what sort of madman would he be if he declined her request to spend time with him, away from preying eyes in the comfort of his bed?

He nodded in response, nudging her gently off his lap as he began to help her pack up her things before dragging her up the stairs to his dorm. The entire way, his hand never once left the small of her back and he felt that familiar haze return as his senses became clouded with her scent. Gods, he thanked everything that had caused her to delay her usual showering plans. Holding her in his arms when she smelled that divine after a long and exhausting day was a blessing in and out of itself. And when he felt her halt her steps, tugging his face down to meet hers, their lips connecting in a soft and tender kiss? Yeah, he could've melted right there and then.

With one hell of a love sick smile, he ushered her into his thankfully empty dorm room, her bag immediately discarded on the floor as he pushed her onto the bed. It was a short tangle of limbs and clothing before they both settled into the plush comfort. Theo laid atop her her chest, his arms wrapped around her midriff as her hands traced patterns and shapes across his neck and scalp. He wouldn't say it loud, never needed to do that with her anyway, but he enjoyed laying on her chest like that. Listening to her calming heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, and above all the sensation of her warm breathe fanning across his face? It turned him into a blissful mess every time, grateful that she was alive and real and that he got to hold and love her like that.

As if reading his thoughts once more, she gave his soft locks a gentle tug before leaning down to place a kiss on the top of his head

“I love you.”

“I love you too, cara mia.”

The sound of their breathe evened out as both of them slipped into blissful sleep, safe and comforted with the scent and warmth of one another.

[emeritusemeritus]

Can I sleep here tonight?

Title: Can I sleep here tonight?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x pregnant!wife!reader, Molly and Arthur Weasley (being absolute gems)

Timeline: Set post-war. George lost his ear a per canon but Fred is very much alive and thriving, married and expecting his first child. The burrow is mentioned for story purposes so it didn’t burn down and we’re ignoring canon once more.

Summary: George arrives at the burrow asking to spend the night, desperate to get away from Fred and his pregnant wife.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, pregnant character, brief mentions of war and previous injury, though no graphic description is included. Mentions of sex.

It's way past tea time, darkness settling all around as the last glimmer of winter sun fades into the hills when George Weasley apparates onto the familiar dirt road leading up to his childhood home. He's armed with only his wand and a small suitcase no bigger than a briefcase, only holding the basics.

Since the war, Molly and Arthur had kept up the old enchantments placed upon the Burrow as a precaution, the fears never truly leaving them. With a wave of his wand, George clears the enchantments and steps through the invisible barrier to get to the house. As he steps towards the little stone step that acts as the threshold to the house, the door is thrust open and a warm and solid body pulls him inside. He recognises the body as his mother the very second her height and smell come into focus.

"My boy! What are you doing here?  You look tired and peaky, is something wrong? I'll make you something to eat. Arthur!" Molly shouts loudly for her husband after fretting at seeing George on their doorstep without any prior warning, especially without his twin. Since opening the shop, them moving out together, the war, George's recovery, and Fred's wedding, the twins have been so busy it's been an endeavour to get them back home even for a simple visit. "Arthur!"

"Mollywobbles what is it?" Arthur shouts back, his voice getting louder as he moves towards the kitchen. "Oh hello son," he says as he walks into the kitchen, seeing George stood there clutching a small briefcase. Arthur instinctively frowns at the unexpected visit but welcomes his son with warmth, wrapping him in a hug, patting his back a few times before pulling away.

"Do you want a cup of tea dear?" Molly asks, already making her way over to the kettle and busying herself to make something to eat for George, regardless of his radio silence.

"Now Molly, it seems he might need something stronger than tea, right son?" Arthur asks, patting George's shoulder once. "Why don't be crack open some of my Knotgrass mead? I've been saving it for an occasion, no time better than the present." He ushers George to sit at the table and Molly rushes over with a large bottle of mead and two pint glasses, bringing over an elaborate sandwich on a plate for George.

"Thanks mum," George says as Molly places down the welcomed food, noticing that she'd used one of her nicer plates for him, not something that he was ever allowed when he was younger. 

"Cheers!" Arthur says, holding up his glass towards George's after he'd poured them, happy to have a drinking buddy at home.

"So what's wrong son? Not that you're not always welcome of course," Arthur says, eyeing his son with a hint of suspicion as Molly takes a seat opposite George, placing down a cup of tea made for herself.

"Can I stay here tonight?" George asks, cringing at the slight awkwardness of his request, feeling like a child again.

"Of course you can!" Arthur says as if he's offended by the notion of George even having to ask.

"Of course you can dear, how nice to have a fuller house again! I'll put some fresh linens on the bed for you," Molly rushes up towards Fred and George's old room and with a swish of her wand, changes the bedsheets in no time at all. She returns to see the men chatting at the table and takes her place once again, reaching for her tea.

"Do you want to tell us what's wrong?" Arthur says, taking the lead. George sighs heavily, not wanting to say outright what the problem is but unable to think of a plausible excuse.

He sighs once more before admitting to the issue under his parents concerned gazes, "it's Fred and y/n."

"Have you had a falling out?" Molly quickly says, interrupting George. Arthur gives her a quick look which tells her politely to be quiet until their son has finished to which she nods and waits.

"Not exactly, it's just... I can't bare to listen to them having sex anymore. Silencing spells don't work, I've even tried muggle earplugs, well one, but that didn't work either! I only have one ear and it's still bad! Since Y/n got pregnant it's none stop, I thought getting pregnant was bad enough but bloody hell," George barely conceals a shudder at the thought of his twin brother and his wife having near constant sex in the same flat as him.

He picks up the sandwich and begins tucking in, not having time to get any food in his haste to flee the flat about the shop that he shared with Fred and y/n.

He turns his gaze back to his parents and is immediately surprised at the look they are sharing between each other. Both of them are smiling lovingly, a blush spreading on both of their faces, both appear to be speaking with their eyes.

"What?" George says with a mouthful of food, frowning, not understanding their reaction.

"Why do you think we had so many children?" Arthur suddenly laughs, earning a little giggle from Molly, a sound that George had never heard fall from his mother's mouth.

"I couldn't resist your mother when she was pregnant, just something about it," Arthur trails off as if he's daydreaming, a nostalgic smile plastered on his face. "The second she popped one of you out I wanted to try again."

George wants the ground to swallow him up in his entirety as he sits disgusted and uncomfortable. Was nowhere safe anymore? He finds his appetite has significantly decreased and is thankful that he'd finished the sandwich quickly; only praying he could keep it down if his parents kept talking about that.

"It's entirely biological son, it's what the muggles call 'hormones', or so I'm told. There's just something about seeing your wife carrying your child..." Arthur shakes his head slightly as he daydreams, a goofy smile still hanging off his lips as Molly swats his arm playfully.

"I'm going to bed," George mumbles, wanting desperately to get away.

"We'll keep it down tonight!" Arthur jokes earning a cackle from Molly as they both laugh at Arthur's attempt at humour. George grumbles the entire way up to his old bedroom, holding back a shudder at the very thought of not only his brother and y/n but now also his parents.

I need to move away, he thought.

[crimsonender]

Mikaila Orchard sucks at Paneling

I debated making this a video or not. But, I decided against it. If you guys are interested in me making videos about this sort of thing, let me know and perhaps it's something I could cover in the future.

So Mikaila Turkleson aka Mikaila Orchard has always made... questionable art. To me it seems like a weird amalgamation of Equestria Girls and Sophie Labelle's art. Anatomy bad character design bad etc etc. I don't however see a lot of people talk about her paneling.

Recently, Mikaila and presumably her partner, Lily Orchard started a new art endeavour. I assume to turn over a new leaf and bury the now-infamous Pokemadhouse. You can find it over at bhaalspawnfunnies. It appears as if the blog will focus around the player character of Baldur's Gate 1, Gorion's Ward, and their half sister, Imoen. This is the first entry.

Source

Where to start? My first impression is that this is very poorly drawn, and low effort even by Mikaila's standards. The speech bubbles are low contrast against the background. The ground/floor blurry blob looks extremely bad. As a fellow artist I get the distinct impression that Mikaila did not want to draw this piece.

Moreover, there's a huge issue with the panelling and pacing. Comics are really cool in that you can kind of use panelling and negative space to "time" jokes, leading the eye where you want it to go and using framing and other art tricks to make a punchline land a little better.

This "comic" has none of that. There is no pacing, there is no comedic timing. It's all bland and presented as a block. I took it upon myself to re-panel this piece, and I've made two versions: One, with Mikaila's art style and visuals, but with the panelling slightly adjusted to be more punchy and effective, the other I completely redrew, using the same joke.

Excuse the sloppiness. I'm not going to expend too much energy polishing and gilding this turd.

That being said, this is already a huge improvement. Even if Mikaila isn't at the technical level of a professional artist, this is very attainable with only a few more minutes of effort. The timing is punchier, the speech bubbles draw your eyes down the page, and even without colour coding, it's clear which of the characters is talking. This isn't exactly a hot take but in my opinion you shouldn't need colour coding on a comic page to denote who is speaking. It should be very obvious! Moreover, speech bubbles should be included in the composition, not added as an after thought.

I'm guessing the original comic took her less than an hour to make. I think I'm being generous here, honestly if this took her more than twenty minutes I would be concerned. Being generous though I gave myself one hour to make a version completely redrawn.

This was again, very quickly put together and of course is in no way perfect, but its to demonstrate what a little bit of thought can do to improve a comic page. I decided to change the pose of Gorion because making family guy references should be a a cardinal sin for artists, as well as make the characters a little more recognizable. "Aryana" is, notably, Lily's OC and bears little resemblance to the canon character of Gorion's Ward, but considering Baldurs Gate does allow character customization and dialogue choices, I decided to make their gender a little more ambiguous so players of any gender could see their version of Gorion's Ward in the comic, but kept the elf with long dark hair appearance from Mikaila's original. I also looked over the pic after I was all done and ready to upload and noticed some small flaws I could easily fix, and went back and did those things. You should always go over your pieces when you're finished them with fresh eyes before you submit them as a final piece.

Again, this certainly isn't perfect and I'd probably put more effort into a piece with characters I care about and a joke I actually find funny, but I hope this demonstrates that pacing and expression really are everything in comics.

[no-face-no-shame]

A quick vent but this really bothered me

Why do people like All Might bashing so much? Like, what's the point? Especially since most of it is so out of character that it's just painful to read. Like, he's not flawless (that's kinda the point of his character - breaking the illusion of perfection.) But writing him as abusive/mean is just ridiculous, taking into consideration that his big *thing* is wanting good for others.

Today I saw a fic where the whole plot was basically "Aizawa is a good dad to Izuku who's diagnosed with autism, while All Might is horrible and ableist." Excuse me, but WHAT?? Ah yes, that man who's famously DISABLED, would totally be ableist and think that accommodation for a disabled student is "too much" and "unnecessary." That man who needs constant medical assist, who had to change his whole life to accommodate to his disability. Yeaaaaah, right.

Also, why are so many of AM bashing fics at the same time putting other teachers on pedestal. Aizawa was pretty awful to Izuku at the beginning, because he's a very judgemental person who needed to learn that he's sometimes wrong about others and that Izuku had a lot to offer. He certainly wasn't a perfect teacher, none of the UA teachers were. Aizawa got a great character development and later on was a good, dedicated teacher who sacrificed a lot for his kids. But treating him like he's a total angel who would never do anything wrong is just incorrect, especially considering that he's rough on students that are different from the rest in the way he considers "bad".

It really rubs me the wrong way when people literally ignore canon personalities of characters, break and reshape them into something those characters never were. You want a bad mentor for Izuku? Write an AU where his mentor is AFO. Write a villain AU where All Might is the bad guy and he's using Izuku as a tool. Or literally make an OC at this point. Just work with a different character that actually matches what you want to portray. Make Endeavour Izuku's mentor. Literally anything works better than trying to make All Might into a bad, cruel and abusive person. That's exactly the thing he'd never do.

I'm all for interpretations that focus more on the negative side of various characters - it can be very interesting. But some of y'all really just decided that you don't like AM for some reason and decided to rewrite the whole character, turning him inside out, to fit your personal issues with him. Issues that simply aren't there

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

A Good Morning, Indeed

Reader decides to wake up Professor Sharp in the most pleasant way...

A tiny little pwp fic. As always, huge thanks to the best girls @tea-withjamandbreadand and @dzajna for being there for me and providing me with feedback on my silly endeavours.

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

A Good Morning, Indeed (2.5k words)

tw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (male)

Your closed eyes furrowed a bit further in an attempt to keep the bright morning light out of them. You were rather certain you were having a dream mere moments ago, but as your slumber slowly faded into consciousness, the dream was swiftly forgotten like fog on a dreary morning once the sun rises and its warmth whisks it away. Your mouth opened wide as a yawn rolled through you, and you used the fingers of your right hand to wipe the remnants of sleep out of your eyes.

Opening them finally, a smile appeared on your face, soft and tender, just like the embrace in which you were reclining. Aesop Sharp slept soundly beside you, his face relaxed, brows unfurrowed, lips slightly open to allow the occasional snore to escape, prompting you to stifle in a giggle. 

The professor was always handsome in your opinion, no matter the situation. When he taught, he had this mysterious allure to him, his voice, as sharp as his name, cutting through the dimness of his dungeon classroom in a way you found intriguing at first, and maddeningly irresistible after he began pulling at your heartstrings. When he duelled, he was a force of nature, destructive and unforgiving like a tempest, face locked in concentration and focus as he sent spell after spell at his adversary. He was concentrated and focused when he brewed too, but it was a different kind of focus, a gentler one, and if one looked close enough, they’d see the absolute peace in his eyes as he masterfully chopped up the needed ingredients, or meticulously swirled the stirrer inside the cauldron. He was in his element then, completely content. 

However, you were one of the very few who got to witness different sides of Aesop. Like when he drew, his digits blackened by charcoal, the pink tip of his tongue occasionally peeking out from behind his lips, and his thumb often coming to view as he checked whether he got the proportions in his sketch right. You were also one of very few to have his loving gaze directed at you, the dark eyes soft with emotion and so very inviting, pupils stretching wide at the mere sight of your smile, and so, so much wider at the simplest touch of your hand. 

And you were the only woman to have the utmost privilege of seeing him like he was now, at his most vulnerable, barely dressed and sound asleep, his wand lying atop the bedside table, and soft puffs of air leaving his lips with every exhale. His hair was spread on the pillow like a dark halo, and you found the little bit of dried drool at the corner of his mouth frankly adorable.

Oh, but one part of him was very much awake, as you suddenly came to realise…

Your face spread into a grin, and you moved your leg slightly, using it to press against the hardness concealed by his drawers. A small murmur left the teacher’s open lips, but his sleep remained otherwise unbothered. The smile hadn’t left your lips as you carefully slid your hand down his body, mindful not to wake him, as that would surely put a damper on the idea that just popped up into your head. You propped yourself up on your elbow and leaned your head against your free hand to be able to watch him better.

You lovingly caressed the skin of his arm, shoulder, chest… Your fingers fondly combed through the dark hair on his breasts before moving to gently brush against his nipples. They strayed further then, and followed the line of hair leading down his sternum to his belly, soft skin and the slightest bit of pudge atop firm muscle. Aesop sniffed but remained fast asleep when a cheeky finger poked at his belly button. Your hand then carefully snuck past the hem of his drawers.

There was a small change in his breathing when your nimble digits slid through the trail of hair leading to Aesop’s need, his lower belly fluttering deliciously under the teasing touch. As they danced just above the hot erection straining the professor’s underwear, Aesop turned on his back. For a minute, you were worried he had woken, but other than loosely closing one hand around the sheets next to him, Aesop’s eyes remained closed and his breathing even, if the tiniest bit faster than before.

Smiling at your lover’s face, you plunged under the covers and made a swift journey down his body until you were face to face with the tent in his pants. Slowly, your fingers curled around the hem, and pulled at it. The aching cock sprung out from inside, and, though muffled, you could hear a small gasp coming from its owner.

It was a bit dark here under the blanket, but you could just make out Aesop’s length standing proudly and throbbing gently every now and then, his pink tip partially hidden by foreskin, the few defined veins begging for your attention. And attention they would receive.

But first, you very carefully slid the blanket down until it rested just below your shoulders, wanting to look at your lover and make sure he didn't wake up too early.

Aesop’s cheeks were pink and mouth opened a bit more, chest rising and falling with each breath he took. You stuck your tongue out, and licked a long stripe starting at his base, then moving up over his underside until you reached the glans, playfully probing at the slit. His breath hitched again, and his hand closed tighter around the sheets. 

You took your sweet time toying with the tip, running your tongue around it like it was a lolly and lovingly watching Aesop’s reactions. He went from slightly quicker breathing to making an occasional soft sound, both of his hands now flexing around whatever it was they were able to grip, and whenever your devilish tongue dipped under the soft tissue of his foreskin, his head buried further back into the pillow.

Finally you began to take him into your mouth, at first just sucking on the head, your movements completely unhurried and incredibly gentle.

You knew that if Aesop was to wake, he would not just let you finish him off like this, not unless he was able to pleasure you as well, the gentleman that he was. He enjoyed your mouth plenty, always full of praise, hand stroking your hair, but found it difficult to just lie back and enjoy you sucking him off from start to finish, so you hoped to be able to bring him too close to his peak to stop you before he woke up.

It was a real shame he didn’t let you do this more often, you thought, as you absolutely loved the way he and his pleasure were entirely under your control. You thought he was simply irresistible when he tried to hold himself back, but everything about him looked ready to snap, ready to just hold your head while he chased his gratification in the hot depths of your mouth. You relaxed your neck, and let him slide in deeper, his musky scent filling your nostrils and making you aware of the starting dampness between your legs.

His hips twitched when you managed to take in all of him, your nose buried in the dark hair on his pubic bone, your saliva escaping from where your lips were stretched around his heavy prick, and a moan left the potions professor. You stayed like this for a while, just breathing deeply, letting him throb lightly in your mouth. When you swallowed around him, Aesop moaned again, and you felt the bitter taste of precum.

It was getting progressively more difficult to keep your ministrations slow and gentle in order not to wake him, especially with Aesop looking the way he did. You released him out of your mouth momentarily, but almost right away replaced your lips with your hand, using the slickness of your saliva on the cock to slide your palm up and down along it smoothly. You watched your beloved with a smile on your face, your enjoyment immense.

Aesop’s face was much more flushed than before, and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his skin. Oh, you wondered how far you’d be able to take this, what all you were able to get away with before he inevitably woke up, but also how much longer would you be able to bear doing this until you needed to see to your own need. The teacher was throbbing in your small hand, beads of crystal clear fluid seeping out of his slit. 

Maybe you could bring him to his release like this, a nice slow rhythm just gradually building up his pleasure until his hips twitched for the last time and he leisurely spilled into your hand or mouth, maybe still on that line between slumber and consciousness. 

However, while you did like this idea quite a bit, you decided to keep it for another day. Right now you were feeling rather too aroused, and decided it’d be quite more thrilling to have him come to all desperate and aching to cum.

And so you lowered your mouth down onto him again, this time taking him fully in a single swift plunge, a louder moan rolling from his lips as he was once more entirely enveloped by your wet warmth. You began to bob your head up and down his shaft in a faster rhythm, sucking him on every upwards stroke, and letting your teeth graze him every now and then.

“Oh, f-fuck!” he cried suddenly, and his dark eyes opened, unfocused and hazy from pleasure. It took him a moment to gather his wits about him and look down to realise what you were doing, but when he did, his head fell back again and his fingers again closed around the crumpled up sheets in a vice grip. 

“Wh-what are you-” he tried pitifully, his voice high and breathy, but wasn’t able to finish speaking on account of sharp gasp as you swallowed around him again, your hands doing their best to hold his buckling hips down. One of them left its position in order to gently knead at his tightening bollocks, looking for that special little spot behind them that drove Aesop absolutely wild. 

“A-ah-” came a broken moan from above, and you looked up, slightly cross-eyed, to see your lover had his eyes screwed shut, his brows turned upwards, one hand roughly running through his own hair. You raised your head up and off him, wanting him to look at you. He looked positively delicious like this, so painfully hard, and for once allowing himself to get lost in his pleasure. After a minute, during which his laboured breathing slowed down the tiniest little bit, he finally opened his eyes to look at you.

You couldn’t help but grin when those beautiful brown eyes of his, blown impossibly wide with arousal, met your own, and then fluttered when you licked another long line over the now continuously leaking shaft, dark lashes fanning across red cheeks. You decided you tortured him for long enough, not to mention the ache between your own legs was begging you to get on with it. Quickly, you took him back in and started working him in earnest, the tips of your fingers finally finding that little sweet spot they were looking for, and pressing against it firmly.

Aesop nearly howled with pleasure and urgency, his head once more arching back, his hips thrusting up to meet you, heels digging into the mattress below, and legs pushing the forgotten blanket further away and off the bed entirely. His hand suddenly landed on your head, calloused fingers closing around a fistful of your hair, lightly pushing on your head on every downward movement. You felt him throb heavily in your throat, his balls drawing up, his hand trembling slightly.

He moaned your name, the rhythm of his hips staggering: “S-sweetheart, I’m g-going to-...” 

You doubled down your efforts, each sound that now freely rolled out from his lips spurring you on, making you take him faster, suck harder, massage his perineum with your finger in the same rhythm, and reduce the strong former Auror into a sweating, moaning mess. The room was filled with a cacophony of wet noises, heavy breathing, and Aesop’s desperate sounds. And when his hand in your hair was joined by the other one, you knew he was done for. 

You relaxed your mouth and throat, and instead braced both your hands next to his thrashing hips, letting him fuck your mouth as he wished in pursue of his orgasm. Aesop harshly filled you one, two, three times, his glans dragging over the back of your throat, and your eyes watering with the effort of holding your gag reflex at bay. 

You managed to open and focus your eyes to look at your lover, just as his back arched and a final, guttural moan left his damp lips. Just then your throat was flooded with his bitter cum in several large spurts, making you once more swallow around him as he rode out his release, his legs shaking where they were bent at the knees at each side of you. Finally, Aesop’s straining body went limp on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven, his hands releasing your head from their grasp, and his head lolling off to the side. 

You used your tongue to gently lick him clean, making him whine with oversensitivity, before you let his softening prick out of your mouth entirely with a soft pop. With a grin of a cat with seven canaries in her paw on your slightly swollen lips, you began your ascent up his body, pressing soft kisses to his skin on the way, his belly, sternum, each pectoral, collarbones, your tongue darting out to taste the sweat-dampened skin.

You finally reached his mouth and gently ravished it. The teacher immediately yielded to your tongue, tasting himself on you. 

“Good morning, love,” you chirped happily, combing your fingers through his messy hair. 

“Merlin’s beard, good morning, indeed,” he replied breathlessly before finally opening his eyes to look at you. He chuckled weakly when he saw your smug little smile, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close: “Well, that certainly beat the old alarm clock, that’s for sure…”

You rested in each other’s arms for a while, Aesop’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal, his arms growing tighter around your body, your lips meeting for more kisses. And, after one such kiss, long and ardent, you looked deep into his eyes, a content smile on your face. “So, Professor Sharp,” you asked softly, “what are your plans for today?” The teacher gave you his own grin, suddenly toothy and wild, and it made you remember the forgotten ache between your legs.

“Oh, I’m quite certain we shall think of something,” he promised, his voice low and hungry. You squeaked involuntarily when you were suddenly flipped onto your back, your thighs roughly parted by a pair of strong hands: “but first, I think I’ll have some breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

Oh, you did not mind at all…

Hello! I hope you enjoyed reading this silly little thing! You can check this and my other stories over on my AO3. Feedback heals my soul ❤

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any games that involve urban fantasy with less focus on fighting than something like Dresden or Shadowrun?

THEME: Urban Fantasy (Minimal Fighting)

Hello there! What I've got here is quite a mix, I wasn't sure how much violence you wanted (or didn't want) so I have a little bit of romance, a little bit of nostalgia, and a little bit of horror!

City of Mist, by Son of Oak Games.

City of Mist is a role-playing game of film-noir investigation and super-powered action. It is set in a modern metropolis rife with crime, conspiracies, and mysteries. The protagonists are Rifts, ordinary people who became the living embodiment of a legend, their Mythos. While your Rifts may seek to strike a balance between the mysterious nature of their Mythos and their mortal aspirations, the powers within them always threaten to tear their lives apart. They have unwittingly become a part of a secret world of clashing stories, and soon other legends will come looking for them with demands.

City of Mist is a combination of PbtA and FATE, giving your characters descriptive tags to use for both their benefit and their detriment as they go about solving mysteries in a supernaturally-saturated city. The primary theme of the game is mystery, and thus more than anything your characters will be primed for investigation. That’s not to say that there isn’t violence - but violence and fighting can be de-emphasized if the group is more interested in the mystery side of things.

Character Creation involves a combination of mundane and supernatural themes, as your character is endeavouring to strike a balance with the parts of themselves that they recognize (student, parent, office worker, ex-partner) and the parts of themselves that are hard to understand (mythical beast, deity, folktale, urban legend). What’s important to define is your daily routine, your personality, and what kind of supernatural powers you have.

This game isn’t explicitly anti-violent, but it absolutely provides you with ways to solve problems that aren’t violent, so I think City of Mist is worth checking out.

Scary Monsters & Nice Sprites, by Pammu.

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites is a narrative RPG about spending your night in one of the only clubs in your city that’s safe for creatures of the night like yourself. All you want to do is have some fun just like the humans do. Play a supernatural creature of choice, put some sick EDM on the speakers and get your game on!

This game works best for an even number of players, up to 6, and is GM-less. It combines urban monsters with flirting, dark clubs and hookups. Each of your characters will look for a partner by doing things that will appeal to the other players. If they like what you do, they’ll reward you with tokens, which you can spend to improve the atmosphere of the club. Fill another player’s intimacy meter, you’ve won them over, and the two of you decide how the night ends for both of your characters.

If you want a game about flirting and the magic of a nightclub, this is your game.

The Far Roofs, by Jenna Katerin Moran.

The Far Roofs is an original role playing system and bundled campaign using pens or pencils, paper, six-sided dice, ten-sided dice, playing cards, and a bag of letter tiles. It's complete in one volume: with this one book and the equipment above, you'll have everything you need to play. 

As the story progresses, your characters will gain access to over 150 unique, narrative-focused powers developed and refined over the course of a decade for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG before being simplified and adapted for use herein.

The Far Roofs is still being Kickstarted, but Moran’s work on Chuubo’s Wish-Granting Engine produced a game that emphasizes wonder and emotional experience. The Far Roofs looks to deliver along the same lines, and the examples of play point towards investigation, social interaction, and magic powers. Jenna Moran is also known for her unique and evocative storytelling in her work, so I think it’s definitely worth checking out.

Lighthearted, by Kurt & Kate Potts.

Welcome to the magical 80s dream world of Lighthearted. You are a Prep, Jock, Geek, Rebel, or Outcast, like those kids in The Breakfast Club, except you are just about to start magic community college. Through play, we'll explore how you grow out of your high school cliques all while dealing with magical mishaps, college parties, vampires, and worse—finals!

Lighthearted is a complete tabletop roleplaying game that uses the language of film and television to reimagine the coming of age stories popular in 80s teen movies like Weird Science and Sixteen Candles, but with a modern fantasy spin. It's set in an alternate 1980s with fantasy elements weaved into the most outlandish bits of 80’s pop culture. There are fantasy religions mixed in with mall culture, dark magic cold wars, and magical glamours instead of plastic surgery.

This is a game of magic and coming-of-age, as you play first-year students at a magical community college. You’re off to the big city, and the big world - will you survive your first college party? Your first vampire?

The whole game feels like the neon lights of a vibrant night-life combined with the nostalgia of an 80’s film. Your magic is attached to how you feel, so as your emotions change, so will your effectiveness at certain actions. If you want a game that’s as light as its name, and you are seeking out rosy-tinted nostalgia, this might be your game.

Changeling: the Lost, by Onyx Path.

Once upon a time, they took you from your home. They promised you a place at their side, and meaning in your life, and they surrounded you with beautiful things. But the beautiful things were oh so sharp, and they laughed when you bled.

Day by day, they changed you. But day by day, your will grew stronger. On the last day, you smashed your way through the beautiful things and ran, not noticing as you bled or feeling as you cried.

You fought with courage and cleverness and took yourself home. Now the beauty and the horror are yours, to have and to hold and to live.

Welcome to once upon right fucking now.

So I’m familiar only with the 1st edition of Changeling, but as far as I understand, the setting and core premise of the game is the same in the 2nd edition. Changeling: the Lost is a game of fairy trauma. Your characters are survivors of a fae horrorscape, a place both wondrous and terrifying all at once. This game is solidly in the horror genre, but it contains within it a taste of the magical, and it’s also the reason I got into roleplaying in the first place.

As in many Chronicles of Darkness games, fighting is an option in here, but it’s not a wise option. Getting into fights pulls at your characters’ ability to understand the difference between our world and the world of Fae, it’s very easy to sustain supernatural damage that is hard to heal, and, well, sometimes it’s hard to tell who your real enemies are in the first place.

I’d say that Changeling is more of a political game than anything else. Your characters will have to dance through the highly literal wording of faerie pledges, and untangle difficult relationships between Courts that are both safe havens and potential beds of sedition. This is a violent game, but much of the violence possible in Changeling isn’t physical - it's emotional.

This Night On The Rooftops, by C.M. Ruebsaat.

This is a game about gazing out over the smokestacks after dark, with the wind in your hair and a friend at your side and a thousand lights of progress on the streets below. 

This Night on the Rooftops is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about friendship, growing up, and revolution. You will play members of a gang of children in The City, a fantastic world of industry and dying magic, where witches labour alongside factory-workers to make ends meet.

This game looks slightly less modern, but it takes the fantasy aspect of witchcraft and places it inside an industrial city. The game uses a modified version of the No Dice No Masters rule set, which is excellent for stories that have an ebb and flow to them, managed through the use of token expenditure. This game is also GM-less, giving everyone at the table the same amount of control over what happens next.

Since the characters are a gang of teenage witches looking to make ends meet, this game doesn’t strike me as one that prioritizes fighting or violence. The city looks big enough to grind up the characters if they’re not careful, so they’ll likely have to find solutions to problems that don’t get them (or their dependants) in trouble. If the game is like other No Dice No Masters games that I’m familiar with, the group will also have a big say over which elements of the city are the most intriguing to them.

Partners: The Urban Fantasy File, by Tin Star Games.

Some murders are just elf defence…

Vampires are real, magic is real, elves are real - and murder is still very very real. This expansion takes you and your Partner down the moonlit streets of urban fantasy, where the dead sometimes get back up again but crime is still a mystery needing two heads to solve.

The base game for this, Partners, is a two-player mystery-solving game about a pair of detectives, a straight-shooter and a wildcard. You’ll need the base rules to play, but this supplement brings in dead elves, suspicious vampires, and other common characters in any urban fantasy genre. It can work as a one-shot, or as a series of episodes. If you want a game that's primarily about solving a mystery more than anything else, this is is for you.

Solacebound, by Sascha Moore.

Young monsters played at the boundary between the worlds. They slipped and stranded in a human city. Isolated and unwelcome, they search for each others help and a way back.

Solacebound is a GM-less Game for 3-5 people to play over a few hours. Search a sprawling, oppressive city for your friends, find out who is willing to give you a roof, bash back against authorities, cook together and console each other. Will you find a way back home before all passages close?

You are teenage monsters trying to find their way through an urban environment, in a place that is hostile to them. You survive by hiding out, finding each-other, and do things together to make sure you keep each-other healthy. Cards from a deck act as resources, but also as an oracle to help you describe the fallout of any given action, and the emotions that are attached to it. This is a game about metaphors, about what it is like to live in a place that fears you, so I definitely recommend making sure the entire table knows what this is about before starting a game.

You Might Also Want to Check Out

Subway Runners, by Gem Room Games.

[links-in-time]

Puzzles and Clues

This fic came from this bit of inspiration from. @birb-boyo

Time and Warriors both had their swords and shields raised and ready as they stepped through the next doorway. The ceiling stretched far above them, bluish-grey roots and vines hung down towards them. The same ethereal bioluminescense filled the chamber as they had experienced on the spiral staircase. Strange bright blue plants grew around the perimeter, drawing Warriors' gaze around the room towards the door at the far end.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, observing the bars blocking their exit.

Seeing no immediate enemies, Time sheathed his blade and stowed his shield away. His left eye roamed around the room, seaking out the solution for their predicament. It was obvious they had to pass through this chamber to progress to the rest of the dungeon. (Where he hoped the rest of his boys would be able to meet them) He noted the carvings on the walls and the conspicuous eye over the barred door. A veteran of such dungeon puzzles, Time surmised a resolution almost right away. So he couldn't help a smirk and a raised eyebrow at Wars' exclamation.

"What?" Time asked, pushing down his need to laugh.

"What do you mean what?!" Wars rebuffed. "The door is barred, this is going to be one of those nonsensical puzzle rooms isn't it."

"Perhaps," Time replied smoothly.

He carefully lowered himself to the ground and settled upon one of the steps leading up to a raised platform in the middle of the chamber. Acutely aware of the persistent twinge in his left shoulder. (He'd have to ask Hyrule to take another look at it when they made camp) Time pulled out his travellers pack and began searching for something.

"What are you doing?" Wars asked, perturbed at the fact that his brother seemed to be ignoring him.

"Taking the weight off my legs for a minute. Or am I not allowed to live up to the nick name you boys so affectionately gave me?!" Time chuckled, pulling a wet-stone out of his bag.

"I thought we were supposed to be trying to meet up with the others?"

"We are."

Time proceeded to pull out his briggons sword and take his stone to the edge. Sharpening and maintaining the edge of the blade which had saved his life more times than he cared to count.

"So what do we do here?" Wars asked incredulously, waving his arms at his sides.

Time smirked and quirked an eyebrow at Wars.

"Why don't you figure it out?"

"You already know, don't you?" Wars sighed.

"Maybe," Time replied, striking along the edge of his blade with the stone.

"You could just tell me," Wars sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And then we could just proceed."

"Why don't you figure it out? You're always saying you never got a chance to have a go at dungeon puzzles. I'm sure someone who mastered military strategy can figure out a simple puzzle."

"So it's a simple one?" Wars surmised, rolling his eyes at Time's lack of helpfullness.

"Could be."

"That's really helpful Sprite!" Wars groaned, making Time smile at the old nickname.

"Come on, the boys are waiting for us Captain," Time encouraged, unable to wipe the smug smile off his face.

Wars pushed down a curse before turning his back on his little brother. He didn't want to argue with Time and the Old Man clearly wasn't going to give him any hints. So Wars ignored his frustration and kicked his brain into gear.

This wasn't Time's era. He had never set foot in this temple before. Yet he had apparently figured out the solution to opening the gate within a few minutes of stepping into the chamber. That meant that the solution had to be somewhere visible. A clue of some kind maybe?

Warriors circled the room, observing the strange carvings on the walls. He'd never had time to pay much attention to the artwork of any era, but this looked intentional. He moved around to take a closer look at the barred door, and the eye which seemed to follow him around the room. That was a little off putting, but Wars endeavoured to focus on his task at hand.

He walked up the steps past Time to the top of the platform. From there he turned in a circle to see the room from a different perspective. When he turned to face the roaming eye again, Wars found it still trained on him. He stepped a little closer to it then pulled out his sword. An idea forming. Warriors moved to the edge of the platform and held his sword out toward the eye. But no matter how far he reached he couldn't touch it. With a sigh he holstered his weapon. (Failing to notice the eye following his blade rather than him) Wars instead took out his bow. At such short range even his un-practiced aim couldn't miss.

Arrow after arrow met their mark. Warriors even scored several bulls-eyes. Yet still the bars blocked their way. Wars threw down his bow with an irritated huff. He slipped off the stone plinth and dropped down onto the floor, his scarf fluttering behind him.

Warriors turned his attention to the softly glowing plants around the room. He kicked at them, brushing them aside to see if any clue lay behind them. The carved stone was of no help. The inscription wasn't in his Hylian script and even if it was the message probably related to Sky, as the hero of this era.

"Figured it out yet?" Time asked, from the other side of the room.

"Shut up Old Man!" Wars barked back.

Time simply smiled and turned over his blade to begin working on the other side.

"I could always give you a hint?" He suggested, already thinking about what he could say.

Wars glared back at him with a look of pure venom. A look which seemed to say, 'Don't you dare!'

Wars took a deep breath and stared at his problem again.

"Come on!" He thought to himself. "Sprite figured this out in about a minute flat. You can do this Link!"

Warriors climbed back up onto the podium and looked around once more. He turned on the spot several times. The carvings on the walls caught his attention once more. They looked like giant eyes, but with spirals in the centre instead of pupils. Eyes. Wars turned back to the eye above the door. He squinted at it. He pulled out his sword.

Could it really be that simple? Had Time really seen this solution after only a few moments? Of course he could. Even with one eye the Hero of Time often saw more than the rest of them.

Warriors held his sword out in front of him as he had done before. Slowly, he moved his arm in a clockwise motion. He let out a dejected sigh as he watched the eye in the wall following the motion of his blade. But it wasn't spinning. He moved faster. The eye moved faster. At last he had it spinning wildly. So wildly that whatever magical or mechanical hold it had over the bars lifted.

Time stopped working as he heard the distinct sound of metal on stone.

"Door's open," Wars sighed.

Time finished off sharpening his sword and sheathed it. He pushed himself to his feet to come face to face with Wars as he came back down the steps.

"Great, well d..." Time began.

"Don't, say, a, word." Wars said pointedly, literally pointing a finger in Time's face. "Not, one, word."

The glare on Warriors face and the defeat in his eyes told Time everything he needed to know. Perhaps the Captain had not enjoyed his first dungeon puzzle. But then again neither had he.

Silently the pair left the chamber and passed on into the rest of the temple. Wars silently cursing Time, Sky and Hylia under his breath.

***

The following chamber was vast, with a narrow bridge crossing water more than two metres deep. The same blue light filled the space, illuminating the corpses of dead monsters and the heros standing over them.

"Hey you made it!" Sky observed cheerfully, pushing his way to the front of the group.

As Warriors and their leader approached, Sky faltered as he noticed the disparity in their expressions. Time was struggling to keep his face placid, while Wars looked like he might throw someone in the water without notice.

"Everything okay?" Sky asked cautiously, as Wars brushed past him without so much as a sideways glance.

Time sighed and caught Sky's eye.

"The Captain did not enjoy his puzzle."

[maximsdeadwife]

Spicy Sherlock headcanons

Sherlock Holmes x reader NSFW headcanons

Masterlist

Authors notes: as last time, I’m writing this with any version of Sherlock in mind, but that gif was too good to resist. Very much feeling a need to explore Victorian dirty talk in a short Drabble soon after this… there’s something about being absolutely filthy with a Victorian gentleman that just 🔥

Warnings: NSFW — smut, virgin Sherlock, switch Sherlock (needy sub/hungry soft dom), oral sex, vaginal sex, handjobs, fingering, cream pie, thigh riding, cock warming, teasing, edging, dirty talk, size kink

Sherlock has never been a particularly sexual being, always too focussed on the pragmatic to pay much mind to the whims of the vessel that is his body

He was nervous the first time. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was far out of his comfort zone and anxious that you would be dissatisfied with him (or that he wouldn’t like the experience and leave you even more disappointed)

He’s used to utilising the skills he knows he’s good at. How can he be confident with sex when he’s never even learned to pleasure himself properly?

Over time he learns his body though, alongside learning every inch of yours

Even the first time he slips his finger inside, he soon comes to realise that your body is simply another puzzle, and if he can find the right combination places to touch, the correct pressure and speed, he will solve it in no time

Almost cums in his undergarments when you come undone on just his fingers

He’s pleasantly surprised to discover the way you moan and gasp for him, and how this guides him in his endeavour to satisfy you

He’s also surprised to find that sex with you feels incredible, giving his mind a short break and a boost of pleasure he’s never considered would be useful until now

Constantly and absolutely in awe of your reactions to his touch, and even more so to his cock. He feels a spark of excitement when you tell him he’s too big to fit, and another when you cry out in pleasure-pain as he slowly slides inside and stretches you with a delightful burn, whispering, ‘That’s it, darling, you’re doing so well, taking me all the way in that tight little cunt.’

Speaking of the way he talks to you, he absolutely delights in dirty talk, especially when he’s using such vulgar words compared to his usual vocabulary. It makes your blood boil with lust to hear him talk like that (it’s a little bit like when a person who always wears a suit puts a casual t shirt on and somehow becomes even more attractive)

Will whisper something filthy in your ear when you least expect it and delight in the blush it causes to burn your cheeks (and the heat he knows it’s sending rushing to your core (basic science))

When he’s on a case and you offer assistance, he forms an idea. You end up between his legs under the desk, warm lips wrapped around his throbbing, leaking cock as he tries to focus on the task at hand

It soon becomes unbearable, and he has to stop his work, allowing his mind to switch off for a few blissful moments as he falls back in his chair, spreading his legs and bucking his hips, fingers slipping into your hair to feel the movement of your ministrations until the orgasm that rips through him resets his mind

As you wipe your mouth and tuck his softening length back into his trousers, you hear him muttering away, scribbling something on a scrap of paper and you know he’s finally reached the conclusion he needed, with your help

Don’t feel left out though, at the end of the case he will eat you out like a starved man over and over until you’re trembling and he’s moaning into your slick folds

He’s pretty sure he invented edging. When you accompany him away from Baker Street for an investigation and have a frustratingly quiet time, instead he ends up using the time away to keep you simmering on the edge of orgasm, telling you he will only let you cum when you get home

The train ride back is torture but it’s so worth it when you get into the flat and he pushes you up against the door finally taking you. Later writes a monograph on The Science of Sporadic Pleasure

When he gains more sexual confidence, he generally has two modes: needy sub, and hungry soft dom

Needy sub Sherlock is what you get when he’s loosing confidence in a case, or when he’s between cases and growing bored. He seeks reassurance in your touch, whimpering as you slip your hand into his trousers to bring him off, gripping the sheets and begging as you ride him slowly, the measured movement of your hips both hypnotising and torturous

He will lay with you afterwards, safe in your arms, fingers gripping onto you just as hard as when his climax was nearing, whimpering as your stroke his messy hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear while his high subsides

Hungry soft dom Sherlock comes out to play when he’s excited, when he’s pulled off a dramatic reveal that got his blood pumping, or when he’s so close to figuring out the answer to something, he knows he just needs that little push to get him there — and now he understands what’s so great about orgasms, one of those will do nicely to help him on his way

He also knows you like it when he’s a little rougher, and takes immense pleasure in satisfying you that way, particularly if he’s been busy lately

He slams into you mercilessly, growls muffled against the crook of your neck as you hold onto him for dear life. Between moans of how good you are for him, how exquisite your cunt feels around his cock, how only you can make him feel like this, he mutters the other thoughts that flash through his brilliant mind lie puzzle pieces

Just before he empties his seed inside you, as his climax builds, everything starts to come together in his mind. He has his lightbulb moment just as his peak hits, and he cries out the answer in a guttural, breathy shout while you clench around him

He holds you close for a moment as his thick cum drips down your thighs, thanking you profusely and making sure you’re not hurt, that you’re satisfied and comfortable before taking off to finish what he’s been working toward

If he’s half dressed, you sometimes need to remind him to straighten up as he’s frantically grabbing what he needs before leaving the house, the telltale signs of a half buttoned shirt poking out from a ruffled waistcoat, untied cravat and open fly — even Lestrade could figure that one out without help

When he returns, he kisses you passionately for what feels like hours, languid het firry, grateful that you’re so patient with him, that what you do for him is something no one else could

‘I’m sorry for using you earlier, my love,’ he breathes apologetically, ‘allow me to make it up to you?’ And he does just that, spending the evening entirely focussed on your pleasure

More often than you might think he’s happy for you to use him for your own pleasure, lying on the little couch and beckoning you with a lazy finger to climb on top

‘I know I’ve been absent, darling, and I really must continue my work but I simply cannot rest a moment longer without giving you a mind shattering orgasm. Ride my thigh for me while I think thingsn through, there’s a good girl.’

When he’s feeling playful, he will encourage you to sit on his cock while he’s at his desk, having you warm him until you’re squirming to rock your hips, but he will only shift his own hips slightly when he’s able to continue his work without your whining distracting him. He has to grip your hips hard to keep you still

And while he’s pausing for thought, his fingers might just slip down to rub your clit for a short while before he resumes his research

Delightfully vocal, especially when he’s particularly horny. He’s never pleasured himself enough to learn to keep quiet, so he just lets it out and it’s enough to alert the whole of Baker Street

Never ever leaves you dissatisfied

[transsongtaewon]

Myeongwoo was busily chopping away at cabbage. He found it rather dull, but at least he could appreciate the craftsmanship of the knife. It was very good knife, since he was the one who made it.

"Myeongwoo oppa?" Yerim stuck her head into the kitchen.

"Yes?" His focus didn't sway from the cabbage, fully cut now. He moved the piles into the salad spinner and set it in the sink.

"You and ahjussi are friends, right?"

He paused in his cabbage cleaning endeavour. "I'd like to think so."

Privately, he thought that 'friends' was putting it a bit lightly. He wouldn't cook three meals a day for someone who was just a friend. But he also couldn't say they were more than friends, necessarily.

"Why do you ask?"

What steps beyond 'friends' were there? Lovers, maybe. He inwardly recoiled. Definitely not that. Family? He didn't really care about his biological family and he didn't feel the need to put someone else in that spot, either.

"Just because." He couldn't see what Yerim was doing behind him, focused on his cabbage. "Do we have any leftovers?"

"I'm working on dinner right now." How long was he supposed to wash cabbage for? "You can check in the fridge if you want."

The door opened and she dug through the shelves. "Are friends usually as close as you and ahjussi?"

"Maybe. I don't know." It wasn't like Myeongwoo had extensive experience in the friendship department. It was entirely possible he was overthinking a regular, boring friendship. Well, not boring. He sometimes wished Yoojin was more boring, maybe then he would almost die less often.

"I mean, how long did you know each other before you wanted to move in with him?" By the sounds of it, she had located a box of pre-cooked ramyun noodles and was now eating them completely unseasoned. Teenagers.

"How long did you know each other before you made him your legal guardian?"

Her answer was muffled by noodles, but he was reasonably certain it was "Touché."

She did have a point. Everything including Yoojin had gone very fast. Myeongwoo knew why, but that didn't make it that much less odd. He definitely didn't mind it, of course. He just acknowledged it may look weird looking in from the outside.

"Myeongwoo oppa, did that cabbage to something bad?"

He was startled out of his thoughts. He really had washed it for too long. It had turned somewhat over-shredded and more than a bit soggy.

"Ah, I just got distracted. Thank you." He spun it to dry, as gently as possible. Which wasn't very, if he wanted to actually make use of the centrifugal forces, but at least he tried. "Was there anything else you wanted?"

"Nope! Call me when dinner is done!" She dropped her chopsticks and Tupperware in the dishwasher and left the kitchen as quickly as she had entered.

In the end it didn't really matter if he and Yoojin were friends or lovers or a secret third thing. They just cared about each other, deeply, and no one else had to understand what was between them. Maybe not even they themselves.

Myeongwoo started to wipe down the countertop to prepare it before moving on to cutting meat. Dinner would take a while yet.

Written for Sctir Pride Week Day 7: Friends

[watisthisifnotthat]

Lilith in Capricorn

Lilith in the 10th House

What's applicable to all here, those with or without this placement, is that we must prevail. No matter the horrors ✨️

The Cap Lilith can sense bullshit and there's a limit to what quantity - how much, they'll put up with. What can't be dismissed and turned swiftly away from attention ... untanglement and disengagement will follow the paths they've been witness to be of too many perlis. Or too steep the price, where value can't qualify.

Formed within their development in life is the necessity to seperate themselves from deeply chaotic and destructive areas of life. They avoid the bridges that lead to landslides of unsupported or debilitated frames. For this mature sign has to have learnt their lesson within these types of circumstances.

Consciously or unconsciously, habits are made to sustain their measure of balance. A fort upheld by what they seek to proportion onto their scale. What's important? What do they love? What have they learnt to develop - to secure what they value? These natives have a way to weave their life. However they percieve their journey to be, they are taking their life with some seriousness.

The energy it takes to assess the world in a widely individualistic, generally applicable way may or may not be lost in importance to them. But in witnessing the executions of such efforts, to gather the magnitude of a person's direction by witness of their focus, one's resolution, thoroughness and patience is just as consuming as gathering the equally as impactful motivating variables and considerations.

Admist their goals and endeavours, they may be subject to a multitude of reactions that may or may not be recognisable, depending on the factors this Capricorn/10H person has dealt with in theme of their early life.

The Lilith placement more times than not may be highly respected in the places they frequent. Subtly so, immediately so in some cases or gradually very blatantly flattered and favoured. It all depends on the nature of who is being dealt with, or rather who is dealing with the native person. As there are many observers as they make headway about their business. These observers may astonishingly reveal themselves and their feelings for the Capricorn/10H Lilith native.

Capricorn is the Earth sign of ancient matters ruled by Saturn, the karmic planet. It may come to see occurrences of ignorant or close minded people distribute the native with misconceptions, misunderstandings, skepticism and even suspicions for the most benign ridiculousness to the most out-of-left-field discourtesy. Even those who've had a liking to the native, without their expectations met, nay fall prey to rash reactions of disappointment.

This Earth sign placement is renowned and known to be effective at their efforts and when life hands out it's stumbling blocks, it may almost seem that others take their shortcomings as dire or striking to themselves. The witness of their admiration may be so strong and that so unrealistic. Whilst a portion of potential trigger Joe's may even seek to use these moments as opportunities for their regressed and pent up resentment, envy and sense of unhealthy competition.

Now this is a karmic ruled placement, the energy is unpredictable but yet, eventually manageable. The Lilith person will learn to do so. Asserting themselves, for themselves as their very own and best activist, in voice and action. Especially necessary when the extremities of this Saturn ruled Lilith placement may experience true distastes in life. Methods of spite, open and casual hostility and manipulations. Revealed to them to be dealt primarily by them.

The placement holds a lot of lessons and the turn of karmic patterns can arise in the Capricorn/10H placement themselves just as well as any other, particularly with the natives onset of pressure. Nobody develops chaos and negativity innately or by themselves. In trying times the natives aggrieved energy may get wasted by extending too much time defending themselves, assessing our perpetrators and explaining ourselves. Recounting the injustices and revisiting frustrations and aggravations. Consumed by them rather than seeking to improve by the remnant of it's pain.

It's imperative for the Lilith in Capricorn/10H to realise themselves in their authenticity not in what has been done to them, but what they have found and fostered relief and happiness from, where their joys come from engaging.

As many times as it takes them to amass their fun and creative energy back into their habits and their sense of themselves.

Lilith in Capricorn/10H has all the resources of experience to use to their advantage. To detach from the absurd and allow their flabbergasted remains to transform into a humourous source of pride, rooted in the chill they create to self correct/perfect.

It is resilient, long term consistency they wish to embrace in this regard, this placement has an honourable awareness of fairness, morals. They can absorb the whole world around them and be discerning about where they place their feet, they value respect and are keen and attentive enough to dish what they can take.

@tosatisfymystarryheart has a lovely post about Capricorn Lilith women that I would highly recommend for another perspective. I don't see this placement get much attention, I wonder whyy.

Summary: Lilith in Capricorn/10H know what they want. Some get intimidated even triggered by this progression, some absolutely frickin adore your every inch!!🩷🌸

[mezz-merizing]

language, hypnotism, and you!

here in the Hypnokink Zone we tend to center our focus on inductions. and for good reason!! they're the purest form of hypnosis, the intentional induction of someone, an endeavour designed exclusively to take someone into trance. but what if we didn't want to do an induction, or even take someone into trance, but still have a hypnotic effect on them? as it turns out, this is extremely doable, and extremely cool!

if you've been here for a while now you might have seen this post from me, my first proper ramble about all this stuff, and you might remember that bit at the end, when i talk about just how hot i find the words "hypnotized" and "brainwashed" themselves, and how i sometimes just find myself repeating them over and over when i'm really feelin' it. i think that's a good representation of how just single words can fuck with our minds, and it's not just those two <3

so like, let's think for a second about what language actually is; we tend to take for granted the fact that we make air do silly tricks with our mouths and our throats in order to put ideas and concepts into other people's heads. really, a word isn't just a word- it's not just the funny shape that air takes on when you make just the right tongue movements, it's the idea that word actually is. and ideas are extremely powerful!! when you think of the word "brainwashed" you don't just think of the individual letters, you think of helpless subjects, spinning spirals, and complete, devoted obedience. and that has more effects on you than you might realise :3

sometimes people in the hypno sphere call this "neuro-linguistic programming" or "NLP" but that's kind of a misnomer, (actual NLP is a silly and weird pseudoscience largely invented by "pickup artists" to sell courses, so, y'know, i try and avoid the association) i prefer to just use "hypnotic language" because it's just as descriptive! the basis of hypnotic language is this: when you say words, you incept ideas into someone's head. if you have the skill, time, and familiarity with the person you're talking to, you can use this to control their thoughts nearly as effectively as if they were in trance!

a lot of this relies on what words mean the most to the individual you're talking to. let's take me as an example!! the word docile makes me fucking weak. it conjures up images of blank-face, calm-smile obedience, of gently nodding and going about the commands i'm given, of empty-headed servitude. the images it conjures in my head are vivid and hot as hell, and it's just a single word. use it a little bti around me, and you'll ensure i have all those thoughts swirling around in my head! thoughts of servitude. thoughts of enslavement. and so it comes naturally that i'd be easier to control <3

tone matters too! if you speak to someone authoritatively, they'll come to see you as an authority. even in tiny matters, insignificant ones, even in little ways- saying "hey, grab me a glass of water" is more authoritative than "hey, can you get me some water?" obviously, this is a double-edged sword! too much authority and you might give your intentions away, or just come off as kinda bossy, and that's more likely to make people actively resist you than let you in. once again, it's all about knowing your target! you gotta know what your subject's tolerances are for this kinda thing

take all this together, and you can have almost as much of a grip on someone's mind as you would if they were completely hypnotized :3 you break them down overtime, get them hanging on certain words, widen their tolerance for authority... and eventually, with a lot of effort and patience, they're yours. obedient to you- brainwashed, in all but process

can you imagine it? like, from the subject's perspective- being completely under someone's hypnotic control without ever having been hypnotized. maybe looking back at a long time ago and thinking "i sure acted different then", but not worrying about it at all. you're a thrall, and as far as you're concerned, that's just who you are!! that's just kind of how the world works

i dunno about you but i can't imagine a fate i'm more desperate for <3

[average-riot]

I actually wasn't expecting some silly sketchbook doodles on an au which I didn't even explain properly to get that many notes!! 😭 but here we are, so with a drumroll please...!

Hi ! This is an actual-actual post on my au :)

My bicgest focus on this AU is definitely Noah and Alejandro which I'm not even ashamed in admitting to, but to get this started...

A Separate Peace is a book written in 1958, set during WWII, in all-boys boarding school, which follows Gene (in our case, Noah) and Finny (in our case, Alejandro!). I've heard from a friend it's actually school required reading in some places in the USA, but I'm not fully sure! However, I hope at least some people have read it before, considering it's such a good book...

For an easier time reading this, I'll be use Noah and Alejandro's names, instead of Gene or Finny, when explaining the plot! ✨️

It's all even more striking when he keeps dragging this sullen little thing after him

Both 16, Noah, and Alejandro strike an unlikely friendship during their summer session of 42'. Despite veing roommates, anyone would be lying if they claimed there was no difference between the two: While Noah carries a studious life full of cynicism, there's nothing Alejandro won't do. Full of charisma and athleticism, there is not one person on campus who would not recognize Alejandro's endeavours and who doesn't absolutely adore them.

There's not one single scheme which Alejandro proposes which Noah can refuse to participate in, albeit his existence. That included the creation of the Super Suicide Society of the Summer Session. Not as foreboding as it sounds, really- All in all. Just a club full of boys doing things considered mildly dangerous. Fighting rough, jumping from high places, playing the most obscure games.

So, then, where's the issue again?

You could suppose it's jealousy. Although Noah would hardly admit to that claim. He'd rather call it doubtfulness, as there is much to doubt. What causes someone like Alejandro to stick by him? Surely he has a plan. Surely he's just showing off.

It starts with two boys standing on the branches of a tree, Alejandro almost ready to jump off into the stream of the river below. The climax is a little more weight put forward, subtle, destabilization of the sacred place they both stood on, from Noah. And the scene closes with a fall, a broken leg, and denial.

But that doesn't mean an ending, no.

Autumn's coming, after all !

There's more characters, of course, and some people who I've already assigned! Alongside a few other pieces of art. I could technically put the entire plot of the book in here, but I think I'd rather do that over multiple posts, with a bunch of little art pieces— or maybe even start a fanfic on AO3 to sort of document everything!

But I'm definitely doing more about this. <3 ty for reading and paying even some attention to this silly little project

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Platonic Yandere John Wick Part 2

Inspired by @discoscoob

When you finally wake up in the morning, you're still exhausted and weary from the previous night's endeavours. You lie motionless in the bed, not wanting to get up and face John after the events of the storm.

It isn't long before you hear the sound of footsteps approaching your door, a single knock sounds against the wood before the door is opened and John steps into the room.

John enters the room silently, his eyes immediately locking onto your figure still lying motionless in the bed. He walks towards you and sits down on the edge of the mattress, his stoic expression watching you intently for a moment.

“You’re awake.” he mutters, a hint of sternness in his voice. He glances at the bruise under your right eye, now a darker shade than when he applied the ice pack the night before.

John gently pats your head, his fingers slowly running through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. There's a hint of tenderness in his usually stoic demeanour as he does so.

He can sense your anxiety just by looking at you. He remains seated on the edge of the bed, a small but discernible frown forming on his features as he tries to gauge your emotional state.

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" he asks, his voice softened in contrast to the usual stern tone he has when addressing you.

“No..” You mumble as you try to turn your head away from him. He doesn’t let you turn away from him, a hand on the side of your face.

John gives a small nod at your response, understanding that your lack of sleep has taken a toll on you. He continues to gently run his fingers through your hair in a soothing manner, though his frown deepens slightly as if he is contemplating something.

"You're probably still worn out." he mutters, a hint of concern in his voice as he watches you intently. "Resting is important, especially after what you put yourself through last night."

You stay quiet, too scared to speak up in fear of his anger that he showed you last night. He gently prods at the bruise under your right eye, it's much darker than it was last night. You must've gotten it by falling on your face last night.

"You got quite the mark here." he remarks, his voice stern but the edge has softened significantly. "You need to be more careful, sweetheart. Running off in a thunderstorm like that could've ended badly."

John continues to gently prod at the bruise, assessing its tenderness. Though you wince, he disregards the flinch without comment, his focus remaining solely on the darkened skin under your eye.

"It's tender, isn't it?" he murmurs, his expression stoic as he observes the injury closely. "But you'll recover soon enough. Just need to give it time and keep an icepack on it."

He lets out a sigh, his gaze flickering over your weary form as he seems to be contemplating something. After a moment of silence, he finally speaks up, his voice maintaining its usual authority but the hard edge has vanished.

"You need to rest." he mutters firmly. "I'll go get something for breakfast. Just... stay in bed for a while longer, all right?"

“Ok..” You mumble, not having the energy or the willpower to do anything else. John gives a firm nod in response to your mumbled agreement, clearly content that you'll remain in bed like he's instructed you to.

"Good." he replies gruffly, standing up from the edge of the bed. He casts one last glance at you before stalking out of the room, closing the door behind him as he leaves to prepare breakfast.

As you remain in the bed and fall back into a deep sleep, John proceeds with making breakfast in the kitchen. He busies himself with various tasks, his thoughts occupied by thoughts of you.

His feelings for you are clear; a familial bond tied with a hint of possessiveness, likely triggered by the loss of his own family in the past. He sees you as something to protect and nurture, almost like you're a child he needs to look after.

John returns to your room holding a plate of fruit and yogurt, the simple and easy-to-digest food selected intentionally as he approaches the bed. He notices that you are asleep again, your weary body having succumbed to the exhaustion once more.

He takes a moment to just watch you sleep, his stoic expression softened slightly. With a small sigh, he sets the plate gingerly on the bedside table before gently shaking you awake.

You groan, not happy about being woken up by him. He ignores you. John helps you sit up and checks for your temperature, his brow furrowing when he realises you have a fever. He lets out a heavy sigh as he notices the increased heat radiating from your skin.

"You have a fever." he mutters, his voice firm but there's a hint of concern mixed in. "You're burning up, sweetheart."

John focuses his attention solely on your condition, his demeanour shifting from stern to almost tender as he realises you're in no condition to fight him or escape. This seems to please him on some level, his possessive instincts satisfied by the fact that you're weakened and dependent on him.

"You should eat something." he murmurs, grabbing the plate from the bedside table and holding it out to you. "And take some medicine to lower your fever." He gets a spoonful of the yogurt he brought for you and holds it up to your mouth. You reach for the spoon to feed yourself.

John notices you trying to reach for the spoon, attempting to eat by yourself, but he gently pushes your hand away. There's a firmness to his voice as he speaks.

"No, sweetheart. You're too unwell." he says firmly. "You just lay there and rest. I'll feed you."

It takes a few moments, but you finally give in and allow John to feed you, swallowing your pride in the process. Even though you feel humiliated, you try not to let it show on your face.

John notices the initial hesitation, the slight downturn of your lips and the flicker of defiance in your eyes. But he doesn’t say anything, silently taking your silent act of submission as a sign to continue feeding you without any further objections.

Without further protest from you, John continues to gently feed you the yogurt, his actions slow and controlled as he spoons the food into your mouth. He's acutely aware of your reluctance and humiliation but chooses not to comment on it.

Once you finish the yogurt, he sets the empty bowl aside before wiping any residue from the corner of your lip with a napkin. You turn your head away, uncomfortable with how caring he seems to be. Is it a trick of some sort?

You turn to the bedside table, noticing the plate of fruit he put together. You reach for a cut up strawberry, your movements slow and sluggish as you nibble on the strawberry.

John watches you with a keen eye, noting how slow and heavy your movements seem. He can see the exhaustion etched on your face, the aftermath of the night's events still lingering in your weary body.

He reaches out and gently pats the crown of your head, offering a small gesture of comfort.

"You're tired," he mutters, his voice firm but soft. He watches as you continue to slowly nibble on the strawberry, his concern growing as he observes your lethargy.

"You need to get some proper rest, sweetheart." he adds, his tone firmer now, leaving no room for argument.

After you finish the yogurt and a few more pieces of fruit, John gently guides you back down onto the bed, making sure you're comfortable before he turns to take the empty plates away. He heads for the kitchen and places the dishes in the sink before retrieving an icepack from the freezer.

He returns to the bedroom with the ice pack in hand, carrying it over to the bed where he gently presses it against the bruised area on your face.

"Keep this on for a little while," he instructs as he positions the ice pack against your cheek. He gently adjusts the placement to make sure it is covering the bruised area properly.

"It will help reduce the swelling." he adds, his tone stern as he glances at the bruise.

“I don’t feel good..” You murmur, John lets out a deep sigh as you murmur that you don’t feel good. He can see that you are unwell and weary, the exhaustion and fever taking its toll on you.

He reaches out and gently places a hand on your forehead, feeling for your temperature again. His frown deepens when he realises that your fever is still present.

"I know you don't feel good, sweetheart." he mutters in response, the concern clear in his voice.

He takes a moment to just look at you, studying your weary and fevered state. His expression is a mix of worry and protectiveness, his usual cold demeanour softened by the sight of you unwell.

He places the ice pack back on the bedside table before returning his gaze to you, his eyes roaming over your fevered and weary form, assessing your condition.

[julaibib]

How to strengthen your deen. I am not a good Muslim and I don’t pray no more. I fear for my sins and where I might end up in the afterlife. I can’t bring myself to make read the Quran, dua, dikhr, istighfar, Salah. I feel so lost and empty. I’m forcing myself to start praying, but I haven’t done it yet.

Our iman isn’t always as sound or strong as we’d like it to be, as it varies with our circumstances. Iman can be weakened for a variety of reasons, including flaws in our prayers or seductive murmurs from the Shaytan. 

Whatever happens, do not stop praying, especially salatul Fajr and Isha, even if your attention is shaky. According to Abu Hurairah rayAllhu ‘anhu (may Allah be pleased with him), Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ), said:

“No prayer is more burdensome to the hypocrites than the Fajr (dawn) prayer and the ‘Isha’ (night) prayer; and if they knew their merits, they would come to them even if they had to crawl to do so.” [Bukhari and Muslim

Nobody wants to be associated with hypocrites. Remember, you’re good, and all you’re trying to do is get back to where you were. It’s fine to take a vacation from other productive tasks now and again to rekindle your excitement, but keep your obligations in mind. Never let them get away.

Speaking with a pious, informed person and seeking his or her assistance can work as a shortcut to something that would otherwise take us a long time to achieve. It will undoubtedly assist you in determining exactly what you need to accomplish in order to restore your spirits.

Things that strengthen religion is Focus on the thought of death This may sound rather dark and may not be a strategy that’s for everyone, but the pondering of one’s own demise might be a good way to put things into perspective.  Life becomes monotonous at best, or filled only with empty, momentary pleasures without the thought of it all coming to an abrupt end one day.

Listen to the Quran’s melodic cadence and attempt to meditate on the significance of what you’re hearing. We should always endeavour to read as much of the Quran as possible, as doing so will considerably strengthen our iman and elevate us in this world and the next!

Dhikr – the act of remembering Allah (subḥānahu wa ta’āla (glorified and exalted be He) usually refers to the repetitive process of saying certain words, such as Subhan’Allah- ‘Praise be to Allah’, Al-Hamdullilah- ‘Thanks be to Allah’ or Allahu Akbar – ‘Allah is the Greatest.’ Prophet(saw) said: Whoever says: Subhanallahi Wa Bihamdihi – (I deem Allah free of any resemblances to anything whatever in any repeat, and I glorify his praises) one hundred times a day will have his sins forgiven even though they may be as much as the foam of the sea – (Bukhari,b73:c19)

Practice Sabr and prayer are two commonly overlooked stress relievers. Sabr is sometimes interpreted as patience, but it has a deeper meaning.