#duck candles heal you

[pikawings]

I present the duck candle art for a wip (character ref If You Give A Bat A Burger)

Step 1: place duck in a bowl of water

Step 2: allow for ambient ecto to be absorbed into the duck

Step 3: when the duck is fully saturated, murder burn it

Final product: ecto infused water, great for adding into soups or drinks for extra energy or used as the base for ectodejecto and other medical needs

(For the wip ’Doctor Duck’, name also a wip. I got some notes, but it's not good enough to start writing)

For an AU where GK Danny works for Penguin because he is the only one with a family plan. He’s the on-site medic for big missions, a bouncer in the Lounge and animal caretaker mostly for fun. He learned most of hisnmedic stuff from Frostbite and Victor Fries whom he is friends with. Jazz is in a coma after she got severely injured when rescuing Danny from the lab. She can't go to the GZ bc it would kill her and Frostbite doesn't know human medicine enough to be of help. Penguin pays for her private hospital room that Danny has decked out with ducks of various use. The ducks are red because of Blood Blossom extract which attracts ecto rather than repell it.

(Ik it sounds like I got a plan for this but it's too wonky and I don't have everything planned out yet so it's locked in the basement for now)

[violetflowerswrites]

Sweet Relief

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: servant/master, possession, religious-ish themes, dom/sub, sex pollen, cockwarming, oral (female receiving), pain/discipline, fingering, p in v sex, language, 18+

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I’m rewatching the Marvel movies in order and my god. I forgot how absolutely diabolical and adorable young Loki is! I was inspired to make this VERY smutty, all-porn-no-plot fic. Takes place before the events of Thor 1. Hope you enjoy my first Loki fic!

Tags: @foxherder @lovingchoices14

The long linen fabric of your healer’s tunic brushed against the cold marble floor as you rushed past. Your steps were gentle and quick, trying to make next to no sound as you swept past the tall columns, and arched ceilings of the royal halls. Finally outside the gilded wood of the giant doors to his bed chambers, your breath seemed to stall in your lungs.

This simply was not done. You were approached, never doing the approaching yourself. Improper didn’t even begin to describe what you were doing.

Your gentle knock was virtually silent the first time, so you steeled yourself and tried again.

“Identify yourself.”

A lazy voice called from within, but his tone was laced with an undeniable authority.

You spoke your name, placed your title in front of it.

Healer.

You weren’t a lady, a warrior—hell, you weren’t even nobility.

You belonged to a class of healers in Asgardian society. Seen as a type of servant, but respected nonetheless. To serve in the court meant you had a sizable talent for basic magic, and for spiritual healing.

But, if you were a woman in this position, it also meant you were a glorified prostitute.

You and your healer sisters before you have served in the healing room for centuries, servicing warriors, tending to their injuries after battle. But Asgard has long been in a season of peace, so the healers needed to fill another role.

Asgard was now a land of paradise, a land of plenty. That is, plenty of food, drink, beauty, wealth, and of course, plenty of sex. The nobility needed a way to make this discreet. After all, the royal court could hardly be seen having frivolous dalliances with just anyone. They needed to marry for alliance, for power, and for proper bloodlines, of course.

That’s where the healers came in. Come to the healing room for a sleeping draught, or an ointment for a sore shoulder, and get a service on top of it. You and your sisters were carefully trained in the ways of pleasure, and secrecy.

But, here you were, in front of your Lord’s chambers, breaking every rule and propriety ingrained in you since you first worked in the court as a young girl.

“Enter.” He commanded.

With shaky hands, you pushed the heavy bedroom doors open with your slender muscles.

The sight was grand, and a bit unexpected. Thick, dark green drapes covered the walls from ceiling to floor, and deep cherry wood bookshelves lined an entire side of the bedroom. A fireplace and candles were lit, making the chambers seem warm, yet a tinge ominous. A sharp contrast to the golden pearly halls of the rest of Asgard’s royal chambers.

Loki sat at a massive wooden desk, cleaved from the center of an oak tree, and absolutely littered with a number of bottles and vials, books and scrolls. A lone curtain was left half open, letting in what little light was left of the setting summer sun.

He addressed you disinterestedly, not even bothering to lift his head up from his book.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Healer?” Loki called out quietly across the vast room.

Your back was pressed up against the door, unable to get your feet to move. Your body disobeyed what your mind wanted, forgetting to curtsey or even duck your head. Instead, your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Loki took a beat in your silence and chuckled lowly to himself.

“I must say, this is quite unexpected, and against the rules I might add.”

Amusement glittered in his eyes at the mention of breaking the rules.

After all, he was the God of Mischief. Breaking the rules was his bread and butter.

Loki finally gazed up and took you in more carefully, wondering why a healer such as yourself would dare incur the wrath of your order by entering a nobleman’s chambers without permission, let alone the prince of Asgard.

Second prince of Asgard, but a prince nonetheless.

Then he noticed you, really noticed you.

He took in your flushed face, the way you absentmindedly kept rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you hugged yourself, and your thighs pressing your legs together to seek any sort of relief you could.

Even from across the room, Loki’s god-eyes could see the steady thrumming of the vein on your neck, moving rapidly with your heartbeat. He wanted to taste your skin and feel your pulse under his hot tongue.

Loki was a keen observer. Knowing how to read body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice was more important than any magical mischief he could get up to. Reading people was enough to get him most things that he wanted in life.

And right now, he decided he wanted you.

“You may approach, Healer.”

As if the spell had been broken, you swallowed to wet your dry throat and stepped towards the prince.

“How did you get past the guards?” Loki questioned.

“I said you needed a sleeping draught. You’ve been having trouble falling asleep for the past few days.” Your voice came out squeaky and feeble, a far cry from your usual tone.

Loki pursed his lips. This was not untrue.

“Leave it here.” He gestured casually to the desk and went back to his reading, while keeping half an eye on you.

Your trembling hands set down the small bottle of liquid with a bit of a clatter, and you quickly stepped back, just a few feet from where Loki sat.

“There’s something else.” Loki murmured lowly, eyes still flicking over the pages.

“Yes.” You breathed out.

Before you could begin to state your wild request, Loki said something else that you didn’t expect.

“I know you.”

You flitted your eyes up at his handsome face, and was startled by his piercing blue gaze. Quickly, you looked down at your feet.

The younger prince of Asgard had long since caught your eye. Every time he returned from battle you snatched the opportunity to treat him.

Rumor had it that he rarely asked for a healer's services, even when he was at the peak of adolescence. Some said he had a taste for the other sex. Others said he found his pleasure off-planet.

Whereas Thor openly indulged in excess, including women, drink, and violence, Loki was careful, calculated, and purposeful in all his actions. His mysterious, unreadable nature only served to make him more attractive to you.

“Yes, m’Lord. I have treated your injuries before, alongside other sisters.”

“You sang to me.”

You gasped, shocked that he remembered. It was a particularly gruesome battle and Loki was crushed badly in the side. You and your sisters forced him into a spell-induced sleep so that you could bind his broken bones. The Queen was distraught and ordered a round-the-clock watch to ensure he was healing well. You ended up on night watch, singing lullabies when he fought demons in his sleep.

“I did not know you heard me, m’ Lord.” You whispered, the heat inside of you coming out in waves off your hot skin.

“Speak freely. What is it that you request of me?” Loki schooled his tone to sound detached, but you could hear the curiosity in his words.

Sucking in a breath, you relayed a stuttered story of how a nobleman asked the healers to create a love potion that would increase ones libido, but it would only work against someone they were attracted to. Eventually, they would be like a dog in heat, and could only be relieved by intense pleasuring from a potential lover.

And you were the unlucky soul who got “volunteered” to take the experimental potion on a test run.

Although they tried their utmost, your sisters were unable to bring you relief and now, a few hours later, you sought after your long-time crush, Loki.

Hoping he’d do something to help relieve you of your suffering.

Although what, you didn’t dare dream of.

Ashamed, you bowed your head, looking at the marble floor and wishing a hole would open up and sink you into the dark waters below your realm.

At best, he’d let you go back to the healing room and never speak of this again. At worst, he’d have you arrested and banished for attempting such a lecherous act against a prince of Asgard.

“Sit.”

Your head jerked up, and you stared. Loki wasn’t looking at you though, he was back to his book, but his palm patted his muscular thigh.

Gods, was he asking you to sit in his lap?

You slowly brought a leg over his until your core straddled his hips. His cool body temperature immediately soothed your hot one, and you carefully brought your arms to clasp behind his neck.

Moving quickly before he changed his mind, you immediately put your training to use.

“Would my Lord like a massage?” You offered quietly.

“Yes, darling, that would be lovely.” Loki agreed nonchalantly, again, eyes still glued to his book.

Your strong fingers squeezed the tight knots on Loki’s shoulders, feeling the firm, yet lean muscles there. You pulled up his flesh, pressing deeply until the tension melted away in your hands.

Moving upwards, you combed your fingers through his jet-black hair, massaging his scalp, and temples.

The man gave no signs at all that he was affected by your touch, or by having an attractive young woman in his lap.

But then, he turned, exposing a pale neck underneath the raised leather collar of his garments. You took that as an invitation to press your lips to his smooth skin. Loki could feel your warm breath exhale in a contented sigh as your thumbs continued to knead circles, followed by soft kisses all over his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear.

Even with your face pressed to his, you almost missed what he whispered next.

“Warm my cock for me, dearest.”

An uncontrollable whimper escaped from your lips at his dirty words.

To be fully honest, you didn’t know how far Loki was going to let you take this. And the answer seemed to be…

All the way.

You pulled off your undergarments and undid the buttons of his leather trousers. His member was already half-erect, but it came to life fully as you gently rubbed him in both of your warm hands.

Your head fell onto his shoulder, and you could feel the breath catch in his chest as his cock breached your tight entrance.

Your eyes squeezed shut immediately at the contact, having not loosened your sensitive core beforehand, and Loki was large. His member wasn’t the thickest you’ve ever had, but it was slender, and long.

Slowly, carefully, you sank down, half-way at first, taking a pause to adjust, then further in until your ass rested on his lap once again.

The tip of his cock pushed up against your cervix, and you’ve never felt more full in your life.

Relaxing, you pressed your chest to his, leaning in as your core wrapped its hot, moist flesh around him. Loki for his part, was completely silent, reaching his arms behind your back to continue flipping through his book.

“What are you reading?” You murmur, content to just be filled for the time being. The initial stage of insatiable desire had been temporarily slaked by simply having his length inside of you.

“A spell-book on illusion magic. Could be useful for battle, or tricking my brother.” A soft chuckle rumbled through his body, the vibrations stimulating your center immediately.

You moaned, losing yourself in pleasure, but Loki shushed you gently.

“Be a good girl and sit quietly. I want to finish this section.”

So you did. After having spent the past few hours in heat, having any kind of relief now was enough to lull you into a daze. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the crinkle of pages of Loki’s book, and your quiet breath.

Every so often, he would shift his weight and it would push his cock in a different part of your core. You bit your lip each time to keep from making any noise, but the wetness that leaked from your pussy betrayed your arousal. You were sure that Loki’s thighs would be soaked by the time he finished reading.

Abruptly, Loki snapped his book shut with a bang. You flinched automatically at the loud sound.

“That’s enough, my dear.” He stated with finality.

You gingerly pulled yourself off, his still-hard member slipping out of your core, leaving you feeling empty and wanting. Legs wobbly from sitting straddled wide for so long, you tried your best to look put together, smoothing down your tunic, and taking a tentative step back.

“My Lord, thank you for—“ you attempted a statement of propriety, assuming that you were being dismissed.

Wordlessly, Loki grabbed you roughly by the neck and hauled you forward, an arm pulling your hips against his as he crushed you with a kiss.

Your body melted into his immediately, overwhelmed by the pressure of his lips against yours, his tongue forcing his way into your mouth, and —gods was that teeth?—nipping at your lower lip. You had no idea that a kiss could be so utterly demanding and violent.

Loki wasn’t just kissing you.

He was devouring you.

“It’s time for some discipline, healer. Do you know what a bad girl you’ve been tonight?” Loki growled against your neck, biting you not quite so gently there.

“No, tell me m’ Lord.” The response breathed out through bruised lips. Your pupils were blown out with lust and so were his.

“No? Then, I’ll help you count each disobedience.”

With that, Loki pulled your tunic and shift off, leaving you completely exposed before him.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, while licking his lips.

Roughly, he wrenched your arm and pulled you towards his generous bed, throwing you down the middle of the lush mattress.

Before you had a chance to sit up, he flipped you onto your stomach and smacked a hard slap to your ass.

“Fuck!” The expletive exploded out of you at the sharp sting.

“Number one: deceiving the guards.”

Another slap hit your other ass cheek.

“Number two: sneaking into the royal chambers.”

His hand met your bottom again.

“Number three: sneaking into my bedroom, a prince of Asgard no less.”

Another hit. The skin of your ass was already inflamed pink with the first few smacks.

Loki watched the color bloom before slowly raking his icy-blue eyes across your body. A sheen of sweat had broken out along your back and your face was buried in the sheets.

Loki’s never hurt a girl in the bedroom before, but seeing the redness of your ass, and feeling the tingling remnants of each slap on his own hand. Well, that awoke something sinister in his heart, and his loins.

“Number four: you were a fool to take the love potion. You are supposed to be a healer, not a witch.”

This next blow from Loki was even stronger than the last. The contact with your tender skin echoed off the high ceiling of his bedroom.

“Hells—Loki you are going to leave a mark!” The pain had you gritting your teeth, and temporarily forgetting your manners.

Hearing his name roll off your tongue made him laugh with delight. Who knew he would have so much fun punishing a troublesome little girl like you?

He leaned forward, pressing his erection into the swell of your ass, and spoke lowly into your ear.

“My darling, when I’m done with you, your body will be marked permanently.”

The threat made you shut your mouth and turn your burning face away from his, speechless.

“Number five: you were a fool to seek out me for relief.”

The final hit was the most painful. Loki lifted both of his hands and brought them down with so much force that you let out a scream of shock, pain, and pleasure all at once.

He immediately squeezed your pliant flesh in his palms, massaging the slap-warmed skin there.

After a moment of silence, he released his touch altogether and sat back on the bed, watching you.

Cautiously, you crawled up on your hands and knees and sat up, using your arms to hold up your weight rather than sitting on your tender bottom.

He studied your face in quiet contemplation as he watched a mixture of emotions course through you.

Pain, of course.

A bit of fear.

Apprehension, understandably.

But as you drew in shaky breaths, staring back at him, he saw what he was hoping for.

Attraction. Lust. Arousal. Greed.

Even after all of that, you still wanted him. Hells, even without the potion coursing through your veins you would have still wanted to fuck him.

The dominant, torturous streak was a surprise, but you never knew what Loki was capable of, to begin with.

Everything was a surprise with him.

And yet, you craved so much more.

Suddenly gentle, Loki guided you backwards until your head hit his soft pillows.

He settled in between your legs, prying them apart until his face was inches away from your puffy inner lips.

“How did that feel, my dear?” He pressed kisses against your inner thighs, loving how smooth and soft your skin was.

“It hurt.” You ground out, indignance lacing your tone, trying not to show how anything Loki did to you felt good.

Better than good. He was better than any nobleman you’ve ever had to service before. Sex with them was vanilla, predictable. Loki was anything but.

“Ah, but you liked it. Didn’t you, sweet girl?” He paused and looked up at you with those baby blues.

Underneath his steady gaze, you knew there was no point in lying. Loki could see through you in a heartbeat.

“Yes. It felt good.” You confessed.

Tutting with that silver tongue of his, endearments and praise continued to pour out of that sly mouth.

And kisses. Hot, wet, soft kisses to every part of your inner thighs, your mound, your puffy pussy lips.

“You naughty girl. Entering my chambers, asking me to give you relief.”

He pressed his lips to you.

“Sitting on my cock, letting me fill up that tight cunt of yours.”

A regal nose brushed against your slit, dragging wetness up your core.

“Enjoying pain with your pleasure. Letting me ravage your body. You’re a temptress, my sweet.”

A deep inhale. Gods, Loki was breathing in your sex right in front of you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your nails digging into your palms.

“Did you know, darling, that I could smell you the second you entered my chambers?” He exhaled, warm air tickling the moisture leaking out of you.

You didn’t dare reply, knowing that all that could come out of you now would be whines of lust.

“You, my dear, are ripe.”

With that, Loki dove head first into your cunt, licking and sucking like you were his favorite dessert.

The potion made your pussy swollen and sensitive, so everything he did felt ten times more pleasurable than anything your sisters tried.

Your hands gripped his wide shoulders and your knees fell apart as he ate you out.

“Loki—my Lord, I, I can’t!” You stammered out, head falling back as you enjoyed his worship of your pussy.

“Cat got your tongue, dear?” Loki joked, before taking your clit in between his perfect teeth.

“Fuck!” You positively screamed, which only made Loki double down.

Finally, he let go and you slowly loosened your grip, not realizing that you had been knuckle deep in his beautiful hair, tugging it, tangling it in your fingers. You saw pink half moons littered on the pale skin of his neck and face, evidence of your nails digging into his flesh.

Taking a beat to breathe, you smoothed his locks down on his head.

“Did I hurt you?” You inquired, feeling ashamed that you had lost yourself so completely in your lust.

“Yes. But I liked it, dearest. You can hurt me as much as you want to. Just as long as I can do the same.”

The dirty confession made your heart stutter in your chest, eyes wide. Seeing your expression, Loki laughed aloud, the sound blessing your ears.

He crawled up your body now, straightening your legs.

“Let’s see how ready you are for me, hmm?” Loki inserted one finger, then another into your pussy.

“Gods! That feels—!” You whined.

“Good, isn't it?” Loki finished for you. “Now, what about…here?”

He curled his digits upwards and put delicious pressure onto your spongy inner center.

Waves of stimulation shot through your limbs as your voice cried out in broken moans.

“Your knees are trembling, sweet girl.” Loki observed with amusement.

Indeed they were, and they continued to shake uncontrollably as Loki clamped down even harder, his fingers thrusting now.

“I-I can’t help it!” You cried out again, as Loki kissed your breasts, his hot mouth finding purchase on an erect nipple.

Your hands gripped his wrist and he couldn’t tell if you were trying to pull his hand out, or push it in deeper.

Regardless, he ground his palm against your clit, scissoring his digits inside of you, stretching you.

Preparing you.

“Oh my—I’m gonna cum!” You screamed out. Loki had already made you cum a few times. First, when his cock filled you up as you were sitting on his lap. Second, when he bit down on your clit.

And now, with his skilled fingers, he was making your pussy spasm and weep under his touch.

The orgasm was powerful, your whole body jerking up against his. With his free hand, Loki held you down, enjoying the wild ride.

Finally, as you relaxed, Loki released you and sat back. His forehead dappled with sweat, and his own breath coming in hard.

You couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Loki, your prince, was pleasuring, no—worshiping your body like it was his personal gift from Valhalla. He made you feel pleasure at heights you didn’t know existed. Somehow, he simply knew your body even though this was the first time he had ever touched you.

Lost in post-orgasm bliss, your eyes lazily traveled down to his still clothed erection, fighting to get out of his trousers. A thought crossed your mind.

“My Lord, can I undress you?” You murmured, locking eyes with him.

Loki didn’t reply, instead, he simply watched your naked body approach his clothed one as you slowly snaked your hands up his torso. You found each flap, each button, and slowly undid it all as his garments fell down in pieces on the bed.

You pulled his pants off his long legs, and his cock bounced up to greet you. With a gasp of joy, you pressed a soft kiss to his member and continued your kisses up the toned flesh of his chest until you got to his lips.

The action was intimate, like what lovers would do. And Loki let you touch him, admire him, without a word.

In the last bit of light of sunset, Loki’s skin glowed golden orange. He shone like the god he is.

“Beautiful.” You whispered in awe.

An arrogant smile curved along his face and he cradled a hand along the back of your head. He pressed a long, sensual kiss to your warm mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” He murmured the dirty words against your smiling lips.

Stalking over you like a predator hunts its prey, Loki climbed over your prone body, lining up his engorged cock with your weeping slit.

He watched you watch him as he slid in, inch by inch, your eyes watering as he forced his way into your cunt.

A self-satisfied smirk emerged on his face, knowing just how full he could make you feel.

Gently, he lowered his weight on top of you, pressing down so that his toned flesh covered your supple breasts and soft curves.

As he started to slowly thrust in and out of your tight core, Loki found both of your hands and brought them next to your head, interlacing his fingers with yours. Your palms were hot and sweaty, overwhelmed with the intimacy of his actions.

Summoning all the boldness you had inside of you, you dared your gaze to meet his and he was staring back at you with a mixture of lust and affection.

And also, possession.

Fuck.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Without warning, he pushed faster, his hips smacking into yours with a vengeance. You instinctively brought your knees up to allow him deeper access. The wet slap of his cock into your pussy was sinfully loud in the cavernous bedroom.

All manner of helpless yelps and whines came out of your throat, your hands squeezed his as he fucked you raw.

“You need to be fucked, hard and often, healer.” The way he said your title could have been synonymous with whore.

The intensity of his look was almost too much, daring you to look away, but you found that you couldn’t. You were entirely addicted to this man, stronger than any drug you could have created in the healing room.

By Odin, he was the only one for you.

You pressed your forehead to his as he continued to slam his cock deep inside of your womb.

“I’m yours, my Lord.” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

“Loki.” An unreadable expression crossed his face as Loki pushed himself up. He pulled your legs to wrap around his hips as he knelt on the bed. Your pussy was still clenched around his cock and you took the opportunity to suck in a few deep breaths.

“Wha-what?” You panted, confusion furrowing your brow.

“Say my name. Say that you belong to me.” Loki commanded. He rose up, pulling his shoulders back, looking every bit like the prince, the god that he is. His dark hair was pushed back on his forehead, sleek with sweat, framing his sharp features like a crown.

Automatically obedient, the declaration left your lips with sincerity and conviction.

“I belong to you, Loki.”

With a laugh of triumph, Loki grabbed the pliant flesh of your hips and slammed your body against his own. He railed your core with his cock, hitting deeper than you ever thought possible. Your ass slid along his strong thighs, the friction smarting your skin that was still tender from his earlier disciplining.

“Loki—it’s too much!” You cried out, losing yourself in pleasure.

“Cum for me, my sweet girl. Worship me with your cunt!” Loki growled out, thrusting impossibly harder, impossibly faster.

The sensation built and built, his name spilled out of your mouth in an endless stream of moans, until suddenly the pleasure peaked.

In that instance, time stopped. Your lips parted in a silent scream, and you saw him.

Veins bulged in his forearm as he pulled you flush against his hips. Nose scrunched up in effort as he fucked you deeply. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, wild in the throes of ecstasy.

Loki was your god.

And he was glorious.

Finally the air in your lungs released in a long-awaited scream and the orgasm crashed down. Nerve endings lit on fire, and your muscles jerked and spasmed underneath his strong grip. In the midst of your pleasure, you heard a faraway groan from your prince, and you could feel jets of hot cum coat the inside of your womb. He was marking you, claiming you as his.

You knew you would be his forever.

A few seconds later, Loki unceremoniously pulled out of your well-used pussy, and collapsed beside you, chest heaving with exertion.

Lying with one arm underneath his head, he lazily stroked your back as you curled up on his naked chest. Finally, the effect from the love potion had dissipated, leaving you with sweet relief.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence, but your mind started to swirl with insecure thoughts. You steeled your nerves to ask a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind.

“Why did you never use me?”

“What do you mean, my dear?”

��Why did you never take a lover? Or ask for a healer’s services? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, that you’re—“ Your mouth shut with an audible clack of your teeth.

Your clumsy tongue always got ahead of yourself. Worried you may have crossed a line, your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

But Loki answered honestly.

“You’re not my first. But I have long since known that I can’t fuck and forget like my ape of a brother.” He grimaces, and breathes in deeply before saying more.

“When I have sex, I need to own them. Possess them. I'm sure you noticed my dominant streak, my darling.”

“Then why’d you let me come in tonight? Why take the risk?” You wondered aloud.

“I’ve been watching you, my sweet little healer.”

You tensed automatically in surprise. Since when? What did he see? Why did he notice you?

Loki’s gentle voice brought you out of your thoughts as he confessed more.

“If you hadn’t approached me tonight, I would have snatched you from the healing room and made you mine before long.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating deep within his chest as you lay on his skin.

The revelation sank in slowly until finally, Loki pulled you up until your face was level with his.

“You just beat me to it, you naughty girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and your furrowed brow automatically relaxed.

“Tell me again. Will you belong to me, and only me?” He searched your eyes for any hint of deception, any trace of a lie.

You were certain that he would find none.

“Yes, Loki. I belong to you.”

…

[wandaslittlelove]

Death's Lover

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Warnings: Does not follow the plot, implied smut, Rio being soft

The witches' road otherwise known as Death's domain. It was a place filled with many horrors. Those that were lucky enough to make it to the end would get what they desired most while those who weren’t as lucky found their souls being claimed by lady death.

There is a castle on a hill. One that is impossible to find unless you know what you're looking for. It’s said the castle is pitch black with little green accents. Who’s castle might it be? Well deaths of course.

You had lived on the road for centuries. Helping so many different witches to get to the end of the road. You were bound to the road just as you were bound to her. Many many moons ago you had lived in a small village. The people there were extremely spiritual and had known and accepted witches. Many had called you an angel for your ability to heal the wounded and sick. White magic is what you possessed. A type of magic that is pure. Some would say you are the embodiment of life. Until things went wrong.

The leader of the village had come down with some kind of illness. He was feverish and coughed blood as he grew pallor by the day. You had attempted to heal him but you could see the way his lifeline was slowly dimming. After telling them that you couldn’t heal him they took to other methods. You were sleeping when they broke into your little cottage. They had pulled you out of bed and carved symbols into your skin. You laid bleeding as they lit candles around you. It wasn’t hard to tell what was happening. They were attempting to offer your soul in exchange for his life.

When Rio appeared you were on the brink of death. There was blood in a puddle surrounding you and your chest was barely moving.

You don’t remember much after she appeared. The next thing you remembered was waking up in her castle fully healed. It had been centuries since then. Since you became bound to Rio for eternity. You were not allowed to leave her domain or the castle perimeters unless she was with you. She couldn’t protect you if she wasn’t there.

Many stories had been thrown out for centuries about what happened to you but all of them came to the same conclusion. You were Death's pet. Nothing more but a toy for Rio. But you knew the truth. Rio wasn’t the best lover but she tried. She brought you gifts every time she had to go claim a soul, she was very cuddly and touchy as well, and she had made you a small garden outside of the castle as well as got you chickens and ducks. She had placed runes on you to keep you protected and had carved her name onto your thigh (to which you had begged her to do). Rio wasn’t the best at loving but she tried her best to make you happy. With that she also loved control. When you both would go on walks outside of the castle she had a collar wrapped around your neck with a chain leash hanging from it that was always in her hand.

As you passed her to get changed she grabbed your wrist pulling you close and placing a light kiss on your cheek. Her nails dig slightly causing crescent marks to be left behind. But you didn’t mind.

Many witches that had met you by mistake on the road had tried to set you free. Some of them tried to use it as their wish at the end. But the outcome was always the same. There was no way to unbind you from Rio and you were okay with that.

“Mi amor” Rio spoke from behind you. You were currently crouched down pulling some weeds from the flower bed. Turning you smiled at her. In her hand she was holding a dress. It was green and covered with patterns of different flowers. “Clean up then put this on” As she speaks you feel the ground tremble a bit. Neither of you are bothered by this. At first it scared you. You had run into her arms clinging to her every time it happened. But soon you learned it was just natural. The shaking had meant that someone made it to the end of the road. A sign that they were approaching the castle.

After changing into the dress you had quickly made your way to the room you knew she would be waiting in. She had placed the collar around your neck securely before clipping the leash to it. You had then kneeled by her side and kept your head down as you felt the tremors of the ground.

Feeling a tug on your chain you looked up at her for what would be the last time until the witches left. She stood slightly in front of you in her true form. The flesh around her mouth was missing and her nose gone, the black attire, and the crown she wore proudly above her head. You remember running when she first showed herself to you like this. You had run out of the castle and down the hill till you couldn’t run anymore. You no longer feared her though. You knew she would never hurt you (well unless you let her) and you had found her to be beautiful. Truly beautiful. She was beautiful no matter how she looked but you had found that she was the most beautiful when she was truly herself.

She took the knife in her hand and ran it along your cheek allowing red to fall out of the cut she left behind. She watched intently as the warm red beads slipped down your cheek towards your neck. Just as she went to reach out the doors to the castle slammed shut. She quickly pulled away and you put your head back down looking at the ground.

In walked two witches and you glanced up enough to be able to see them. You recognized them as the witches you had helped earlier. They were both looking at you and Rio with wide eyes as they tried to process everything.

“This is the end of the road right? We get our greatest desire now.” One of them spoke as they stared at Rio. you could see the fear written on both of their faces but didn’t react to it. You were used to all and knew that everything was about to get a lot scarier for them.

The space you were in was small but big enough that you could fit comfortably with another person. Rio appeared in front of you back in her usual form. Any sign of her skeleton gone. Her hands came up to your face and gently cradled as she looked at the now dry blood. Leaning closer she liked the wound and the blood and then gently ran her thumb over the spot where it used to be.

Rio chuckled before speaking “Not quite. This is the last trial” Rio tugged on your leash and you moved forward a bit causing both of the witches to glance at you. “You have thirty minutes. Find her and you’ll get your desires. Don’t find her and well I’d hate to see what happens” She says as she brings the knife back down to your face. Then the lights flickered and you were gone. “Time starts now” She laughs as a clock appears above her head.

The two witches quickly run to try and find you before the timer runs out. You knew it was likely they wouldn’t though. Only a few people had and the last to do so was Agatha Harkness. A power hungry witch that had found you within the last couple seconds of the timer.

She brought you into a kiss and quickly tangled her hands into your hair as she tugged harshly causing you to gasp. When you gasped she was quick to slip her tongue into your mouth and fight for dominance to which you quickly gave her. After a few minutes you pulled away breathless as her hands started running down your body.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet. I’d hate to punish you for letting them find you.” Rio whispers as her nails dig harshly into the skin of your thighs. She leans forwards, mouth nipping at your neck causing a pained grunt to leave your lips. You knew there was going to be marks but you didn’t care.

(Im to lazy to write smut)

You pant heavily as you lean against Rio. She whispers soft praises in your ear as she holds you gently and rubs your back. Suddenly you see a bright light as the timer stops. With just three seconds to spare they had found you. Rio crawls out of the tight space and tugs you with her and you follow. The leash appears attached to your collar again and you quickly get back down to your knees.

“We’ve found her. Now give us what we desire. And let her go” One of the two witches speaks as she glances between you and Rio. Rio gives a manacle chuckle at the witches words.

“You will get what you desire. But she stays” The two witches look shocked. Almost as if this wasn’t something they expected. But did they really think Rio was just going to hand you over?

“But you said..” you witch pauses as she replays Rio’s words.

“I never said she could go. Now leave” Rio spits as she was getting tired of the two. The two witches hesitate as they glance back at you before running out of the now open door and disappearing. Finally making it off the witches road. As soon as they disappear the leash and collar disappear and you stand. She steps closer to you and strokes your cheek before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Come my love. We have bodies to collect”

[kechiwrites]

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause. 

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

[neonovember]

OH MY GOD CARMYS GF (READER) GETTING HER FIRST TATTOO AND HIM COMFORTING HER AND HELPING HER TAKE CARE OF IT DURING THE HEALING PROCESS OR WHATEVA‼️💳💥💳💥 IDK I WAS JUST SITTING HERE AND THOUGHT OF IT IF YOU DOJT WANNA WRITE IT THATS OKAY

could even make the tattoo be his name or his initial or somethin 🤯🤯🤭😏

love you and your writing 😚

thanks for keeping us fed 😌

carmen berzatto x reader

okay so yes, maybe hozier has jolted me out of my writers block. i'm just a women after all.

Inked Devotion

this request was fun! i really didn't know what to make the tattoo so i left it a blank slate for whatever you wanna imagine, hope that's okay!

word count: 1.7k

things; tattoos, mentions of braces, carmen's unyielding devotion to you

Your eyes dart across the tall walls lined with inked models and men in dark beards nervously. You can't shake the tension that seems to imprint itself under your skin, your knees jittering with a rapid tap against the linoleum floors. 

When you had brought up wanting to get a tattoo, a half joking mutter under your breath as you traced the many littered on Carmen’s body you hadn’t anticipated to actually go through with it. 

And yet here you were, shaking like a leaf despite the diffuser jutting out whisper of eucalyptus that was meant to be calming. Whilst Monica, a woman you'd meant a handful of times ran through the list of after care necessities you should be listening to.

You can’t though, you don’t hear a thing as you stare unseeingly through the dark auburn tresses of her short hair, wrapped up in the thoughts that have begun to eat away at the already dwindling confidence you had when you first walked in. 

“Hey, you still with me darlin’' Monica's Brooklyn drawl draws you back to her, and you duck your head sheepishly as you nod furiously. Like a goddamn high schooler getting caught looking out the window instead of listening to Hemingway.

Monica smiles toward you, humouring warmth filling her pale skin that, surprising to you, were incredibly stark of tattoos. In fact, if it weren’t for the posters taped to the walls, the black and white tiled floor, and the ominous tattoo bench in the corner you would have thought you walked it not the wrong place. It was stereotypical of you, and you had been a loud advocate for not judging a book by its cover, but goddamn, what tattoo parlour had potted plants and candles that smell like cinnamon?

“Sorry, uh, what did you say?” 

“It’ll be alright, the pain really does depend on each person but Larry here will catch you if you faint on my tattoo bed” Monica winks with a smile, and you shift your gaze to the man stationed unmoving near some marked drawers, the mass of muscle hidden beneath dark jeans and a shirt bursting out of him.

It wasn’t the pain you were worried about, you had period cramps that sounded worse than that, it was more so the prospect of having your virgin skin imprinted with something forever. You had never done something like this, teenage recklessness had passed you by without a blink, and you had little to show for it but carved words on your old dresser from a knife and a dark eyeshadow phase that lasted less than a month. 

It was a little pathetic, getting your first tattoo eons after any respectable age, and your trepidation seems blatantly clear as Monica shakes her head with a smile.

“Many people get their firsts well into adulthood, did I tell you about my last appointment? A 52 year old woman wanting a goddamn tramp stamp.”

You can't help but let a giggle out, the unsureness leaving you at Monica’s words

“You still want this right?’ Monica replies, and you shift your gaze to Carmen, who was already watching you fondly, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he pushes his golden strands back and gives you a nod

“It’s all up yo you gorgeous, if your having second thoughts there is a really good Thai place i wanted to che-” 

“No, no I want this”  You cut him off, and he chuckles softly, “Besides we already designed the stencil and everything” Carmen nods at that, placing his large palm onto your own, squeezing it with reassurance.

“Damn right we did, thinkin it's my best work yet” Monica chirps from the other side of the bed between you.

“Alright, just sit on that bed down there, get settles while I grab some things” 

You nod, walking stiffly towards the leather bed, tissue paper crinkly under your weight as you shift into a comfortable position. Your eyes follow Monica like a laser, watching as she santises her hands and slides on powdered sterile gloves. 

It reminds you of days spent in Dentists chairs, visions of rubbery fingers tightening wires into your teeth flashes behind the darkness of your lids. Funny, you had worried about your lack of experimental youth, and yet here you are now feeling like a kid again.

The thought makes you smile, and you open your eyes to feel the heated gaze of Carmen looming over you. Face distorting in horror when Monica’s tool makes a clatter, eyes widening comically in that way that always makes you laugh.

“Alright Doll, I’m just gonna need you to sit up for me whilst I get the skin prepped. Alcohols gonna feel a little cold to the touch, kay?” Monica says.

All you can do is nod as she rips open the matte packet, pressing it into your open skin shaved clean per her request a few prior. Who knew how much prep a tattoo would need, you were sure it was on par with even one of Carm’s dishes.

Unfortunately for you the only numbing cream useful for tattoos had something that would have made you break out in hives, so it was cold turkey for you. Monica had transformed the design into a stencil, and as she was transferring it into your skin it seemed to come to life all at once. 

You had spent hours going over designs, and whilst you were extremely happy with what you both came up with, it was like when the lines and shapes had traced your skin, you finally saw it. And the moment you did you couldn't stop the wave of emotion that rushed through you, filling your eyes.

“Hey, baby, hey what is it” Carmen rushed urgently, crouching down when he noticed the way you sniffled.

“Awe doll, you don’t like the design? I’ll change it in a flash, this is just the stencil it aint permanent at all” Monica quickly stopped, looking up at you with concern

“No no, I’m fine” You squeezed Carmen “It’s so, it's beautiful Monica” You rushed out, trying to ease the lines of concern that appeared on her face. Monica bloomed at your reply, fondness heating her cheeks as she traced your skin comfortingly.

“Thank you” You whispered to her as she shushed you.

“At least we got the crying bit over and done with, it might hurt less now” She winked, before reaching for her tattoo gun.

“Ah shit” You grunted, shooting daggers Carmen's way when he snorted out loud.

Returning to your skin, Monica pressed the pointed tip of the gun to your skin, the first sink of ink burrowed into your skin causing you to clench your jaw. 

Monica looked up to watch your expression with a smile,

“See, ain't too bad” Carmen replied before you gripped him white knuckled, making him wince regrettably.

It took some time, you won’t lie to yourself that is fucking hurt. But soon enough the sharp stab had resided to a dull ache, and you instead had become all too focused on the movement of Monica's hand swaying through the strokes of the design. 

You were in awe, she breathed her being into it, and as the design took inches and inches of your skin you understood why she was booked out for months. With one last intricate curl, and a wipe of cleansing soap across the inked skin it was finished. Revealed to both you and Carmen's eyes in all its glory, and you both just stared.

“God, now I wish my first was as good as that instead of wonky stick and poke” Carmen said after a pregnant silence had passed.

“It..wow, yeah. Yep, I want to be buried with this” You said softly, giddiness erupting in your body as you shook your hand grasped in Carmens.

“I’m glad doll, I mean this is meant to be professional but goddamn does your skin just take it. Fuckin’ gorgeous” Monica replied, leaning back as she places the gun on the table near.

“Hey, I'll report you to HR” Carmen bitterly replies, moving you closer to his side as you laugh.

“It’s my business, I am HR” Muttering under her breath as she rolls her eyes. Wrapping your skin in adhesive sheets, Monica repeats the after care instructions, thankfully and this time you listen.

Carmen had already grabbed your things, motioning for you to start heading out after you both furiously thanked Monica for everything. You crinkled with joy as she hugged you, breathing in the smell of old spice and medical grade rubbing alcohol that followed her. 

Her studded rings glistened in the afternoon sun as she waved you both goodbye, as you couldn't help but skip in your stride across the sidewalk. Finger tracing the raised blotted skin, whilst your other hand hung onto Carmen as he twirled you around.

“My gorgeous ink stained sweetheart” Carmen called to you, and you were brought back to his chest gently like a tide again.

“Thank you too, you know” You said into Carmen's cotton shirt. It was the one you got him after your first date, it had been a deep cobalt then. You regretted it just as you gave it to him, fearing you were being too forward. And then he wore it until it faded into a light blue.

“Wouldn't even have this forever on me if you hadn't been the one to bring it up again” You replied softly, fingers tracing his jaw.

“Would have spent a year learning how to tattoo myself if you wanted me too. Monica just seemed quicker” Carmen mumbled before you softly hit his chest with a smile.

“Hey, it’s true. Your skin deserves to be remembered, I could trace it till my fingers atrophied and I’d still have the memory of you under my skin memorised” Carmen divulged, eyelids drooping as he leaned down into your embrace. 

You shake your head, heart panging so deeply it hurt till you pressed your lips to his. Tasting the outpour of Carmen that he let loose into you everyday.

And Carmen had stayed true to his words weeks later when it had healed, tracing it till his fingers weren't enough. Till he had to wrap his mouth around it and taste it with his tongue.

He swears even your inked skin tasted sweet.

tags <3 @parmforcarm @hansfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @nolita-fairytale

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter VII - Bona Dea

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 18k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

i was supposed to upload this two days ago but silly me decided to have a mental breakdown instead. anyways, enjoy the new chapter ♡

bona dea - a goddess/her festival subligaculum - underwear

Chapter VII

The house is filled with the overpowering scent of strong wine and blooming flowers. Food and drink is being served, the atrium of the roman villa that belongs to the senior magistrate and his wife transformed into a place of worship as much as a place to celebrate.

The annual winter festival of Bona Dea, one of the most important (and as some argue, fun) nights of the year for the women of Rome. A tribute to the goddess that promises fertility along with chastity and healing, in return asking for her worshippers to hold the values of a good, roman wife. Her celebrations allow strong wine and sacrifices led by the Vestals and most importantly–ban all men from the villa and its grounds. Just laying eyes upon the holy celebration and the rites would be enough to condemn a man to a life of blindness.

It is so different from the worship you are used to from Vesta. She is quiet, a prayer whispered into the flames, the crackling noise of the wood, the only company for women who ask for safety and blessing on lonely nights.

You have barely been able to eat, despite the food seeming worthy of the gods. Bona Dea has always made you nervous, the prospect of trying to effortlessly fulfill the rituals that have been passed down from generations of women before you. But the prospect of meeting Acacius in mere hours had you trembling the moment you rose from your bed this morning. The hours seemed to tick by agonizingly slowly all day, making you wonder if the sun would ever set.

But it did. And with the early darkness of the winter night came the loss of appetite. And the later it becomes, the worse you feel. The comfortable anticipation starts mixing with an anxiety you’ve rarely felt before. Nothing can go wrong.

Of course, something goes wrong. When you reach the large front entrance of the atrium, the one you hoped to slip out of unnoticed after fulfilling your duties, is far too busy. The columns are decorated with skillfully woven vines, the entire room alight with candles and torches. A thin layer of smoke still hangs in the air from the rituals you conducted earlier, making the space feel even more sacred.

You settle on making another round, speaking some words here and there, disappearing into a crowd that has evidently already enjoyed the strong wine forbidden to them on other occasions. You catch a glimpse of Severa chatting animatedly with a few other women and duck away just in time to avoid attracting their attention.

It is already late, far later than you meant to leave. You know Acacius will be waiting. He has no rites to attend to tonight. Instead, he will be able to casually stroll out into his–

The gardens. Just like the other houses, there are spacious gardens attached to the villa you are currently trailing through. There has to be a way to slip out into that direction and get up Palatine Hill, which is rather close. Pretending to long for some fresh air, you step into the lush green, plants and trees imported from places where they do not wither in the winter. They lend themselves to your cause perfectly, barely allowing the guests inside to catch a glimpse of your white stola as you tread the small paths, the light around you becoming less and less. You slip past a few trees, fight your way through bushes–and are met with solid stone. Of course. A wall to keep out everyone who tries to sneak into the gardens. Or in your case, sneak out of them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Heading back inside, finding another way–it will take too long. He could be gone by then. With a small shake of your head, you step forward and let your hands run over the cold stone. The moon is hiding behind clouds, giving you essentially no light to work with. Still, you somehow manage to find two crevices to tuck your fingers into and pull yourself up. Panting slightly once you've heaved yourself up onto the stone wall, you look back for a brief moment, catching a glimpse of the lit up villa through the trees, listening to the voices and music drifting over to you.

Suddenly, it feels like you're looking down upon your whole life, like you are seeing yourself from the perspective of the gods you so worship. You try and think of something to hold you back, any excuse to just jump back into the gardens and have no one ever be the wiser about the ideas in your head. You think about the dishonor you may bring to the Vestals, to your family. To him. The punishment they would settle on. The whispers that would follow you, even after death.

You try and think of a good reason to stay. But not a thought comes to mind.

So, you jump down on the side that leads further down the path and up to the house with the lavender gardens, a path you do not wish to leave now that you’ve started walking it. Even if it leads straight down to hell.

***

Acacius sighs quietly as he gets up from the bench he sat down on what feels like hours ago. His mind is as restless as his body, his head spinning a different direction every time the wind carries the sound of what could be someone sneaking toward him through the night. The statue of Mars stands quietly next to him as he begins to pace back and forth, eventually expanding his rounds onto the stairs. Up. Down. Have you changed your mind? Back. Forth. An invisible tug of war with the thoughts racing through his head.

The small pavilion is lit by only a few candles, providing just enough light to see but not enough to shimmer too far through the trees. On Bona Dea, the whole town below is alight with the celebrations of the women. Song, Chatter and Light travelling through the night air, distractions that lay like a shroud around your meeting. A protection not unlike your veil. An indication that what lays below is not to be touched–an indication he so desperately longs to ignore.

It's not any sound that makes him turn his head. It is an instinct that he cannot name that has him turn towards the path below. And there you are. Looking almost like a ghost, dressed in a festive, white stola that swishes around your body as you hurry the last few steps, the top of your head crowned by the very veil he just saw in his mind. And he suddenly feels like he cannot wait a second longer.

Acacius meets you halfway up the stairs, his arms sliding around your waist like they belong there. Like a child resting its head in their mothers lap, like a soldier returning to his village after the war. Like the most natural homecoming, a nestling of a body against that of its lover.

“Acacius–” You whisper his name, a relief that it can finally fall from your lips again. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

He hums quietly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your side. “I would wait all night for you, Dulcissima.” He cannot see the blush that spreads over your cheeks but he can hear it in the small breath that escapes you. “May I?”

Keeping one arm firm around your waist, he leads you up the stairs, towards Mars who stares into the distance. Unlike the stone eyes of the statue that are forced to stare at one point on the horizon for eternity, Acacius’s eyes never leave you. Even when he leans down to the small tray he brought along earlier, grabbing a glass filled with red wine and handing it to you, he keeps his focus on you. You barely get to whisper a thank you before a frown spreads over his face. “What happened to your dress?”

“I had to climb the garden wall,” you mutter sheepishly, embarrassed that your original plan has so clearly gone awry. He watches as you take a sip of the wine before you continue. “I will clean it in the morning, it is not worth speaking of.”

Acacius doesn't agree. It feels like another thing he's making you do. A visual representation of the way he is soiling you, tainting your beautiful white gown with reminiscents of the dirt and grime that stains his armour after returning from battle. “It is my turn for apologies. You should not have to–”

He is shut up by your lips coming to rest on his. He can taste the red wine he picked out for tonight and by the gods, he does not think there is anything he likes more. Picking out what you taste like for him.

There is a small tremor in your body, an insecurity that he immediately recognizes as inexperience. He sighs into the kiss at that, his taunt muscles finally relaxing as he blindly reaches behind himself, finding the stone bench and lowering both of you onto it, never breaking your kiss. Sweet. You just taste so sweet.

He allows you to dictate the pace, only pulling back when you do, your breath coming in short pants. His forehead rests against yours as he reaches down to take his own glass, nudging you until you toast him, glass against glass creating a light melody that fades as quickly as it has appeared. You both drink in silence, only the distant noises of the celebrations and those of the garden around you reaching your ears. 

“May I ask you something?” He hums, his voice low in his throat as he watches you raise your wine to your lips, the flames of the candles reflecting in the glass and liquid, sending smooth shadows over your face. At your nod, he continues. “Why did you ask to meet tonight? Bona Dea must mean a lot to you.”

You smile softly, though there is still a hint of nervousness present in your eyes. “The gods are busy looking down onto the feasts.” It is the unspoken part of your response that makes Acacius feel almost light-headed. If the goddesses eyes are truly on the feasts happening in the city, they are too busy to see you under the cover of darkness. One of his hands is still supporting your waist and he uses the other to set his glass down again before coming up to caress your ankle. A sliver of skin pokes out from under your stola, giving him a taste of what is waiting below the linen and silk that you are wrapped in. He feels you lean in, a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder for support as he maneuvers you onto his left leg. In one smooth motion, Acacius runs his calloused hand past the hem of your stola and up your calf. You shiver, shifting slightly. “Acacius–”

It's somewhere between a whisper and a begging command. He forces himself to pause, his hand resting on your knee, the fabric of your dress bunched up around his forearm. “Do you want me to stop?” You shake your head silently. And he decides that maybe, he can push a bit further. “Is this why you wanted to meet?”

He can practically see you pause, your eyes flickering nervously back and forth. He may be completely wrong. It may not even have occurred to you–this. That you could do this. Because technically, you can’t.

“Maybe,” you whisper and he smiles at the subtle hint in your tone that sounds less like a maybe and more like a yes. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't have the same train of thought. He just didn't expect you to want him like this. Hell, he barely expected you to show up. Not with how much you are both risking.

“I’m sure you know–” you whisper as his hand travels further, slowly but surely inching up your thigh. “That Vestals are sworn to celibacy.”

He gives as gentle a squeeze as he can, watching with a smirk as you bite your lip, stopping yourself from letting out a noise. God, how he wants to hear that noise. How he wants all of Rome to hear the noise, wants to hear his name fall from your lips as he gives you the pleasure you've been denied your entire life.

“There are other ways,” he muses, his thumb trailing over the edge of what he assumes to be a subligaculum covering your most private area. “Other ways of pleasure.” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his hand gently rubbing over the soft skin of your inner thigh, not quite crossing the invisible threshold yet. “Dont tell me you have not discovered any of them?”

This time, he can watch as the blush spreads over your cheeks and down toward your throat. His gaze softens slightly. “You do not have to tell me, if you do not wish to.” Acacius sighs quietly, his eyes watchful, trying to gauge if he's gone too far. If he should retreat. “Does this feel good? We do not have to–” He can feel himself stumbling over his words. “I do not wish to force myself upon you. We do not have to do anything if you are not ready.”

“What if I'm never ready?” You whisper before you can stop yourself, resting your head against his shoulder and he tuts as he looks down at you.

“Then we will never do anything.”

“Go on.” It is a whispered plea. And Acacius gently obliges. He knows how to give commands that demand to be followed. But he also knows how to take them.

His fingers sneak under the delicate cloth that forms your underwear, his index finger finding the space between your legs already deliciously wet. He can feel himself getting hard at just this. The thought that merely sitting on his lap, kissing him, feeling his hands on your leg, is enough to arouse you to this point. He swipes his thick index fingers through your folds, making you clutch onto his shoulder and whimper in surprise. A low chuckle leaves his lips as he stills his hand again, not wanting to overstimulate you right away. He is keeping that trick up his sleeve for later.

“Your body does not know of your vows, dulcissima,” he rasps, his beard scratching against your skin as he places soft kisses against your neck. He feels you shiver and while he is sure some of it can be attributed to the excitement, he has a feeling the cold is also doing its part. He has a sudden urge to pick you up and carry you inside. If you truly want him to see you, to bare yourself before him–the first man to ever touch you like this–it cannot be on a cold stone bench.

“Let me take you inside.”

(art by art by Gökberk Kaya)

notes: okay, i know, i know, bad moment to stop. i promise the next chapter is in the works! ♡

[schuylerpeck]

I want to ask you over. I want to watch you pull into the driveway and walk up the steps, bundled up nice and tight, ducking in from the wind. I want us to fall into the couch together for a movie, maybe something old, maybe something scary—or light candles and start dancing to a jazz record, only to collapse into laughter, tumbling to the floor and maybe staying there a bit, talking for a while. perhaps here my hands gravitate to yours. perhaps here you smile and play with a stray curl between your fingers. I want you to come over while I’m just finishing something warm to spoon into our bodies; a hearty stew or healing soup. I want to saw into a thick loaf of sourdough and hand you a slice. would you like some butter? in this vision I have, the evening has a way of never ending, but I leave it be after we look up to the windows and see that the wind has carried a snowdrift our way; a million flakes dancing just beyond the glass. you’re here. we’re warm. we’re safe. we turn back to the music.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Borrower!reader: The Secret World of Borrowing

A/N: uh, so, yeah…making it so borrowers have little wings in this, so I guess you could just call them fairies at this point.

Warnings: none???? for once??? maybe like bad language if I’m really trying???

Word Count: 3,327

-Part 2-

Anything in excess will do your body no good.

Initially, you had dismissed the thought—living off sugar cubes sounded like absolute heaven. But after about a month of surviving solely off the sweet substance, you’ve begun to dread your next meal.

Your stomach’s rumbling again, so you hop from the burnt out candle pot—cramped as it is—hidden behind a stack of books, perched precariously at the edge of the fae’s desks. So far, you’ve managed to avoid them all, darting behind teacups or ducking beneath the lip of a plate, and soon, you’ll be done with them. Just one more week, and your shimmery, iridescent wing will be fully operational.

It’s already been three since that dreadful storm that had sent you whipping through the air, smacking into the wooden frame of what you’ve now pieced together was a window ledge. From there on, you’d used your small reserves of magic to bind and set your wing, but it’s been lessening your healing powers—hence the exacerbated pain and elongated recovery time.

Slowly, carefully, you peek out from behind the towering stacks of parchment, spotting the sugar jar that’s kept on the desk. A quick scan of the room tells you the fae that inhabits it is not around at the moment. While you’ve made a point of remaining hidden and out of sight, you’ve noted a few peculiar things about the male. There’s a strange darkness that wafts around him, a bleakness that surrounds his wings—great things, that stick out from his back and loom over his shoulders! He has an odd sort of schedule, too. Blasted male. He often works late into the nights—confining you to your too-small candle pot that’s cramped, and stuffy, and really not good for your healing wing.

But you can blame him for all those wrongs until the day you die—for now, your keen nose is picking up a delicious smell. Doing another scan, you peek out further, to spot a plate laden with food.

Dear Mother, it’s one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. You ignore the meat at the side, instead staring at the beans, and salad, and beside the plate— Berries! You could dance, leap for joy, cry, or sob, at the welcomed sight. You rush out, darting over the grain of the wooden desk. The small, glass bowl comes up to your stomach—a little taller than the plate—and you eagerly grab a berry.

The food is still warm though, which means he will likely be returning at some point soon. You turn, scanning the flat expanse of his desk. There’s a metal-looking container, housing some ink pens. That will do perfectly well should he return.

You open your mouth, poised to chomp down on the berry, when the hairs on your neck rise. Then something snags your ankles, pulling you off balance. A tiny scream spills from your lips as you drop the berry, face smacking into the desk. Quickly, you flip over, ignoring the blood dripping down your upper lip. It’s that darkness he’s always wrapped in, but—why is it bothering you? You didn’t know it could detach from him? That’s unfair!

You shoo it away, kicking your legs but it curls higher, tentatively. You snarl, writhing more frantically as it creeps up your knee, over your thigh. A growl rips from your throat in warning, but it doesn’t listen. Instead, more darkness swells, wrapping up your hips and around your waist. You shriek in anger, practically vibrating as the shadows press and push at your skin.

The final straw comes when you receive a pinch on the ass, red colouring your vision as magic wraps around your hands and you grip a strand of darkness firmly, yanking it off your body as if it were some weak rope. The darkness twitches, writhing in your hand, suddenly desperate to get away from you. “That’s what I thought,” you snap, indignantly, tossing it off you.

It slinks away, once again leaving you to the berry. You huff, wiping your nose on your forearm, attempting to get rid of the blood. But then you’re knocked into from behind, making you stumble. The shadows coil, springing forward, tackling you to the wooden desk as they keep you pinned. You struggle and writhe, worried about what this position will do to your wing, but then you hear the ominous scuff of boots in the hallway.

Panic surges in your chest, and you once again coat your hands in magic, but the shadows have learned from last time, shackling your wrists to the wood so you’re unable to touch them. You snarl in fury, pushing the magic to your mouth as you sink your teeth into the shadow. It twitches and jerks about, but you hold fast. The constraints remove themselves from your wrists, and you take the chance to flip the shadow over—the others that had been holding you down skittering away, scrambling for cover.

With your hands now free, you keep it pinned to the table, slamming your magic coated fists into it, beating it off you until—

Reinforcements have come, and they’re dragging you off the smaller shadow that’s twitching and flickering. “Let me go!” You snarl, tugging against the restraints, “it started first! Let me finish it!”

The door swings open, and you all freeze.

It only takes a second, but then his hazel eyes have landed on you, piercing into your form as he stiffens. His shadows release you, darting away as if they were completely innocent, and then you’re scrambling for cover. You were mistaken though, his shadows didn’t go into hiding. They were grabbing a jar.

You slam into the glass, a fresh wave of blood running down your upper lip as you smack your palms into the glass—to no avail. On the bright side, the berry’s in here with you. You grab it, placing it between you and the edge the desk, between you and the approaching male.

His eyes are marginally widened as he comes to a stop, pausing warily as he takes you in. You go rigid under his scrutinising gaze, crouching down behind the berry. It only comes up to your knees, but it’s better than nothing. A shadow curls over his ear, and you hiss at it, backing as far against the glass as you can, keeping your magic on hand.

Slowly, he pulls out the chair, lowering himself into the seat, still staring at you. You offer him your most scathing glare, trying not to be too intimidated by his size and piercing eyes. “Let me go,” you shout, scrunching your hands into fists over the berry. His features shift into mild shock, or surprise. “You can…talk.”

You don’t lessen your glare, instead you make it harder. “Of course I can talk, you blithering idiot! Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” You snap furiously, nails sinking into your palms. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, bracing his fingers on the table. Your eyes dart to his hands, cringing further back against the glass.

He lowers his hands, and you stop trying to push through the jar.

“You…what are you?” He asks, settling his hands on the wooden chair arms. Your nose wrinkles as you stare at him for a long moment. Then, “I’m a Borrower,” you spit out, “and you have no right to keep me here. None. So let me go.”

Again, he shifts in his chair, those great, powerful wings at his back catching in the light, showing off the gilt looking membrane of the inner skin. “You’re a what?” He asks slowly, as if your size would somehow interfere with the speed you hear. “I’m a Borrower. And I’m not dim. I can hear you perfectly fine. Just a bit muffled through the glass,” you snap pointedly, eyeing the confinement he’s trapped you in.

He’s quiet for a while, and your heart spikes. What’s he going to do with you? With his size, and shadows, a number of cruel fates await, all because you’re a little too small for him to consider a life form. He raises his hand to rub over his mouth, appearing in thought. Then, “you’re the creature the made those little footprints, aren’t you.”

You blink, caught of guard, “I— What?” He nods his head, as if confirming something. “You got stuck in the gravy, didn’t you? That’s where those marks came from.” You flush with embarrassment, baring your teeth at him, “it’s your damn fault for swamping your food in that rutting sauce,” you snarl viciously, remembering how the gloopy liquid had come up to your thighs in some places. It had taken a lot of work to get clean again.

He nods quietly, watching you with those piercing hazel eyes of his that make you want to curl up in your candle pot. “I’m Azriel,” he says at last, making you jump. “What’s your name? Or are you just called Borrower?” He inquires, seemingly earnestly. It doesn’t stop the fumes pouring from your pointed ears, “is my name Borrower?” You repeat, rage building in the pit of your belly.

“Insolent! Arrogant! The lot of you!” You shout at him through the glass, magic flaring in your palms, but you tamp it down. “We have names, just like you. How would you like it if we all insisted on calling you by your kind’s name?” You snap aggressively. His brows raise a little at your outburst, raising his palms in what you guess is supposed to be a calming gesture. Red tints your vision, “don’t you try and placate me! Condescending brute!”

“I meant no harm,” he says, “but I want your name. So I know what to call you.”

You hesitate, pausing your rampage. “Why should I tell you my name?” You ask, eyes narrowing on the male. He makes another calming gesture, and you settle a little, “I’m not trying to antagonise you—you’re a creature I’ve never even heard of before, so I’m going about this as logically as possible,” he replies smoothly. You deflate a little at how genuine he sounds. “So,” he says, sensing your mood calm, “what is your name?"

Your head dips down for a moment, hands wringing in your lap as you keep near your berry. “I…I don’t know,” you stammer, softly. His brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean you don’t know?” Your eyes flit about, darting away from his. “My mother… I can’t read. She wrote my name down for me, so I would never forget it, but I was never told what it was.” You laugh quietly to yourself, “three hundred years, and I’ve never gotten the chance to learn. Or ask…” His eyes soften at your harrowing tale.

“I could read it,” he offers. You peer up at him with wide eyes. “Provided it’s in a language I know,” he adds, hastily. You suppress the urge to snap at him that you have the same language, why would it be written differently? Instead dip your head almost imperceptibly.

You get to your feet, hesitantly making your way to the front of the clear glass jar. He leans in closer to be able to see and you reach into one of your pockets, then pull out your fisted hand, holding it out toward the glass. Azriel squints a little as he peers closer, hoping to at least give you the knowledge of your name…and after three hundred years, too.

Daintily, you raise your middle finger, effectively flipping him off, “eat shit and die, asshole.”

Silence stretches between you, a storm brewing in the air, and you tense, waiting for him to break upon you. But then he huffs out a puff of air, and his eyes are crinkling and he’s laughing, chuckling softly to himself. You stare with wide eyes, tiny finger still raised in defiance as he laughs to himself.

You flush with indignation—he should be furious! “Hey!” You snap. “I don’t know what the hell you’re laughing at. It’s not funny.” He laughs harder, hiding his face in his the crook of his elbow and you watch his shoulders tremble as he attempts to control himself. “Hey!” You repeat, a little bewildered, “Azriel!”

After a few moments, and a few more deep breaths, he raises his head so he can peer at you. You take a few shuffling steps back away from him, returning to your berry. “If you won’t tell me your name,” he says, smiling faintly, “will you at least tell me what you were getting into a scrap about with my shadows?”

“They attacked me first,” you snap at him, scowling. His eyes flick over your bloody nose, “you were stealing my food.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I was hungry.”

“So you thought stealing was a good idea?”

“You shouldn’t leave food out where nasty little Borrowers can get their grubby little hands on it,” you counter, folding your arms over your chest.

He pauses, eyes running over you properly. “Why are you in my room?” You know he marks the way you stiffen, but you force every ounce of nonchalance you have into your body as you shift your weight to one hip, examining your nails that aren’t as clean as you would like. “Because I seem to come by a lot of free meals.”

It’s his turn to furrow his brows, leaning closer, examining you, “how long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to know you’re a cranky old bastard who’s so obsessed with his work he’s unable to notice when a little thing like me sneaks in,” you reply smoothly, holding your own as he stares at you. He nods again, “a while, then.” You nod, giving him a smarmy little smile.

He leans forward more, resting his cheek on his forearm as he looks at you sidewards. Gods—he’s so much bigger than you. “Where have you been relieving yourself, then?” You’re stunned for a moment, before you dig your nails into your palms, stomping forward to the edge of the glass cage. “In your food,” you snarl angrily, flushing at the rude question. His lips quirk up at that, crossing his arms over the desk as he rests his chin on the table, “I’d been wondering what that sweet flavour was.”

“You crass, brazen, pig,” you snap indignantly, absolutely appalled.

He chuckles again, seemingly enjoying getting under your skin. “You Big Ones are all the same,” you hiss. “You’re rude, disgusting, and have no concept of manners.” He blinks as you blow off some steam, going on a rant that matches your size. “Big Ones?” He asks, “is that your name for my kind?” You nod in response, a stern dip of your chin. “So are you a Little One, then?” He asks, mildly pleased when your lip curls back from your teeth. How can something so small carry so much anger in her little body? He’s surprised you can fit it all in. “Don’t call me that,” you snap, plumes of smoke practically shooting from your little ears, “it is rude.”

His smirk widens, “what about Tiny? Or Goblin?” Your lips part in astonishment, “I am not a goblin.” A tiny foot stomps down on the desk. “You might be a goblin,” he says, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes. “They’re old wives tales. Folklore, nothing more,” you snap indignantly, tapping a tiny, impatient foot on the wood. “I don’t know what they look like,” he reasons.

You scowl at him, “they’re ugly little things.” He smiles a little, a single dimple appearing beside the edge of his mouth, “they could be lovely, little things with ugly tempers.” You snarl at the taunt, practically vibrating with anger.

“Is this how you’re going to torture me? By boring me to death? Pretty unimaginative, if you ask me,” you snarl, nails digging into your palms as you glare at him. He regards you silently; it’s an effort not to shift beneath his gaze. “What makes you think I’ll hurt you?” He asks softly, watching from beneath dark, silky locks that curl over his brow. You narrow your eyes at the male suspiciously, “it’s what you do. Don’t try and make a fool out of me. I know your kind’s tricks.”

His frown deepens, watching you in his glass jar. “I’m not going to hurt you, or torture you, for that matter,” he says at last. It’s your turn to frown, “you’re letting me go?” His eyes narrow a little as he peers at you closely. “Do you want to stay?” You take a subconscious step away from the edge of the jar, then shake your head.

Azriel sighs, then removes the confinement, releasing you back into the world. “Go on,” he says, nodding to the window. “Get a move on.” You flush, eyeing the distance from the opening far above to the level of his desk—to your eyes, at least. Turning back to him, you scowl, “I’m not even allowed my food?” He arches a single brow, lips quirking at their corners, “I would have thought you’d be leaping at the chance of freedom.”

“Well, I don’t want you watching me,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest standoffishly. He smirks, “oh yeah?”

You scowl. “Yes.”

He leans back in his seat, wings flexing at his back, making your working one twitch in response. “So it’s nothing to do with the bandage around you wing, there?” He points, and you try to tuck them in tight, but a spike of pain licks up your spine, making you bite your lip. You shake your head adamantly, “I’m fine.”

He hums in response, and before you know it, his shadows have you by the waist, the ankles—everywhere. You shriek with anger as he lifts you into the air, depositing you back into the jar, this time with it the correct way up. His shadows give you an unfriendly shove once you’ve settled, and you snap your jaws at them, making them hurriedly scuttle away.

“So if I leave you now, you’ll be gone when I return?” He asks, brow raised in silent taunt—he knows something’s wrong. You narrow your eyes, but say nothing. Amusement gleams in his gaze, triumph and satisfaction quietly mocking you as you scowl.

He rolls his shoulders, muscle shifting beneath his leathers, “I don’t think I can trust you not to go through my things, or to try and escape only to get yourself killed in the process…” He drawls. “How long until it’s healed? You can stay until you’re ready for flight.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He’s offering to…help you?

Can’t be.

“In exchange for what, exactly?” You ask warily, squinting at him. He laughs a little at that, and you’re confused why. “Can’t it just be for the pleasure of your wonderful company?” He asks, deep voice lilting with mirth. Still, your brow narrows into a scathing glare, “you want me for your pleasure? Is that it?” You spit out, feigning fury even as terror warms your lower belly.

His grin widens, “with your size? What could I ever do with you?” He inquires, laughing, “have you run up and down my skin with those tiny, bare feet of yours?”

A wild flush warms your cheeks at the image, making you snarl. “Laugh all you want. I know what your kind is like.” He gives you a challenging look, “pray tell.”

“You’re crass, cruel, and lewd. You won’t trick me,” you declare.

“‘Crass, cruel, and lewd,’ huh?” He repeats, smiling faintly, leaning in a little, “sounds like a good night, to me.”

Your jaw drops open, rendered speechless. Then red is seeping in, and magic coats your hands as tiny fists slam into the glass. “Big! Arrogant!” You snarl, fractures spiderwebbing through the jar.

“You’re going to rot in hell for that, Azriel!”

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

[seeyoulbleed]

Fixation

For @the-slasher-files Bloodfest 2023 event!! Chose the prompt trap(s). Go check it out, it's open to everyone!!

Summary: You learn some unsettling things about what it means to be loved by a Uchiha, let alone Madara himself. gender-neutral reader. SFW.

"It's a bit hot, so be careful-" You jinx yourself, your long pant legs tripping you. Down you go, scalding water splashing your hand. Tender is the flesh that it spills off of, red and welling and all too vulnerable.

He's there within a moment, catching your hand gently in his, tugging you into his grasp before you can truly tumble to the floor. Madara lets the porcelain teapot he bought for your birthday shatter across the tatami mats, his focus only on you.

You hate it when he looks at you like this.

Fathomless black eyes pinning you in place, the butterfly to his all-knowing gaze, the glimmer of red you catch piercing you right through. Saying Madara Uchiha is an intimidating man is a gross understatement, one that fails to truly encompass everything that he is. There's something primordial to the very air around him, something old and heavy that presses in on you to keep you in place.

You think he knows what he does to you. Knows how he's the hawk to your rabbit, caught in his talons. He's trying so hard to be soft, to be tame, as he calls for a healer. All is silent as he sits you down far from the mess. You look everywhere but him, a flush crawling up your neck. Does he have to stare?

"I apologize. I do not wish you discomfort."

Your mouth goes dry and you duck your head. You hadn't realized you'd said it out loud. But you always do forget yourself when you're with him- it's what made this...whatever this is, all the more concerning. Despite the improperness of the whole thing, he's moved you into the Uchiha complex, right within his own chambers. He's never done anything untoward, has been even kind in his own way, but there is not a doubt in your mind he is biding his time.

For what? He already has you. What is he waiting for?

The healer comes rushing in, startling you out of your thoughts. It makes you jump, and that makes Madara turn that heavy gaze of his onto the woman. You peek from the corner of your eyes and watch in real-time as fear strikes her, her elderly face turning ashen as she begs his pardon. He grants her the reprieve in the form of focusing on your hand.

"Heal it."

The healer nods, her once Uchiha black hair now a withered grey that twists out of her face in a simple braid. Familiar black eyes don't bother to look at you, only at your wound, her crepe paper-thin skinned hands trembling, unwilling to touch you fully.

Madara hears something you cannot, red filling the black of his eyes. The tomoe spins lazily in ire.

"Stay here. I will return shortly." His hand hovers by your cheek, his fingertips brushing the curve of it light as a feather. It twitches, something deeper in his eyes that you refuse to acknowledge flickering to life. Like a candle, it's snuffed out before you can pretend it was never there.

He's gone within a blink and it is only you and the healer.

Her chakra is mint green where it coats your skin, the healing energy flowing through you and remaking your cells anew. How it truly worked escaped you as most ninja arts do but its soft color entrances you. So used to black and red, you had nearly forgotten such a gentle color.

"The way he loves you...I will never understand it," The healer admits in a whisper.

"He does not love me." You reply, tone empty. "Not the way you believe."

"It may not be a love you understand, but he loves you all the same. An Uchiha loves with every breath. Every pulse of his veins belongs to you. It may appear twisted, but it is the way we love."

"It's just some kind of fixation. You said it yourself you don't understand his love."

She licks her lips and takes a moment to think of her next words, the green chakra sputtering out as the last of your skin heals. "He has always been an intense man. A devoted man. I do not doubt he loves you, I doubt he knows how to control it. And that surprises me most of all given all that he is."

"Why are you telling me this?" You mutter, taking your hand back. You flex it, watching the new skin with trepidation building in your gut.

"I'm warning you. Do not think things will stay as they are. You sleep in his room but the clan elders whisper how he has yet to bed you. They whisper how he has yet to bring up wedding plans, and yet he has ordered bands from the Land of Iron. This moment of peace you are living in will not last and you will come to know what it truly means to be loved by a Uchiha, let alone one like my Lord."

You drop your hand. Blood has spilled from where you bit into your cheek, a sudden rage filling you.

"I never asked nor agreed to any of this."

She gives you a pitying look. "Nobody ever does. But love comes and takes from us all the same."

[smudgingpumpkins]

Yule

The Winter Solstice

When is Yule?

Being one of the oldest winter celebrations in the world, it occurs on the day of the winter solstice, which falls on December 21st, 2024. Other times it will fall on the 22nd or 23rd.

What does Yule mean?

"Yule" is a celebration of the darkest day or longest night of the year, where one awaits the return of the sun. It is a liminal period; a time of reflection and introspection, and a time of expressing gratitude.

Who does Yule celebrate?

One might worship sun or wintertime gods and goddesses. This includes "Old Mother Winter" (Frau Holle), Germanic Goddess of winter, death, and regeneration; Frigga, Norse Goddess of love, marriage, and motherhood (who sacralized mistletoe); Cailleach, Greek Goddess of cold and wind; Skadi, Norse Goddess of winter, mountains, and skiing; and Demeter, Greek Goddess of agriculture who refused to let anything grow in the winter season.

YULE TRADITIONS

Utilize gemstones that will cleanse and renew your sacred space for the upcoming year, such as selenite, black tourmaline, tanzanite, amethyst, and clear quartz.

Work with wintery spices and flowers that promote healing and longevity, like cinnamon, cloves, ivy, saffron, and poinsettias. These are traditional "holiday cheer" flora that can be used, gifted, and appreciated regardless of religion/spirituality. Spices like cinnamon and cloves are also antioxidants/analgesics that help fight off pain and infections - so load up your hot cocoa!

Enjoy the comfort of warm, hearty foods to prepare for dark and cold days, like porridges, root vegetable stews, and bread. If you eat meat, enjoy smoked salmon, ham, or duck as a good source of protein and warmth.

Decorate and dress yourself in elegant greens, whites, silver, and gold.

Incorporate animal imagery (e.g., figurines, photographs, drawings, et cetera) of goats and boars - traditional animals of sacrifice - and reindeer and cats, clever animals associated with magic, with the latter representing punishment and reward.

YULE ACTIVITIES

Sip on a hot drink. Peppermint tea, hot cocoa, warm cider, spiced chocolate, anything you desire!

Take a ritual bath. Add mint leaves, citrus peels, a dash of cinnamon, a bit of balsam essential oil, and powdered milk to your bath.

Burn candles. Objects aflame represent gratitude for the sun and its warmth, so relax underneath the candlelight.

Decorate an evergreen tree. Traditionally a pagan custom, adorn a real or artificial tree with soft lights, pinecones, candles, fruits, and other ornaments.

Decorate and burn a yule log. Make the yule log(s) 12 days before, and burn it for 12 days starting on the evening of the solstice. Carve in runes and adorn it with mistletoe and holly!

Wassail. Drink from a wassail bowl or cup, dance around, carol, and merry-make! Traditionally performed in an orchard with a large gathering, you are free to just simply enjoy yourself and perform wherever you see fit. This is usually done on the final night of Yule.

Give gifts. Preferably handmade or locally made . . . or at least a meaningful purchase . . . exchange gifts with your loved ones.

Make a Yule altar. Center it with a yule log (before the burning) and icons of a yuletide god/goddess of your choice. Decorate around with candles, holly, mistletoe, poinsettias, dried fruits, and green and silver decor.

Get creative with recipes! Carlota Santos, who is the author of Magika, has a recipe for a chocolaty sponge cake. Here is the recipe down below!

[lazyscience]

DCC Challenge, Day 16

Time To Floor Collapse: 14 days, 3.75 hours (give or take)

Time for the recap episode!

Crawler @quartzandsundry

New Achievement! Beat It Till The Brakes Come Off!

You know that old Earth saying about can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs? Well, you just started a goddamn breakfast bar and it smells DELICIOUS. (well, it smells like burning, but some of us are into that.)

Reward: A Legendary Broken Shit Necessitates Invention box! Inside, 10 Alarm traps and 10 Proximity triggers, and a Legendary enchanted Ring of Protect Your Peace, rendering its wearer undetectable to Ping or Find Crawler while simultaneously alerting them an attempt has been made!

Crawler @kathrynalexao3:

New Achievement! Make Time or Take Time!

Good for you, tanking all that damage! Well, actually, not good for you at all, but that's what health potions are for, right? Except for the ones that don't work on debuffs. Oopsie!

Time for you to kick back - in defense, to relax, up to you, but either way, I trust you to keep shit entertaining!

Reward: A gold Apothecary Sponsor Box! Inside, 36 Healing potions, 12 Cure Poison antidotes, an enchanted Copper Wristband giving immunity to the Queasy, Shit-Faced and Infected conditions (warning, that shit also turns your arm green. it's not a status effect, it's a cheap copper effect), a stuffed quokka heating pad and scented candle of This Does NOT Smell Like Gwyneth Paltrow's Vagina Who Would Want That (actually smells like rosemary, lemon and ginger)

Crawler @king-ofconfusion:

New Achievement! Waiting for the Bell!

Is it paranoia when the world IS out to get you? You're not taking any chance on finding out, and because of that, you keep taking home the gold. And the alchemy supplies! You're not on the top ten - but that's just the way you like it. Who's on first? More like least in sight.

Reward: A silver Takin' Care of Business box! A tome of Nine Lives, halving the damage of the first 9 mob attacks in an encounter, an enchanted Order Pad of +20% XP/GP for any quests recorded in it, and three copies of sheet music of Workin' For the Weekend, casting the Tipsy and Can't Fight The Feeling compulsive dancing buffs!

Crawler @oreniaa:

New Achievement! IT'S ALIIIIIIVE!

Vam...pider? Spider-pire? We'll let the nerds sort that one out, but it sure is a killing machine, and it's all because of you! I gotta ask though....why is it pink? I mean, I don't hate it, there's something so deliciously vibrant, toxic and unnatural about it it could only exist here, an exclusive of Dungeon Crawl: Earth! Check your local retailer of fine tchotchkes, collectibles and clutter! Not liable for any explosive products, looking at you Veriluxx...

Reward: A golden Poisonous Garden Box! Including membership in the Guild of Suffering, an Enchanted Necklace of Poisonous, resulting in the Poisoned debuff to any mob (or anything else, you may want to be careful in the saferoom, heh heh) that bites you, and a Venomous Katar that ALSO inflicts the Poisoned debuff!

Crawler @cairfrey :

New Achievement! Like A Pigeon from Hell!

I do so love an unexpected ambush. It's like rain on your wedd--what am I saying, it's not like that at all. (well, it kind of is, since this isn't ironic, just unexpected. take that, Alanis!) ANYWAY. You know the expression 'nibbled to death by ducks?' Well it was a lot like that, only pigeons. But you made it through, and now you're back on the grind. Good for you, get that coin! You'll get to sleep when you can afford that Ultra-Stabilized Size-Adjustable Race-Adjustable Alleviating Sleep Apparatus or when you're dead!

Reward: A gold Back On The Chain Gang box! Inside, a tome of Flak, a Personal Shield, a REALLY huge bag of stale movie theater popcorn, and Tom Lehrer's complete discography on playable media!

Crawler @deathdovesong:

New Achievement! Clothes Make The Crawler!

So it's no secret here in the dungeon that presentation is EVERYTHING. The right accessories, the right robe or vest or boots or hat, can be the difference between fashionably late, or late on the obituary scroll on the Galactic Emmy Awards.

You have put together some KILLER combinations, and for that, we salute you.

Reward: a gold Vogue box! Includes a tome of Laundry Day, sheet music for Puttin' On The Ritz (inflicts the Hum debuff, causing any stealthed/in cover opponent within hearing range to sing along, breaking their concealment), and three scrolls of Cracker Jack, allowing a personalized accessory to be "cracked" for your use.

Crawler @clearbrightlight:

New Achievement! Light A Flamethrower Rather than Curse the Darkness!

A burning city? (starts humming 'you make me feel like dancing') let me get my fiddle! Some people, when surrounded by what feels like overwhelming force, believe in hope and salvation.

Some people say "bitch, NO ONE puts Baby in the corner!" And well, everyone likes a good epic dance invasion.

Reward: A gold Time of My Life box! Includes a Personal Space upgrade coupon for a personal training room! The lambada, the krav maga, it's all up to you! Also includes an Obsidian Collar of the Scavenger Mother, adding +15 to Dexterity, +10 to Strength!

Crawler @lazyscience:

New Achievement: Walk On!

You made phone calls like a boss, refrained from retail therapy, only said one bitchy thing before logging off Bluesky and started something to watch to keep from pursuing it into a trap.

Reward: Satisfaction. And an orange kitty.

Now get out there, crawlers, and kill, kill, kill!

ATTENTION, all partied crawlers! Don't forget to update me on mobs, quests, or parties (defined at link) so I can award you achievements! Please let me know either in the replies to this post, reblogging with additions, or hit my askbox/DMs!

(please, do this, even with small and silly mobs/quests, it makes giving achievements so much easier!)

[emerson-grimes-apologist]

Just a bunch of Heartfelt and Mort thoughts

I always imagined that Heartfelt was around 18 when he first began training with Mort, but I found out recently that back in pirate times, people graduated high school and started college when they were TWELVE, and... I just don't know what to say. Couldn't've been me. Anyway, I'm gonna take a slight creative liberty and say Heartfelt started his doctor training when he was around 15.

Heartfelt wasn't especially good at biology or science or anything, and he actually had a fear of blood when he started his training, but he was motivated to become a doctor because of his caring personality, and he felt very passionately that people shouldn't get sick or suffer.

Mort used to be one of the head surgeons at Candle Cove's hospital, plus he used to work in academia. He actually wrote a lot of the medical textbooks Heartfelt studied with. I also played with the idea of him being an actual university professor, and him teaching classes at Candle Cove's med school, and that being how he and Heartfelt met, but I'm not sure. Anyways, somehow, Heartfelt ended up becoming his apprentice. I don't think Mort would ordinarily be too jazzed about this, but he saw that Heartfelt was determined to learn, so he accepted.

(OH. Spontaneous idea. Mort was around 60 here. Maybe the hospital board was talking about how they want him to retire. And they wanted somebody to replace him? And they wanted Mort to train a replacement? ORRRRR maybe Mort did something unethical and was fired from the hospital, or put on probation, and he decided to take on a student because he was bored with having so little responsibilities. And maybe also he wanted a successor because he knew the hospital probably wasn't going to take him back, but he wanted his medical expertise to still be present there, through Heartfelt. Or maybe Mort just thought it would be fun. Idk.)

At first, Heartfelt really idolized Mort. Bear in mind that Mort wrote a good deal of the medical textbooks in Candle Cove, so Heartfelt knew who he was beforehand, and knew how smart he was. And he watched how easily Mort could deal with complicated problems and heal people and he was just enchanted. Mort seemed almost unhuman to him. It kind of made him in denial of his negative qualities.

But the fantasy dissipated eventually, and Heartfelt began to acknowledge that he and Mort had really different medical philosophies. And also personalities and values in general.

Heartfelt is very empathetic and personable and makes it a point to get to know each patient and care about them as individuals, even if it exhausts him emotionally.

Mort, meanwhile, has become so desensitized from years and years of dealing with sick and dying people that he barely feels anything for them anymore. His belief is that it’s a waste of energy to get emotionally worked up over every patient and that it makes you less efficient and less able to help people. His bedside manner is nonexistent because of this.

So yeah, the two of them got along alright enough, but they did butt heads. Well, I wouldn't say butt heads. Mort would say or do something, and Heartfelt would feel that it was deeply, deeply wrong, but he'd just keep quiet (usually) because he was just a kid and Mort was his teacher slash boss, so he couldn't exactly backtalk him, and even if he did, it's not like Mort would have listened. But Heartfelt did have his moments of just snapping at him. And then feeling really bad afterwards, ofc, this is Heartfelt we're talking about.

What made their relationship even weirder is that, unfortunately, Heartfelt imprinted onto Mort like a baby duck. Heartfelt didn't really have any family, and while he had friends, he was kind of like the "dad friend" of his friend group, so while he helped other people with their problems, he didn't feel like he could be vulnerable with them. Mort, being the only thing resembling a parental figure in his life, became his outlet and his source of comfort. Mort isn't all that comforting, but Heartfelt took what he could get.

I think I'll stop here, but there IS more to this whole thing. This is just the basics.

Also, have some art while I'm here:

(I'm thinking of making them human because no one else in my interp are puppets/dolls and I think they would stand out too much as minor characters if they had bright pink/purple skin and button eyes.)

[joprompts]

natasha, pierre and the great comet of 1812 lyric starters. *starters from the 2021 movie. adjust as necessary.

god, don’t let me die while i’m like this!

there's a war going on out there, somewhere.

you are at the opera.

i can hurt you.

they say you can see your future in the long row of candles, stretching back and back and back into the depths of the mirror. in the dim confused last square, you’ll see a coffin or a man. everyone sees a man.

one thing i beg of you, consider me your friend.

i know you might just run away.

i will stand here, right outside your door.

if you ever need help, or simply to open your heart to someone, not now, but when your mind is clear, think of me.

these dresses suit you.

i know you so well, my friend.

what am i to do if i love him and the other one too?

don't speak to me of that when i tell you that i am madly, madly in love with you! is it my fault that you're enchanting?

did you love that bad man?

you don't know what love is.

i will stand in the dark for you.

don't lower your eyes. i love you. i am in love, dear. i am in love.

is this how i die? was there ever any other way my life could be?

i wish i were there, with death at my heels.

none of us are great men we're caught in the wave of history. nothing matters. everything matters. it's all the same.

i pity you.

i pity you, i pity me, i pity you.

i have no friends. no, never go anywhere, never invited.

i must love you or die. if you love me, say yes and i will come and steal you away, steal you out of the dark. i want nothing more. just say yes.

now, you know we love one another.

what am i to do? who do i ask for help?

i am betrothed i love another.

i love you, trust no one but you..

was happiness within me the whole time?

they say we are asleep until we fall in love and i’m so ready to wake up now.

bury me in burgundy i just don’t care.

will i ever be anyone's wife?

but then why am i screaming? why am i shaking?

i will kill him one day.

we won't speak of it anymore.

i know you are capable of anything.

he spends his money on women and wine.

the war can't touch us here!

the rudeness of that man! i'll straighten him out.

all is over for me.

first time i heard your voice, moonlight burst into the room.

i know they'll like me. everyone has always liked me!

how goes the war?

i’ll take you where you must go.

do you struggle too?

keep drinking, old man!

it means that you are kind, noble and splendid and i could not help loving you.

i'm so frightened. i don't understand anything tonight.

vodka and wine are dangerous for me, but i drink a great deal.

it's dawned on me suddenly and for no obvious reason that i can't go on living as i am.

you empty and stupid, contented fellows, satisfied with your place.

i sit at home and read.

don't speak to me like that. i am not worth it.

i will make love to her!

all the things i could have been but i never had the nerve.

but i can't bear this waiting.

how else could we have kissed?

you can't love her!

drink with me, my love, for there's fire in the sky and there's ice on the ground. either way, my soul will die!

we were angels once, don't you remember?

you're hurting my hands!

do you hear what i'm saying or not?

but it’s not nice to enter a family against a father’s will.

i see nothing but the candle in the mirror, no visions of the future, so lost and alone.

just as a duck is made to swim in water god has made me as i am.

i'm different from you! i'm different from you! i still want to do something!

from the things that might have healed me how long have i been sleeping?

all of my life i spent searching the words of poets and saints and prophets and kings and now at the end all i know that i’ve learned is that all that i know is i don’t know a thing!

bring me my slippers!

did i ever look up and see the moon and the stars and the sky? oh, why have i been sleeping?

i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.

i'm married but not in love.

but if i die here tonight, i die in my sleep.

i used to love, i used to love, i used to be better.

where to now? where can i go now?

i've aged. i've aged so very much. i fall asleep at the table, my napkin drops to the floor.

there's a ringing my head.

god, to think i married a man like you!

you dirty, nasty wench of a thing.

gonna drink tonight.

how did i live? was i kind enough and good enough? did i love enough?

here's to the health of married women and their lovers!

i feel like putting my arms round my knees and squeezing tight as possible and flying away.

i shall never be happy again!

there's a sickness in the world and everyone knows, but pretends that they don't see.

i used to be better.

i forget things and live in the past.

if i were not myself but the brightest, handsomest, best man on earth and if i were free—i would get down on my knees this minute and ask you for your hand and for your love.

i challenge you.

i will protect your name and your heart because i miss my friend.

is this how i die?

they say we are asleep until we fall in love. we are children of dust and ashes. but when we fall in love, we wake up.

[magical-glimpse]

Hi! If you don’t want to answer this, you don’t have to, of course, but I was just wondering how you’d go about a “back to the sender” type spell?

I want my abuser to go through all the pain that they put me through, nothing more, nothing less. Just a reflection of their own actions back at them. I’ve never practiced witchcraft before though, so this is all very new to me. So if you were me, how would you go about doing that?

Is it wrong that I am kinda excited about this ?

You are gonna have to start with the basics I gave in the protection post though. For any spell that could cause harm to another person, you gotta remember that " you cant throw dirt without getting your hands dirty". You will have to cleanse your space and your tools before and after, just so the "dirt" does not stick on you too much. But just like I said, spells have a cost, so there is no way you can do that spell without experiencing a consequence on yourself as well. Since this is happening after the fact, this is more of a "getting back" spell than a strictly protective one, I expect the cost to be energy, maybe some turmoil on the emotional level. The cost might be that the universe will expect you to heal some the wounds they caused, or to do some shadow work in exchange for the spell to work, if you have not done that yet.

This type of spell can be considered baneful by some people, so when you do it dont be too open about it to people who would disagree with you, just in case they might be able to interfere.

Since you mentioned reflection, i think the best way to do this will be by using a mirror. Depending on how you want to do this, you can make it a once-and-for-all spell, that would go out and then you don't see, like with a candle. But you can also keep a token of your spell if you would like, it might be less safe though. Just be careful with it and make sure it is kept far away and contained. As a witch, i would also recommend to care for the environment, so dont throw it away just anywhere.

The list of ingredients is an advice on what i would do, knowing what i have rn, but you can definitely replace a few things.

Materials/ ingredients :

a mirror (if you keep the token), a piece of broken mirror (if you throw it)

red and black inks or pens

paper

optional: red and black candles ( white candles can be used as a replacement for any candles as well)

salt to contain the spell and protect yourself

glue or duck tape if you dont use candles.

optional: something that is linked to your abuser (picture, hair, name etc)

Steps:

ground and center

cleanse

create a circle of salt in which you will do spell. It can be a big one if you would like to sit in it, or a small one where you only write, use the candles etc

On the paper, add the thing linked to your abuser

I made you a sigil:

Its meaning is "All the harm you have done to me first, you receive the same. I am safe and away from you"

Draw it in red on the paper. You can create your own, if this one does not make sense to you.

glue it or use the red wax to stick it to the back of the mirror, then put the mirror down face up.

On another piece of paper, right "I am away and safe from you. You can't touch me" in black.

Do not glue this one, but just put it under the mirror, keep the mirror face up. You can use the black candle here to seal closed this paper.

You can now repeat three times : "All the harm you have done to me first, you receive the same. I am safe and away from you"

Or if you want them to experience specific things, you could say "All of the crying you made me do, you receive the same" or whatever they put you through.

Optional step: the guard. Would you like the spell to stop taking effect if suddenly the person changed ? Do you want to do the spell because you want them to suffer or you want them to change? If the answer is "suffer", then don't add a guard, but be ready for negative energy to be bounced back into your life if their behavior do change. if the answer is "change", then you can add something like "for the highest good of all". This is something only you can know for yourself, how much dirt you are okay with having on your hands.

You are going to have to use your gut, but notice a change how you feel right after throwing the spell. Once you feel that it is done, put an end to it. If to you, you felt like it was the candles that were giving the spell energy, then you can let them run their course ( please use fire safety, and use smaller candles in this case). If you borrowed energy from something else ( the Earth, electricity from your phone etc) thank them and close the connection. If you want to get rid of it, then throw it in its destined bin, if not then put it hidden somewhere where you can contain it or where the energy would not be close to you, for example in a bathroom, or in a cleaning closet instead of under your bed. Finally cleanse the space, yourself, and take care of yourself. You may be exhausted, or emotional, or you might get triggered or have nightmares for a couple days. It is okay, take the time to care for yourself and rest.

If you have any further questions, feel free to ask them !

[barbex]

Happy Friday and happy Dadwc!! For you today I have combined two lines from the Super Sappy prompt list should you be interested! : “I’ve been waiting all my life for you.” “I’m better when I’m with you.” <333

These prompts are so good! I made it fenders, of course

It ends a bit abruptly, I know because, honestly, it could have gone on for pages and I really need to go to bed now. Thank you for the prompt, I hope you can imagine a better ending.

For @dadrunkwriting, Fenris x Anders

---

Fenris follows the direction he's been given, cradling his arm. A good way outside of the village, up a hill along a thin stream of ice-cold water, a narrow path leads him to a small hut nestled against the mountain. He's used to the weather in the Free Marches by now, but still, the fog seems to crawl into every crevice of his armor, making him shiver. 

It's the cold making him shiver, not the bleeding and broken arm. Definitely not.

The curtain behind one window moves, as if someone looks outside. Someone is home, as if the smoking chimney wasn't telling enough. He knocks on the door and waits. 

The fog turns into rain, fat drops of water falling on his neck. "Hello? I have been told to find a healer here. I can pay and I do not work with templars." Lately, he's been killing them more often than not. Ever since Kirkwall's explosion, the templars seemed to have lost all control and Fenris finds himself more and more defending mages from templars with red glowing eyes.  

"Come in," a voice says from the inside. 

Fenris opens the door with his good arm, stepping in. The room is dimly lit with a few candles and wonderfully warm from a woodstove with a steaming pot sitting on top of it. A bed is visible on the other side of the room and in the middle is a table with two chairs, one of them occupied by a person writing by the light of a hovering wisp. Fenris closes the door carefully and toes the muddy slippers off his feet. 

"You are the healer?" He steps closer. Something seems awfully familiar about the way the person leans over the table and how they hold the quill.

"Hello, Fenris." 

"How do you —" The words get stuck in his throat when the man turns to him. His hair is long, grey streaks in the blond, a scar stretches over his temple, but he still looks the same. Tired but kind. A man he had kissed, several times. "Anders?"

"Yes, who else? Were you not looking for me?" Anders puts down the quill, placing it carefully on a tray. 

"I..." Fenris steps closer, ready to throw his arms around Anders' neck, only to hiss in pain when he moves his broken arm. 

Anders immediately stands up and gestures to his chair. "Sit down, let me look at your arm." 

Ducking under the floating wisp, Fenris sits down. "I have been looking for you, but I didn't expect to find you here." 

Anders pulls the other chair close and sits, hovering his hand over Fenris' arm. His hand glows golden, the magic feeling warm and so familiar to Fenris. "Your arm is broken."

"I know." 

"I can set it and heal it with magic, if you want to wait that long." 

Fenris tries to read Anders' expression, but he hides his face behind his hair. "Wait for what?"

"Killing me? Arresting me?" Now Anders looks at him, calm and resigned.

"Why would I want to do that?" 

Anders frowns. "Why else would you look for me?"

"Have you lost your memories?" Fenris takes Anders' chin in his good hand, stroking his thumb over his lip. "Have you forgotten that we were friends? That we kissed?"

"That was before..." Anders pulls away, getting up. He steps over to the wood stove, stirring the pot. "Before I destroyed the chantry."

"Yes."

"I remember very well how angry you were. You, and Hawke." He takes the pot and moves it to the table. "He deserves to live with the guilt, that's what you said. And I did, and I still do. But I don't regret it."

Fenris watches him as Anders ladles soup into two bowls, searching for something to say. "I was angry. I had just built myself a new life and you destroyed it."

"Sorry that my traumatised life was such a disturbance." Anders drops the ladle in the pot with a splash. "Now, let me heal your arm and then I would like to eat my soup because it's really good and I would rather have a full belly for whatever you want to do to me." 

"Anders, I will not hurt you." 

Blinking, Anders holds out his hand. His voice sounds wet. "May I use magic?"

Fenris scrambles for something to say, to convince Anders. "Mage, you are safe with me."

Anders looks at him, tears running freely down his cheeks, and he yells, "May I use magic?"

"Yes!" Fenris grabs his hand and pulls it to his arm. "Please, use your magic, always." 

The familiar glow of Anders' magic lights up the room. He can feel the bone shift, and Fenris sighs in relief as the pain ebbs away. When the warmth of the healing spell dies down, he takes Anders' hand in his. 

"I have not been hunting you. I was worried." Fenris waits for Anders to react, but the mage seems to have curled up in himself. "I wanted to find you to protect you."

Anders slowly raises his head. "But why?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Yes!" Anders gets up and paces in the tiny room. "I have to ask because I did everything you always accused mages of doing. I used my knowledge and power to blow up the Chantry. Frankly, I expected you to kill me, you or Hawke. I kept your names out of it all, you could have left Kirkwall with no blemish on your reputation."

Fenris struggles to keep his anger under control, his markings adding white light to the room. "Do you think I cared about my reputation? You expected me to kill you? Me?"

"Yes. You fought with me for years and I made all your fears come true. Kisses don't change that."

The memory of their kisses momentarily takes Fenris' breath away. "How can you think that?"

"It's what I deserve."

Fenris breathes in, calming himself. "Am I just a monster to you? Made to kill?"

"What? No!" Anders steps closer, almost touching Fenris, but then dropping his arm. "You're perfect, so full of life, intelligent and thoughtful. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. My life was so much better with you."

Stepping closer, Fenris brushes hair from Anders' face. "And do you think you didn't make my life better as well?"

"Me?" Anders stares at him, blinking. 

"Yes, you." Fenris strokes over Anders' cheek. "You, a mage, showed me what freedom is. You showed me kindness, stubborn hope, and angry justice. You showed me what purpose is."

Anders leans into his touch. "But I ruined it all."

Fenris pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "No, you didn't. I think I've waited all my life for you."

With a sigh, Anders sinks into Fenris' embrace. "I've missed you so much."

Fenris takes Anders' head in his hands to look at him. "Will you let me stand with you?"

Anders presses his forehead against his. "Yes, and I will stand with you. Whatever will we do now?"

"End slavery?" 

Anders grins at him. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

"But we should eat your soup first."

"You are so right, love."

[lauriegraham01]

sarah georgia lee rogers

summary: steve says goodbye to his mother, with his friends by his side.

pairings: steve/reader, steve/bucky, bucky/reader (can be seen as either romantic or platonic, tw for themes of abuse and death)

wc: 848

a/n: as one of my oldest writing ideas, the inspiration comes from "georgia lee" by tom waits and later phoebe bridgers cover of the song. i think of her everytime i hear this song and what it meant to steve to lose her and be on his own.

We all knew it was a matter of time. The tissues became bloodier as coughs continued to rack through her body, the endless teas had lost their effect, and she hadn't enough strength to get up from bed alone. We all knew that our days left with Ms. Rogers were numbered but none of us were prepared for the aftermath of her passing.

After catching a case of tuberculosis that she couldn’t seem to shake off, you and Bucky were the first to accept that this was something she couldn't come back from. Steve, ever the optimist, still had hope that there was a coming back from this-that she would come back from this. Steve was eight years old when his old man had died from a stroke. The funeral was small and the three of us were still much too young to understand the gravity of grief- Steve managed to bounce back from his father passing, managed to heal from his fathers abuse but he did that with the love from his mother.

Sarah Rogers also had become a mother and a safe haven for you and Bucky through the years. Many times she had given us a plate of food that was already scarce and opened her home to us without a second thought. Within the last two weeks as her condition worsened, the three of you took turns caring for her and doing your best to make her as comfortable as possible.

“There are worse ways to go,” Sarah murmurs quietly. It was late at night and the glow from the candles burning in the room had been the only source of light illuminating her pale face. She wheezes a shaky breath before abruptly breaking into a coughing fit. Standing up hurriedly from the rocking chair next to her bed, you help sit her up before reaching for the glass of water that Steve was passing to me from the nightstand. As I slowly bring the water to her lips to help her drink, I look at Bucky and with a simple nod he knows what it is I ask of him. He nods in agreements before walking into the bathroom before shortly reappearing with a damp towel in hand. He then sits on the opposite side of Ms. Rogers bed as he slowly places the cool cloth onto her forehead in hopes of helping her fever. She places a hand on the bottom of the cup and you take this as signal that she's done drinking. Passing the drink back to Steve he places it back on the nightstand before coming to sit at the foot of her bed.

“I think dying surrounded by those I love isn’t such a bad way to go.”

"Mom-"

"Steven please,"

Steve folds his mouth defeatedly into a thin line before ducking his head down, sighing in an air of defeat.

"You three have brought me so much joy, I'm lucky to have had such amazing children to take care of me- and I'm lucky to have you two to watch over Steve."

"Of course Ms. Rogers, there isn't any way where Steve could escape us." Bucky quips hoping to sound more lighthearted despite fear growing within him.

“I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me. If it weren’t for you, I don't think I would've gotten by all these years." You admit with candor.

“Oh, stop it. You three are much more capable then you give yourselves credit for, there isn't a doubt in my mind that you will continue to be strong and continue to fight in this world." She gives you a tight lipped smile as she reaches for your hand and squeezes tightly, with what little strength she has remaining. You feel your chest begin to tighten and you try your best to keep your emotions at bay as you want to be strong for her, for Steve.

Sarah Georgia Lee Rogers died three days later on a spring morning. As you walked through her bedroom door with a tray of food in your hands, you see a bloodshot eyed Steve staring at her grey body.

“She got to see the sunrise one last time, y/n.” 

Placing the tray on the bedside table, you walked over with slow careful footsteps before kneeling beside where Steve sat on the floor beside her bed. As you reached for her hand, tears began to pool in your eyes at the reaction of feeling her cold lifeless hand within yours.

"Bucky!" Your voice comes out strained.

His footsteps are rushed and heavy as he barges through the door in a panic only to be left breathless from the scene displayed in front of him. You feel a hand on your shoulder and when you look back you see tears streaming down his face and he brings himself to his knees in the middle of you and Steve. As he engulfs both of you within his arms, sobs and sniffles can be heard from the three of you as you mourn the death of a woman who many knew as Sarah Georgia Lee Rogers.