#exceedingly chill

[monards]

the way dain refers to them as the 5 sinners of khaneri'ah even though in almost religion or religious concept to include the idea of sin it's an established point that all humans are inherently 'sinners' due to being human im going insane

[boilingheart]

"why is anduin 40" have none of you seen a 25 year old man before

[dyed-red]

I think of that “slightly more unhinged Dean” s1 au at least once a week, I need you to know that. Dean’s eyes dilating when Sam asks if Dean would want to be there when Sam is with someone, it not being clear if Sam is also unhinged or is just humoring his brother but still has no issue with his brother being so unhinged, Sarah definitely noticing it’s super weird, whatever Sam’s Stanford friends must think about this because they probably noticed that Sam’s brother was really really weird and intense about him and he had some kind of issue with them despite having never met them before and Sam clearly not having any issue with them so it’s not Dean disliking them because his brother does, John being worried by how the brothers are so either John only just noticed what they’re becoming or the catalyst was Dean getting Sam back and that makes me think of that post about how getting Sam back from the Cage was the absolute worst thing for Dean because he faced living without Sam once and can never do that again, Dean not listening to John when his relationship with Sam comes up, Sam of course follows Dean’s lead rather than John and it’s like that scene when Dean insists John is possessed and Sam automatically sides with his brother despite there not being any solid evidence, Meg adding fuel to the fire when she’s around the brothers, Azazel having been informed about what Sam and Dean were becoming and this being part of why Sam’s the favorite, this also reminded me of how Dean has a hit placed on him by demons in s5, it really struck me that it looked like this was done simply to weaken Sam, what with Gabriel having once told Sam that the bad guys knew Dean was Sam’s weakness and the demon in Swap Meat being so focused on getting Lucifer in his vessel upon realizing Sam is not Sam at the moment, Azazel taunting John about how desperately Sam needs Dean vs not needing John as much, etc. Climbing the walls over this

anon i really do love your brain when my own manages to process all the words you write <3

[sexynetra]

omg i wanna know what the fics r about, especially the sashnetra one

Oh boy, there's so many worlds living in my head currently hahaha!

There's the boxer continuation I still need to plot out, more one-shot collection pieces including an amusement park AU, a couple different stripper ones (I can't help myself oops), drunk Anetra at a party with Marcia taking care of her (tbh this one might leave the one-shot folder and become a whole story)

Then there's the non-one-shots, which has a bodyguard/celebrity AU that I have plotted but need to suck it up and put to paper, a (shocker) Vegas stripper and 21st birthday AU, and yes I know it's cheesy as fuck but I love cheesy fics but I'm currently working on my tattoo shop owner AU where Marcia comes to get some tattoos and accidentally falls in love.

The Sashnetra is a fun one! Very directly inspired by the top 4 episode (and I will cry if anyone steals this) but Sasha is a pop girlie, Anetra is a model/dancer who was hired to be in her MV, and working with Sasha is a gay awakening (feat. am I gay BuzzFeed-esque quiz taking)

[ofpd]

im leyning this shabbos at a shul ive never been to and like ok i get that they don't know me and want to make sure i know how but whyyy are they making me read it for them beforehand. dude trust me

[outlanderalien]

I can't remember the full translation, but what really makes this is that the first line of dialogue is him saying "Hey. It's me." 😭

Therapist: Orange Mayuri isn’t real, he can’t hurt you. 

Orange Mayuri:

[swordgrace]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT.

⤿ pairings: (S1) jon snow x fem!reader

⤿ word count: 3.4K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), public sex, risk of getting caught, experienced reader, sub!jon, reader is definitely more dominant, heavy kissing, teasing, mild praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, descriptions of cum, soft ending

⤿ note: lowkey I churned this out pretty quick, this was so so fun to write! honestly this is also dedicated to @dipperscavern , a lot of their jon snow content fuels my inspo for him, so thank you!

“You’ve got to be mad.”

Jon Snow’s bewildered, sour Northern timbre rattled throughout the stables, twisted with palpable uncertainty as you led him back toward bales of hay. His stomach was coiled into knots — knots of excitement, but nerves seemed to prevail.

Ever the honorable one, he often cautioned you against these hasty, secret meetings you orchestrated. A sliver of him thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of it all, the thrill of being with you between corridors and in darkness.

Trysts like these were exceedingly dangerous — if any question came into being regarding your virtue or his honor, Eddard would have his head for it, and you would be scorned.

“Yet you willingly partake,” A quip as sharp as a longsword dug into his side, prompting him to huff in response. “If this is madness to you, Jon, you have not yet lived a life.”

“Here, of all places?” Jon countered, tone bordering along exasperation and subtle excitement. The stables weren’t exactly the most conventional place to couple, but your options were thin. He feared someone stumbling upon the both of you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you peered at your brooding paramour through a half-lidded gaze, head canting to one side. “Here, of all places.” You parroted, tone dripping with amusement.

Gods, you were such a temptress.

It was difficult to resist you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, the hem of your dress shamelessly steeped in several inches of mud. Even the Northern chill could not ice his bones in your presence, as warm as the sands of Dorne.

The both of you were caught within the throes of youthful affection and what he called it, love. It pained him all the more to consider the Night’s Watch when he had you at his side.

“You do not have to follow me, Jon,” You countered, one hand twined with his, steering the doe-eyed boy back into the stables, enough for partial concealment. This was as reckless as it seemed — but you cared little for it. “You can always turn around.”

A pleading groan rippled from his throat, yet Jon relented, chasing after you like a wolf nipping at your heels. “What happens if we’re discovered? Your brother would take my head for this.” He murmured.

The thought of Jory Cassel dismantling his head from his shoulders was a gruesome thought — but not before Eddard Stark got to him first. Jon shuddered, dark brows creased with permanent frustration.

“Gods, you worry like an old crone,” Your bubbling laughter made his chest stir with warmth, the sensation spreading toward his stomach. “Why, you don’t trust me?” You suggested.

With furrowed brows, Jon’s countenance told a different story, one of incessant fear and boyish nerves, ones that only flourished in your presence. He seemed to accept defeat. “I do trust you.” He insisted.

Inching closer, you pressed a palm against his chest, nail picking at the finely-crafted leather. “We don’t have long,” You murmured, tone betraying your playful facade. “I wish it weren’t always like this.”

Jon exhaled, a somewhat trembling noise that finally evened out as moments ticked by. He reached to cup your jaw, calloused thumb soothingly stroking at your cheek. “Someday, it won’t be. I promise.”

The constant sneaking around had become exhausting — Jon was shocked that no one had discovered you yet. Even then, as much as he fought against brash decisions like these, it was all you had, and he would seize the moment.

With a cheshire smile, you rocked up upon your toes to kiss Jon, reveling in the sensation of his weeks-old stubble scratching your skin. You enjoyed his rugged appearance more than that of a freshly-shaved boy.

Sometimes you forgot that he was nine-and-ten, more a man now than boy — but that was who you’d fallen in-love with, the boy. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.

He could’ve been anything and nothing, and your feelings wouldn’t have changed. A bastard or not, Jon meant more to you than most. He was kinder, not spoiled or surly, yet still protective when it mattered most.

Jon very nearly buckled beneath the saccharine warmth of your mouth, absorbing every scrap of heat from you. Gods, you were the first woman he’d ever touched, ever laid with — he hoped that you would be the very last.

Your experience before he truly became your lover never soured him to you — in fact, it made him jealous. If Jon had it his way, he would’ve been your first for everything, but there was no use in dwelling in the past.

Fortune favored him, knowing that he had you now. His hands, initially hesitant, finally made their perch against the swell of your hips. The lovely outline of your body molded itself to his palms as you kissed him, digits toying with his dark curls.

“You could change your mind,” Your softened voice drifted between the both of you. “About me.” It was a gentle sigh in between kisses, your countenance becoming a touch melancholy.

A look of complete and utter shock made residence upon Jon’s features, lips agape at such a statement. “I wouldn’t,” He insisted, hooking an arm around your hips. “You know that I wouldn’t.”

Jon knew your being like the scrawlings of a map — every fine line, every landscape, the valleys and dips of your heart. You knew him just as much, and you knew that he was certain about you. It gave you comfort, placating reassurance in the face of insecurities.

It brought you solace to know that Jon intended on being with you, even if your union was somewhat unconventional. It was a love whispered between corridors — stolen glances, a yearning that transcended duty, touching behind hay bales.

“Good,” Your assertion made his belly erupt with fire, stoked by your constant teasing and prodding. Jon savored it nonetheless, even if it did make his features burn with scarlet. “Are you blushing?”

Seven Hells — Jon nearly tossed you into the hay for your inquiry. He huffed, playfully pinching the pliant part of your haunch. “No,” He grumbled, silently commiserating over your observant nature. “But you don’t make it any better.”

With a laugh as bright as the first inkling of springtime, it prompted Jon to smile too, even if it was threadbare. A comfortable silence drifted between you both, simmering with a thinly-veiled tension, wreathed in desire.

Desire was a perilous thing, especially for Jon.

He was still somewhat clumsy during your lovemaking, inexperience glimmering through, but he was an adept learner. Jon thoroughly enjoyed learning your body as one would learn to wield a broadsword.

The ardor that glistened within your hues made his heart pound like a hammer against an anvil, steel to be molded by your capable hands. He was often the more subservient one in your union, not that he minded it.

Jon seemed content to become lost within your gaze, reduced to a mere pup. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he bent to kiss you, disarmingly gentle as he squeezed at your hips.

A beat fluttered between the both of you; love blossomed, yet lust flourished like a swiftly-spreading fire. Soft fingers found their purchase against the nape of his neck, preening through his dark curls.

Beams of a dying sun pooled in from the gaps in the wood, painting your features with burnished gold. It was nearly dusk, and the castle would be settling — Jon’s incessant worrying began to diminish altogether.

Lips tangled together, a sweet dance that stole every wisp of air from his lungs. Jon felt your palms glide downward, planting themselves against his chest as you wordlessly directed him to the firm bales of straw.

“Wait,” Jon rasped, voice hoarse with desperation. Before you could slip into his lap, you ceased, head cocking to one side. “I want to taste you first.” He wanted it more than anything else.

A coy smile caused your lips to quirk, and you sauntered backwards a step or two, back hitting the wall of the stables. Brazenly, you gathered the material of your dress in one hand, slipping it up along your legs.

Jon did not waste a second, moving off of the straw and onto his knees, crawling to you like a starving animal; a wolf on all fours. Those dark hues of his sparkled with affection, even as he parted your legs with his shoulders.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, greedy laps causing you to shiver in delight. Nimble digits found their way to his crown of curls, coaxing him closer. “Jon.” You sighed his name as if it were a prayer.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Jon sloppily lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into your tattered skirts, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Jon wasn’t tactful nor graceful, but passion and enthusiasm was all he really needed to please you. Each kiss he placed against your cunt drove you to madness, arching into the eager ministrations of his mouth.

If he were to perish, let it be between your thighs, exactly like this. An aching sensation throbbed along his length, straining against his leather trousers. He gripped your thigh, letting you rest one leg atop his shoulder.

The scratch of his stubble caused friction between his cheek and your thighs, yet it was a pleasant sting. You sang Jon’s praises, a myriad of hushed whines and wanton moans between the distant whistling of the Northern gales.

Warmth blossomed throughout your body, a familiar coil of heat unfurling within the pit of your stomach. A stab of pleasure struck at your nethers when Jon’s tongue briefly rolled over your clit, prompting you to tug on his curls.

A low groan rippled through his throat, reverberating as a grunt throughout his chest. He savored your taste, each twitch of your thigh, brusque tug of his tresses from your greedy hand.

Jon cared little for the mess, content to drink you in, rougher palm caressing against your thigh before trailing down to your calf. He squeezed again, to ensure that you were real and not some lascivious fantasy he’d dreamt of.

You were everything — flesh and blood, the lament that echoed his name, a lover so beautiful that he dared not look away. Jon did not consider himself a romantic, but he found himself putting in the effort with you.

He devoured you like a man starved, a hungry wolf, seeking its final meal. Jon continued to trace your cunt with his tongue, kissing you wherever he could. Your little tugs of his tresses often coaxed him further into your heat.

As his lips rolled over the pearl of your cunt again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, delighted to lap at your core until you forced him to stop.

Tugging at his tousled curls, you pried Jon away from you, flushed with a delicious shade of scarlet. Warmth permeated your skin, a heat that sank into your bones, kept you oblivious to the growing cold that came with dusk.

His chin glistened with your slick, pliant lips seeking your mouth. “You are so handsome.” You purred, watching Jon preen beneath the softness of your compliment. You thought him to be perfect in every way imaginable.

Rising to his feet, Jon did not resist when you began to push him back toward the bale of straw, palm planted against his chest as he sat. He was more than willing, peering up at you through thick lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon reciprocated your kindly words, timbre steeped in an awestruck appreciation for you. His breath hitched within his throat when you slid into his lap, hitching your skirts up towards your hips. “Seven Hells.” He groaned.

Excitable hands grasped your hips once more, brazenly sinking towards your derrière as you kissed him. Jon’s sigh was audible as he returned such a heated kiss, brows creased in concentration.

There was a lack of uncertainty in his actions, and in the beginning, he was often unsteady and hesitant. Now, Jon touched you greedily, wanting more of you, savoring the sensation of your body pressed so closely to his.

Able to taste your own nectar upon his tongue, you allowed one hand to clasp at the nape of his neck, the other slyly working to slip beneath his tunic. Jon was growing in muscle, flesh as pale as a moonlit snowfall, broad-shouldered and comely.

Your dress would be riddled with pieces of hay in the aftermath, but it was all worth it. Your kisses were rather domineering, but disarmingly gentle. Perhaps your desire to take initiative always lingered in your entanglements, but your love for him never faded.

Jon let his kiss linger, lips pressing to your jaw, and then to your throat. A shiver iced your spine with anticipation, hand traveling from beneath his tunic toward the laces of his trousers.

It was then that you scanned his features for any hints of hesitation or uncertainty. “Do you want this, even still?” You uttered, lips tugging into a reassuring smile. He did not seem as nervous as before.

With a nod, he reached to cup your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow. “More than anything.” The rasp within his tender tone filled your stomach with an eruption of butterflies, gooseflesh tingling along your skin.

There was certainly no rush, but with daylight burning and Jon expected to be in his quarters soon, you began to act with haste.

Eager fingers unraveled the coase ties of his breeches, with Jon attempting to aid you wherever he could. With bated breath, you looked to him, brimming with a thinly-veiled adoration.

His hands held your hips, allowing you to maneuver yourself as you saw fit, freeing his cock from its confines. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. Jon inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

“Jon,” You moaned, grasping for his broad shoulders, still shrouded in leather. Gods, you wished you could see him bare, unobstructed — he was surely a ravishing sight. “Gods, I missed you.”

Jon groaned at the sweetness of your words, spoken through a wanton moan. He held you close, hands tracing the outline of your curvaceous physique through your gowns.

Twilight painted the skies above Winterfell, bringing with it the bitter bite of nightly chill and a canvas of stars above. Darkness settled in throughout the stables, save for the burning of dying braziers within the stables.

Even through such slim illumination, Jon could make out your countenance, a picture of beauty, contorted into a look of bliss. He was at your mercy, slumped back against some of the bales, letting you ride him as you would a broken gelding.

Intermingled noises of breathy moans and strenuous pants reverberated in the space around you, heat prevailing where the cold could not.

Jon shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping. Jon huffed, chest erupting with a string of pants and soft groans, lips agape as you adopted a steady rhythm.

His hands caressed circles into your hips, dark hues wide and mesmerized, doelike in their silent appraisal of you. Through the moonlit dusk of the stables, you met his gaze, blushing beneath the intensity of it.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, yet all he could focus on was you, the lovestruck look within your eyes, exuberance glittering beneath. He kneaded along your thighs, squeezing when the pleasure mounted.

“Perfect,” A soft sputtering between exhilarated breaths, enough to ensnare Jon’s attention. “Gods, Jon, you’re perfect.” Such wanton praise nearly made him spill his seed into you then and there.

His hips stuttered, bucking off of the bale and right into you, cock reaching new depths. It made you moan, significantly noisier this time, enough for Jon to become mildly concerned about someone investigating.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. Jon sat up enough to seize your lips in a kiss, one that blossomed with passion, letting his affections bleed through.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire. Jon’s mouth did not part from yours until you drew away, only to release another moan.

Jon fought against his release, not wanting it to end so quickly, stomach tight as could be. He let out a string of sighs, vocalizing your comeliness, digits squeezing into your hip once more.

“Don’t stop.” He huffed, and if he could plead with you, he would’ve. Your current rhythm was perfect, made to torment him as you sank yourself down upon his cock again.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens.

It was your release that came first, and it was swift — the intensity of it nearly blinded you, white-hot and sticky as you began to still. The tightness of your cunt sent Jon cascading over the edge.

Jon’s swift thinking caused you to move off of him, with seconds to spare as he spilled himself across your thighs, ropes of seed painting your flesh. Embarrassment rippled through him, but you understood why he didn’t come undone inside of you.

Chests rose and fell with labored sighs, basking in the aftermath of your tryst. Pieces of straw had stuck themselves to your dress, to his clothing, to his dusky curls.

It was difficult not to let your seriousness diminish in the wake of your orgasm, body tingling with such bliss. You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this — the stables, the disheveled hay, your recklessness.

He found himself smiling with you, dutifully assisting in cleaning his seed off of your thighs with the handkerchief tucked away within his tunic. Your shared joy brought him comfort.

“What will Lord Stark think of your unkempt state?” You teased, plucking golden twigs of hay from his hair, nose wrinkled with mild amusement. “Romping around in the hay?”

Jon huffed, eyes crinkling with mirth as he pulled you in for a kiss, allowing it to linger, knowing that he would be parted from you soon enough. “If I’m lucky, Lord Stark won’t see me.” He mused.

You would pray to the Old Gods that Jon was not accosted by his stern-faced father. “If you’re unlucky?” It was not something that Jon wanted to consider, but he did for the sake of your playful inquiry.

“We’ll have to find a different location.”

[wolves-in-the-world]

#ohhhhhhh #thinking about this again

#WARNING: angsty ramblings in the tags with characters discussing character death (NO actual character death depicted) forthcoming: #filler line for people who don't want to see that. also wolves if this is not welcome please let me know and i'll delete!

#anyway: what if the first time they put a tracker on him it gets removed the next time he gets captured #'cuz it's emitting a signal and most half-way competent thugs these days know to scan for that

#and that's okay. it's normal. right? he's been in this position before #he's used to there being nobody looking for him and now. there may be someone Looking for him #but they won't be able to Find him and that's not so different really

#anyway he gets himself out and he keeps going as he's always done in the past #but suddenly it IS different: there was a moment when he was genuinely not sure he'd be able to make it out

#and that's ALSO something he's used to! in their line of work you never know which job may be your last! #but this time. this time. in that moment he was... something. something almost like worried. almost like scared #not of dying. not even of dying alone. everyone dies alone anyway #but maybe of dying alone and never being found by the people he's learned over the years would be sure to be looking for him

#it takes him a while to realize he's upset about this situation and even longer to realize why #in the end hardison is floored when quinn asks him if he can put a tracker in him that would only activate when quinn dies

#(hardison knows that quinn is not sentimental about things like what happens to his body after he dies.#that this is about quinn understanding how the rest of them would feel about never finding his body or finding out what happened to him)

[via @trivalentlinks]

hey. HEY. get back here—

thinking, in the vein of quinn being a figurative stray cat who eliot and the team adopt, in the vein of some sort of neurodiverse quinn (and off the back of watching this sort-of-spoken-word-poem, sort-of-personal-update again), about him checking in ten times in one month and then not at all for two months after.

the way the team quietly brace for the worst the first time, and eliot at least has a bit of an idea by then that this is just a quinn thing, but it's still not easy. (nothing about being friends with someone in their line of work is easy.)

thinking about almost a year in, quinn chilling with hardison while hardison talks games at him a bit and quinn's half just adjusting to being around people again, people who like him, people who he can be himself around, more or less. thinking about alec gently broaching the topic of leaving a tracker in quinn's shoe, a program on his phone, an earpiece in his pocket. something to quietly let them all know that quinn's alive and doing his own thing. something quinn can use to call in help if he needs it.

thinking about quinn not saying yes that time. not yet. trusting that they won't betray him is one thing; trusting that they'll always want him to come back is another.

it takes another eight months. eight months, and calling in eliot for an assist once, and being so on edge when eliot brings parker (getaway driver, never really in danger, hardison on the phone and watching the camera feeds from their base) that eliot has to shove him into the car, injuries and all, to get him to come with them.

it's not any big thing that decides him. it's a little bit that they're firm about not letting him work alone until he's fully healed up. it's a little bit the way eliot glares at him and pushes plates of actual food at him, adjusting the recipes until quinn likes them. it's a little bit the way parker just sits with him when he's feeling it, invites him up to the roof with a tilt of her head, the way he knows she's a bit like that too.

it's a little bit that they already gave him the key. it's a physical reminder, a small shape in a hidden pocket in his duffel bag that he can reach out and press between his fingers and know the invitation's there.

maybe he can't quite admit to himself yet that he'd rather work with the team than solo. maybe he hasn't made that decision yet. maybe he can't trust them yet, not in his heart, and he's still working on a more deliberate trust when he makes his decisions. but he can go find hardison, keep his face composed so it's easier, and agree to what he suggested before.

he can do that, at least.

[rs-hawk]

Nobleman Minotaur Part Three

After your official debut, Minotaur started avoiding you even more. It hurt. You tried to find reasons to be around him, but he always found an excuse to leave quickly. You had thought the two of you had grown closer, especially after the dance you shared. You thought maybe he liked you, but maybe you were wrong.

One day, you were walking through the garden, lazily picking grapes from the vine, with Pasiphae appearing in front of you. "Your Rarity!" you gasped, quickly dipping your head, grapes dropping from your hands as you grabbed up your dress to curtsy.

The immoral laughed, setting her hand under your chin to draw it up. "No need for such formalities, Princess. I've come to check in on your family, and my son. Have you seen him?"

Your face fell as she took her hand back. "I don't know, ma'am. Minotaur has been avoiding me lately."

"What did you say?" her voice sounded hard, angry even. It sent a chill down your spine.

"Minotaur has been avoiding me," you whispered, your throat felt tight as you repeated your sentence.

"Is that what you all have been calling him? No wonder he has been avoiding you," while she didn't mean it as cruelly as it came across, it still struck your heart.

"Is that not his name? I thought-," you started, only to be cut off by a wave of her hand.

"That is the name my last husband called him. The name given to him by nurse maids to try to appease him, as if he were Hera and my lovely boy was Heracules. No, Minotaur is not his name, and never had been," she sneered, looking towards the building where your love had been residing.

"Why would he never correct me, or anyone?" your voice quivered as she began to take long strides towards her son's home, and you followed obediently.

"Asterion has always been a curious child," she paused, sparing a glance over her shoulder at you. "Even curse aside."

"Asterion? Is that his true name?" you asked as you rolled the name on your tongue. It tasted like a warm blanket and honey tea.

"Yes," she said with a smile, coming to the stairs leading up to his doors. "A strong name for a strong boy."

Lifting her hand to the door, she rapped lightly on the door. It only took a moment for her son to open it, though his eyes went immediately to you. Under his gaze, your face flushed. It was so intense. How could he look at you like that and then not even want to speak a word to you?

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Pasiphae grinned, looking between the two. "I thought you said my shy son had been avoiding you."

"He has been," you muttered, your cheeks glowing redder.

"Mother," he groaned, though you thought maybe you saw a blush under his fur.

"Alright, alright. I won't push," she smiled as she made her way inside as he side stepped to let the two of you in. "I just wanted to check in on my sweet boy."

"I am doing well. Y/N and her family are exceedingly kind to me," he said in a quiet voice, side eyeing you.

"And yet you haven't even told the poor girl your real name. Are you ashamed of it? I agonized over your name," she puffed up her cheeks playfully, glaring at her son.

"Of course not, but everyone already knows me as Minotaur, so it just felt strange. It's not like anyone actually referred to me as Asterion... before," his eyes were downcast, his tail and ears drooping.

"I like it," you chimed in, rubbing your arm nervously. "I think it suits you."

"Thank you," he muttered back just as shyly.

"I think I will continue my visit with the King and check back in later," his mother nearly purred as she gave you a slight shove before stepping back towards the door. "You two should get better acquainted, I think. I can trust the two of you unchaperoned, can't I?"

Minotaur, no, Asterion, glared at her as she rushed away, laughing lightly. He didn't understand how she could be borderline cruel to her. She knew him better than anyone else. She had to know how his heart had always ached for love and kindness, and here you were, all of that embodied. You looked up at him through your dark lashes, the blush finally subsiding. Gods, it was such a gorgeous sight.

"So, you haven't been avoiding me. Then what has this all been about?" you said in what you hoped was a playful tone.

He was definitely blushing under that fur. There was no doubt in your mind about that with the way that he was acting. "I have been trying to be respectful."

"How so?"

"You are a Princess. It's not as if I am really deserving of the kind of attention I... well," he ran his fingers through his hair as he looked away. "Well, the kind of attention that I wish you would give me. I might have a title, but most will always see me as a monster."

"What kind of attention do you wish that I would give you?" you were breathless, your blood pounding in your ears. He shrugged and didn't respond. "I don't see a monster when I look at you. I see a man. A man who has been through so much. More than anyone else could imagine. A very handsome man."

His eyes met yours quickly as he jerked his head up to look at you. "Please, don't say things you don't mean."

"I would never," your voice was strained. Your mouth dry.

Cautiously, you took a step closer to him. He let out a soft groan, his brows furrowing together. "Princess, you don't know what you're saying when it comes to a creature like me."

"What does it mean for me to say it to a man like you?" you whispered, taking another step closer to him. You reached out, your fingers just barely grazing his muscular forearm. "Tell me."

There was silence for several seconds before he reached out to you, cupping your face in his large, calloused hands. You were able to look up at him, your heart racing. His dark eyes seemed impossibly deep. After a moment, he lowered his head. Your eyes fluttered shut with anticipation. You gripped his forearm now, drawing him closer to you. You could feel his breath on your lips. Your entire body was shaking with excitement.

"Princess," he sighed, and you could almost feel his lips moving as he spoke.

"Well, that was a quick visit. Y/N, your father is waiting for you," Pasiphae's voice filled the air as she opened the door.

Asterion jumped back, snorting with clear irritation. "Mother, we were-."

"Doing something that a chaperon would fully allow, I'm sure. Now, Y/N, I do believe you would be interested in what your father and I discussed," the immortal smiled at you, her eyes creasing as it brightened her face.

"Of course," you bowed your head, casting a look at Asterion before exiting, with your heart still nearly beating out of your chest.

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[orangeocelotmartyn]

Jevin: one of the reasons why I picked my skin to be a slime—way back when, when I very first started YouTube, when, uh, the internet was invited because I’m that much of a boomer—(laughs) uh, slimes were like, really really really hard to find, in Minecraft? Like, exceedingly hard to find. Um, they were very very rare, and so, I had found one, and was like, “oh my god I love this thing!!” It was amazing. And so, ever since then I’ve been a slime. Like, I did pick my skin randomly? But like. Um. I just like slimes. They’re pretty cool looking. They’re pretty chill.

[stargirlinterludefr]

RIPTIDE: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!gf

POV: You and Rafe go for a late night swim (partially inspired by Percabeth!)

TW: slight sexual remark, mentions of drug usage (weed)

0.7k word count

Both you and Rafe are lounging on his bed at Tannyhill, the sun having set hours ago as you both aimlessly scrolled on your phones his head on your lap as you mindlessly scratched at his scalp.

After another minute, you huff and drop your phone onto the bed not caring as it bounces from the bed and to the floor making Rafe pause his scrolling as he asks, “Everything okay, baby?”

“I’m bored.” You point out, despite having already been surfing earlier in the day with JJ, Kiara and Pope alongside going for an ice cream with Rafe you found yourself entirely bored.

Rafe chuckles softly as he turns his body so he can look up at you, “And what is it you want to do at like….“ He starts, briefly checking the time on his phone “Twelve in the morning?”

You quirk a brow, “Aww why? Is it too late for you, pretty boy?” You tease making Rafe pinch your side as he tilts his head to assess what you actually want to do.

“Why don’t we go for a swim?” You suggest, eyes bright at the idea of a late night swim, a frequent occurrence you, JJ and John B took up in the third grade when you’d first became friends. But with you and your friends being exceedingly busy working at the minute, you hadn’t had the chance to in a while.

Rafe looks confused at the idea, “It’s a bit late for a swim, baby.”

You raise a brow as you let out a sarcastic scoff, “It’s never too late for a swim… come on, you live in OBX, you telling me you’ve never been for a late night swim?”

“I mean…yeah, but in a pool.” Rafe responds, watching as you smile slowly.

“But never in the ocean huh?”

-

The beach is empty and desolate, as it usually is on figure eight at this time but you wouldn’t doubt that on your side of the island there were a few people chilling on the shores.

“You telling me you used to do this like all the time?” Rafe asks, his mind clearly whirring at how unsafe it could’ve been in the ocean at night especially on the south side of the Outer Banks.

You laugh slightly as you strip down to your bikini, “It’s fun, one time me, JJ and Kie went in high and well…” You turn your back to him, pointing down to your ass to the crescent shaped scar that resided making Rafe’s brows furrow as he comes over and assesses it more sincerely than he ever had before.

“What the fuck? I thought you’d gotten that as a kid or something.” Rafe says, snorting out a laugh at the peculiarly shaped scar making you turn your head and smirk at him, a playful glint your eyes.

“Last one to the ocean gets no head for a week!” You shout before beginning a sprint toward the moonlit sea, Rafe shouting out “Unfair!” in protest behind you as you smile widely pushing your body to run as fast as it can, immensely aware of Rafe beginning his own sprint through the sand.

You reach the water first, due to your “unfair”head start. Not that you’d live up to the wager you’d spouted out but you’d give it a try.

As you splash into the sea, strong arms wrap around your middle making you squeal and twist in Rafe’s arms to attempt to escape as he plunges you both under the water.

After a moment, the two of you resurface, your now wet hair clinging to your face as you glare playfully at Rafe who stares adoringly at you under the moonlight.

“When i said fun, I didn’t mean dunking-“ you began but were interrupted by the feeling of Rafe’s lips on yours, his hands looping around your waist as you grin into the kiss.

As you kiss, you take the upper hand and push both Rafe and yourself under the water, the Cameron boy letting out a loud groan before you fall into the waves.

Before you can resurface above the water, Rafe eagerly pulls you back to him, latching your lips to his once more and well….

It was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.

[bogkeep]

oh my god! oh my god. i've had a realisation (thank you just break up podcast episode 266) that really made this click for me:

Getting Rejected Sucks. it's always unpleasant. there's no perfect way to be broken up with.

i'm going to unveil an opinion i have that i usually keep private - i hate how much flak that tiktok therapist got for their clinical friend breakup script. i haven't even watched the video, only seen reactions to it, people circulating it with disgust and how that is the worst way to end a friendship... okay then! pray tell: what IS the best way to end a friendship? what is a good way, ANY way, to break up with a friend at all?

(google search: Captain Awkward African Violet. best that i've got so far, and the kicker is that it doesn't seem so different from all the dreaded Selfish Therapy Speak i hear talk about.)

we don't have a lot of infrastructure for rejection. dating relationship breakups happen all the time and we still rely on the same old scripts and limited social conventions because there is no Pleasant Way of doing it. of course it's going to come out stilted or awkward or harsh or sudden or cruel or or or or, you're almost always going to feel like the other person should've done SOMETHING differently, or maybe you wish YOU had done something differently, better, less painful for the other - but how!!! how!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how can someone end their friendship with you that makes you feel perfectly okay about it? is slowly and mutually drifting apart the only option?

of course we're worried about people taking Boundaries and Cutting Toxic People Out Of Their Lives too far - it's fucking horrid to get ejected out of someone's life that way. but also... sometimes people end things. sometimes people need to reject others. lots and lots and lots of people don't realise they don't have to be friends with everyone who tolerates their presence, or even that they don't have to like everyone. coming to terms with the fact that you can't hold space for everyone in your life is brutal! there is no elegant solution! sometimes people learn this through therapy!!!!! sometimes people get scripts from therapy and advice podcasts!!!! how else, when they haven't been presented any better solution!!!!!!!

until then yeah i do actually support people being selfish and obnoxious about their personal well-being.

here's a thing i've been rotating in my head - maybe a bit of an open-ended question. as a selfishness propagandist, a writer of You Don't Actually Owe Everyone A Part Of Yourself Forever, but ALSO a person who gets really emotional over the kindness of strangers and the connectedness of humanity... i've been seeing a lot of posts with the sentiment of "actually you DO owe people some things! you DO have a duty to your community!" and sure. i don't disagree. i just... i feel like that particular message is aimed at strawmen.

of course i'm biased. i can only speak on behalf of myself, and knowing the people i know. i'm SURE those people exist - the "i felt emotionally unsafe when you asked a favour of me so our season of friendship is over" people. i'm willing to believe they exist. but i also think they may be a different demographic than the people who really badly need to learn that it's okay to say no, for any reason, at any time. this is not to establish a dichotomy!! different people need different advice!!! that's just life!!!!!

when i look at my own friends and communities, i see a lot of people who are working really hard to internalise self advocacy. i know a lot of people who INTELLECTUALLY know they need to set reasonable boundaries and not over-extend themselves, but EMOTIONALLY, imagine the toll!! yes yes maybe i need space and recovery and respect but WHAT ABOUT THE NEEDS OF ALL THESE OTHER PEOPLE... DOESN'T THAT TAKE PRECEDENT... wouldn't it be so much quicker and easier to just stoically accept the Burdens...

it can be so difficult to learn that being annoying is not a crime, that being mean or angry does not condemn you, that it can be good for you to say no to things and put yourself first. it's tempting to add disclaimers like REMEMBER!!! YOU HAVE TO BE CONSIDERATE OF OTHERS!!!!!!! but the people this advice is for, we know. we're not gonna suddenly throw people in the pit. it's gonna be an arduous journey of getting comfortable with all the red lamps blinking on our dashboard any time we put on our own masks first. and if someone does suddenly go off the deep end of "i owe nobody nothing!" and starts cutting people off left and right after learning that they can just do that - i think there's something to be said for the exhilaration of newfound discovery, to let the pendulum swing a little wild before finding equilibrium.

maybe that's just my naive trust in humans and belief that even the messiest people will grow and learn as they go and that we have no choice but to co-exist in some way and that the most outrageous statements also go the most viral and aren't reflective of the majority. as is my right to have.

[chosos-mascara]

with me

𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿��� - as you find yourself awake at night, you wonder if it's time to confess to captain gojo. (pirate au)

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - kissing

1.3k words

The wood creaks among the gentle sounds of the sea. 

What was usually a comforting lull to soothe you to slumber kept you awake tonight. The ship's rocks were something you'd grown accustomed to over the past several months; groans of cedar and oak paired with the calm ripples in the night's water were all much louder once your crew were tucked into their quarters. During the early hours of the morning you know a few of them may still be awake - though you find yourself hoping for one's presence over others.

Captain Gojo. At first you had begrudged that name, but now it felt just as natural as your own. You were so sure you'd hated him too, yet with passing time it was fairly obvious you felt only endearment toward him. You didn't know when this switch had occurred - only that his features felt so much softer now. Silky white hair that had been left to grow a little too long seems to frame his face so well, those frightening blue eyes easing your worries through sight alone. 

You were from another vessel. A raid had resulted in yourself migrating to the Kaisen as a bargaining chip - Sukuna hadn't cared for you all too well. It took only a few days to win over the newest member, Yuuji, and a few weeks for the others to come around. Once you'd displayed a lack of loyalty to your previous crew, an unwanted career choice as Sukuna had taken you from your home, Gojo and the others promised to return you to your native country. You neared it now, yet with every mile closer you couldn't find it within yourself to want to leave. You enjoy life exceedingly more with Gojo as a part of it. 

You need to speak with him. A sleepless night wouldn't do you good, nor would bottling up your feelings any longer than you already have. 

Slow footsteps from mid-deck to the top allowed you the warm embrace of solace, a small flame guiding your anxious mind. You stood outside of his door on the top deck, sea breeze chilling you through the thin fabric draped over your shoulders, covering the nightie you'd adopted from Nobara on one of your first nights aboard.

Fist hovering over the door, you knock once, and then twice. 

Silence follows as you await some form of response; your stomach twists. Tonight wouldn't be the night you confess, and as you stare at the wood planks beneath your toes, you wonder if any night would be. You were likely less than a week from your destination, and once arrived, you would part ways with the friends you'd made.

Your foot drags backward, and then the other as you turn to leave. Only, as you glance toward the door in one final look of regret, you watch as it opens slightly, pale fingers wrapped around oak. Gojo's face emerges in the darkness, and after only one look at your sheepish expression, he opens the door wider. 

Slipping past him and into his room makes you feel like two teenagers sneaking around, yet you continue on, his tall frame towering over your apprehensive one. 

It wasn't often you would see the captain's quarters, in fact you were sure you could count the times you'd peered in on one hand - let alone stepped foot within them. As you stood within his room, watching as he pushed the door closed, you felt as if you were intruding on an intimate part of his life.

His bed is raised and sturdy, the pillow creased within the middle, a blanket messily slued to one side. You assume he would've pushed it off of himself to answer the door, previously laying awake much like you had been. There's a table on your left drowned in papers, various types of scrawling and writing upon them. You inch closer as you succumb to curiosity, forgetting you were intruding on his life.

Propped against the wall, there's a canvas, a painting of himself and a male of the same age, dark hair tied messily back into a bun. They're both smiling widely, Gojo's arm is loosely over his shoulder. That was something you weren't sure you'd seen much of - his genuine smile.

"That's my best friend." You're startled as Gojo's voice is suddenly closely behind you, his presence lingering within arm's length. He's staring at the drawing with dulcet eyes, a downturn to his lips. "Where is he now?" The question is asked with some reluctance as you sense an offish aura about him. Gojo adjusts his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms. "I killed him."

Your eyes widen, and he laughs breathily, his shamed expression facing floorboard. He doesn't wait for an interrogation, simply offering you context before your mind would spiral. 

"He tried to kill one of our crew members, injured others too. I had no choice."

Your hand reaches to him in the name of comfort, though stalls as you're only an inch away. "I'm sorry." Gojo glances down to your retreating hand. "Don't be."

"Why did you come here?" Moments had passed in awkward air as you shifted uncomfortably on the spot, mouth opening, and closing. Now hadn't felt to be a good time, the air staled with his open heart. "I couldn't sleep, thought maybe you couldn't either." A half lie, you had expected him to be awake too, for some reason. "I was drifting in and out." Gojo paces past you and to the bench, throwing himself into the seat and leaning back against the desk. His elbows meet table top, and he leans back with eyes closed.

"We're almost to your home-town, now." There felt to be bitterness on his tongue as he'd made his statement. "Are you excited?" "I-" You pause. "Yeah." Although the response had been what he'd been expected to hear, your drab tone hadn't been. Gojo opens his eyes at this, watching you through half closed lids.

You step toward him slowly, and he remains still. Despite himself seated, his face is almost level to yours. You place a hand to his cheek with reluctance, and finally allow yourself to express how you feel.

Your lips meet his slowly, and at first, he doesn't reciprocate your kiss. But as you linger on him, eyes squeezing to push back tears, his hand finds it's way to the back of your neck, and you're locked into place. The pair of you spend a few moments of sereneness against the other, his mouth opening slightly upon your lips to allow tongue to slip past. It drags over yours, and you respond in kind with a flick, meeting within your connected lips.

Gojo breaks the kiss sooner than you would have liked, leaving your lips victim to the cold air.  His eyes are locked onto yours, but you can't bare to meet them, dropping to his chest. A white loose tunic, the strings at the breastbone open to leave the 'v' revealing bare skin, balloon sleeves meeting wrist. To match had been black cotton trousers you'd assumed to be stolen - or at least purchased through stolen gold. He hadn't worn anything at his feet, bare much like yours had been against varnished wood.

"Do you want to leave?" Gojo's question is abrupt, and it pulls you from your thoughts. You gaze up to his face now, but his expression is indistinct. His hand drops from it's place at your neck, nestling instead into the small of your back. "Now, here?" The confusion slips from your mouth with a crackle as your throat is dry, your breaths still uneven. His lips are straight, his stare quiet. "The Kaisen. Us."

Your furrowed brow lifts and your face softens. "No, I don't."

"Don't, then." His fingers swirl over your back, the nightie a thin barrier between your skin and his. "Stay with us, with me." Gojo's voice is hushed as he swallows what pride he thought himself to have as he opened his soul to you. You smile freely, hands enveloping his cheeks once again to place a kiss over his lips once again - this time small, and sweet.

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[forest-hashira]

Keeping Warm

having now recovered from writing smut back in september, i am back with more demon slayer smut! partially joking but writing smut really does take more out of me which is why this one took so long to come out. this is my promised second entry for my autumn leaves anniversary event, which is still open if you would like to contribute something! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy 💜 also big thanks to @awkwardchick87 for beta reading this for me!

event masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~2.6k | cw: obamitsu x gn/afab reader (female anatomy but gender neutral pronouns), undefined but implied established relationship, cockwarming, orgasm delay/denial, oral (reader receiving), making out, cowgirl position, slight sub iggy/dom mitsuri (not too heavy tho), creampie

Obanai had never been fond of cold weather. Much like his scaly companion, he preferred the warmth of spring and summer, and spent as much of his time as possible indoors during the fall and winter. If there was a chill in the air, it would cut straight through to his bones, no matter how many layers he wore. He never mentioned it to anyone else, knowing there was little that could be done about his difficulty regulating his own body temperature, but as soon as both you and Mitsuri had wormed your way past his defenses, the two of you had picked up on it, and did everything you could to keep him warm.

Which, he supposed, was how you all wound up the way you were now.

The temperature had dropped before the sun had set, and he had barely finished lighting his fireplace when he heard Mitsuri calling out for him.

���Obanai!” she’d chirped, grinning brightly when he came to the door to greet her. She’d held a thick blanket in one arm, her other hand holding yours. You’d offered the serpent hashira a pleased smile as well, just as happy to see that he was, in fact, home. 

“Hello, Mitsuri,” he’d replied, smiling behind his bandages. He’d greeted you, too, then tilted his head slightly. “Not that I’m not happy to see the two of you, of course, but can I ask what brings you to see me this time?”

“We know you don’t like the cold,” you’d explained. “We wanted to make sure you stayed warm tonight.”

He hadn’t thought much of the way Mitsuri’s eyes glinted when he’d invited the two of you in, assuming she was just excited about having a sleepover with you and him, since those didn’t happen exceedingly often, given your positions in the corps.

Now he was wondering if he should’ve read into that glint a bit more, since she was straddling him as he laid on his back on his futon, you sitting by his head. Clothes had been discarded quickly, so you and Mitsuri were entirely bare, and the only thing Obanai still wore was his bandages.

“We’ll keep you warm, ‘nai,” the love hashira cooed, rolling her hips against his, and he let out a shuddering breath, his hands gripping lightly at her thighs. She paused at the touch, tilting her head slightly. “Wait until you’re given permission, love.”

“Apologies,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her, instead digging his fingers into the futon beneath him.

“All is forgiven,” Mitsuri assured him, slowly beginning to roll her hips again.

Your fingers glided across his forehead, gently brushing his hair from his eyes, and you smiled at him when he looked up at you. “Can I take these off?” you asked quietly, fingers ghosting down his cheek until they reached the edge of his bandages.

There was the tiniest moment of hesitation – less than a second, really – before he nodded. “Yes,” he breathed, remembering that Mitsuri liked when he said the words aloud. “Yes, you can take them off.” 

With nimble fingers, you delicately unwound the bandages from the lower half of his face, setting them off to the side. As always, you were careful not to touch his scars; he was comfortable enough to allow you and Mitsuri to see them in private, but he still didn’t like them to be touched. “Stunning as always, ‘nai,” you said, giggling softly when his face darkened with a blush at your words.

The sound of your laughter sent his heart fluttering, and he smiled slightly back up at you. He still found himself flustered whenever you complimented him, but he never argued, even if he disagreed with your words; how could he, when your eyes always shone with genuine, eager affection?

Mitsuri shifted her weight slightly from her position atop the serpent hashira, and he gasped, his hips bucking the tiniest bit with surprise. Knowing the movement was unintentional, the love hashira chose not to chastise, instead grinning down at him. “Someone’s eager,” she teased, a small laugh tumbling from her lips at the way the older man’s blush spread from his face down his neck to his chest.

“Looks like you’re warming up,” you said, a teasing lilt to your words as well. As you spoke, you carded your fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Just as you knew would happen, the touch sent a shiver through the serpent hashira. “Or maybe not.” 

With an exaggerated pout, you looked back up at Mitsuri. “Looks like he’s still cold, ‘Tsuri.”

She fake pouted right back at you. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?” Her gaze dropped to Obanai’s, and she tilted her head slightly. “Do you need more to stay warm?”

“Please,” he answered, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please, Mitsuri.”

Her peridot eyes flashed. “Well, when you ask so nicely…”

When she stopped the slow rolling of her hips, Obanai almost whined, staring up at her pleadingly; you knew from experience he was mere moments away from openly begging, if the love hashira decided to push him even just a tiny bit more. He was in luck this time, though, and she had mercy on him. She raised herself off of him slightly, just enough to wrap her fingers around his hard cock.

He barely stifled a gasp at her touch, and when she began to sink down onto him, his eyes rolled back in his head. The feeling of being inside of either of you was something he knew he would never take for granted; the warmth and intimacy of it was too precious to him. It took him a few moments to catch his breath once Mitsuri was fully seated on him, the heat of her almost unbearable, while somehow also being exactly what he needed. 

The love hashira sat perfectly still atop the serpent hashira, watching as he fought to compose himself once again. She could be patient, and she knew you could, too; besides that, this was far from the first time the three of you had done anything like this, and Obanai had proven each time that he was more than capable of being obedient and taking direction. There was no doubt in her mind that he would manage it again this time. When she saw his two-toned eyes flutter open once again, she smiled down at him.

“‘Nai,” she cooed, slowly trailing her fingers up his stomach and chest, delighting in every minor jump and twitch of his muscles beneath her touch. “You’re doing so well… Can you do something else for me?”

“Anything,” Obanai replied, almost before Mitsuri finished speaking. He was willing to do anything she asked of him, even if all it earned him was a smile. The same went for how he felt about you; maybe holding the two of you so close to his heart would only cause him pain one day, but for now it only brought him peace, so he would make no effort to change how he felt.

Mitsuri’s smile inched closer to a smirk. “I want you to make them feel good.” Her eyes darted up to your face for a moment, though his stayed locked on her.

“How?”

“With your mouth.”

Finally, he tipped his head back slightly to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide. “I would be honored to pleasure you that way,” he told you, almost reverently.

His words had heat pooling in your gut, and you swallowed thickly. Even if you hadn’t already known how skilled he was with his tongue, you wouldn’t have been able to deny him when he looked so beautiful when he asked. You nodded in response, not quite able to find your voice in the moment.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His eyes never once left your face, and the feeling of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Mitsuri told you, a faint edge to her voice – not sharp, but motivating nonetheless.

Never one to disagree or deny yourself pleasure from either of your lovers, you carefully pulled yourself away from Obanai, shifting so you were hovering over his face, facing the love hashira. You didn’t lower yourself to be within his reach, though; Mitsuri was still calling the shots, after all.

Obanai felt his mouth begin to water as he looked up at your pussy, so close yet still so far away. He flexed his hands against the futon, eager to devour you but doing his best to be patient.

Apparently getting a thrill from the control she had over the two of you, Mitsuri sat in silence for a moment, simply looking you over, before she said, “You can touch them now, ‘nai.”

The serpent hashira barely remembered to thank her before he locked his arms around your thighs and dragged you down to sit on his face, his mouth already open and eager to please. The first taste of you on his tongue had him moaning against you, and you gasped at the vibration against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you breathed, one hand going to Obanai’s abdomen to steady yourself, the other landing on Mitsuri’s shoulder. You met her gaze, and the heat that had risen to your cheeks spread a bit further when you saw the glint in her eyes.

“He’s quite good at that, isn’t he?” she asked, somewhat teasingly. As she spoke, one of her hands pushed your hair away from your face before coming to cradle your burning cheek. “Feels like he’s keeping you nice and warm, too, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, lashes fluttering a bit as you felt Obanai trace a pattern across your clit. You couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but if you’d asked, he would have admitted it was his name; an invisible mark stating that you were his as much he was yours and Mitsuri’s.

“Good,” she murmured, smirking slightly as she pressed her thumb to your bottom lip for a moment. When your lips parted slightly at the touch, she pulled you into a kiss. 

Her lips were soft and plush against your own, and in mere seconds you found yourself being devoured from both ends, completely at the mercy of your two ravenous lovers. Your grip on her shoulder tightened as you moaned against her, reciprocating the kiss as best as you were able.

It wasn’t long – an embarrassingly short amount of time, in fact – before your legs were shaking around Obanai’s head. “‘Tsuri,” you whimpered, breaking the heated kiss in an attempt to catch your breath. “I— ah! —I’m close.”

“Already?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. When you nodded, she tilted your chin up slightly to meet her eyes again. “I know you’ve earned it,” she added, glancing down at the man beneath you for a moment. “But do you think he has?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered immediately. “He’s— fuck — making me feel s-so good.” With practically every breath, small moans and whimpers slipped from your lips, and if the serpent hashira’s hold on you had been any less secure, you’d have been grinding down on his tongue, eagerly chasing your release.

Mitsuri seemed to brighten a bit at that. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve to feel good, love.” She grinned when the pet name had you practically melting for her, and she pressed another quick kiss to your lips before turning her attention to her other partner. 

“‘Nai,” she said, tracing a fingertip lightly down his torso. “Once you make them cum, I’ll let you cum, too.” She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, promising so much more once he did as he was told.

The action drew a loud, wanton moan from the man, which in turn had you gasping and dropping your hand from Mitsuri’s shoulder, leaving both hands now braced against his stomach. He tightened his grip around your thighs, pressing you as close to him as he could as he increased his efforts. 

When he shifted his head slightly and pressed his tongue into you, not giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling before he was fucking you relentlessly with it, you cried out. The sheer amount of pleasure coursing through your body at that moment had you trembling from head to toe, but it wasn’t quite enough to tip you over the edge. You squirmed the tiny amount you were able in his hold, trying to get some sort of stimulation to your clit.

Thankfully, Obanai seemed to get the message, and he loosened his hold on you with one arm. It allowed you to shift a bit more, but the movement wasn’t really necessary once his fingers found your clit. He rubbed quick, almost aggressive circles on it, matching the insistent pace of his tongue inside you. 

“Oh fuck!” you wailed as your orgasm crashed over you, your head dropped forward to rest against your pink haired lover’s chest. Despite having brought you to your peak, your raven haired lover showed no signs of letting up, still devouring you as if his life depended on it.

“Looks like you’ve earned your reward,” Mitsuri mused, beginning to rock her hips, giving Obanai the pleasure she’d promised him. 

It quickly became apparent to you that she was eager for release, too, because within just a few minutes she was fully lifting herself up and down on his cock, little sounds of pleasure slipping from her every time their hips made contact. Managing to come back to yourself a bit, you lifted your head from her chest, dipping in and taking one of her pretty pink nipples into your mouth and sucking hard, the way that always made her whine and plead for more. 

“Oh, yes, keep doing that,” she gasped, beginning to pinch and tug the other nipple herself. The more stimulation she got there, the louder she moaned and whined; she’d always been sensitive there, and you loved the reactions it would pull from her.

When she grew closer to her orgasm, she went back to simply rolling her hips and grinding down on Obanai’s cock, chasing the pleasure she knew awaited her. You decided to take advantage of the change in her movements, reaching between her legs to play with her clit. You were drawing close to another orgasm yourself, and you wanted desperately for all three of you to cum together.

She gasped, crying out your name as she fell apart, riding Obanai even harder to bring him to the heights of pleasure, too. It didn’t take long for him to get there, if the moan he let out against your pussy and the gasp Mitsuri gave were any indication. The vibration of his moan was enough to send you toppling over the edge again, a shuddering, breathless moan escaping you as you released Misturi’s nipple from your lips.

The three of you took a moment to catch your breath, not bothering to move from your positions at first. Eventually, though, both you and Mitsuri crawled off of the serpent hashira, one of you lying on either side of him and curling up as close to him as you could. After a moment, Mitsuri reached behind her, fumbling a bit until she found the blankets, including the extra thick one she’d brought with her. She pulled them over the three of you, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. Obanai wrapped his arms a bit tighter around the two of you, and you eagerly pressed further into his space – you were there to keep him warm, after all.

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[valacirya]

Indis appreciation post!

Disclaimer: All the canon info is taken from Morgoth's Ring and Peoples of Middle Earth. Also, this isn't a character analysis/meta. It's just a list of stuff I love (plus some headcanons) about one of my favorite characters in the legendarium.

1. She's athletic and outdoorsy. We're told that Indis is "exceedingly swift of foot" and that "she walked often alone in the fields and friths of the Valar, turning her thought to things that grow untended." When Finwe sees her, she's chilling on a mountainside. I love that she's associated with nature, specifically the wilderness. She parallels Feanor in her exploration of Aman and interest in the imperfect. Also, this is purely self-indulgent but ever since reading HoME for the first time, I've pictured Indis as tall and broad, and muscular beneath a layer of fat.

2. She doesn't let her unrequited love affect her life. "There was ever light and mirth about her." She's not the pining, languishing princess stereotype. She goes on. She doesn't let it make her bitter or depressed, and she is so restrained that only Mandos and possibly Ingwe are aware of her feelings.

3. Part of her attraction to Finwe is intellectual. In HoME we're told that his "mastery of words delighted her." Considering that Indis is also a poet/composer ("wove words into song") and that the Vanyar enjoy linguistics, it makes sense. It's also just really cute.

4. She's politically minded. Her reasoning for pronouncing 's' instead of 'th' is: "I have joined the Noldor, and I will speak as they do." This is the right thing to do to gain the respect of the Noldor and their acceptance of her authority. I also think she makes a statement with Fingolfin and Finarfin's mother-names. Arakano ("high chieftain") and Ingoldo ("the Noldo, eminent among the kindred") are not only powerful, prophetic names, they're also strikingly similar to Ingwe ("chief of chieftains") who is the High King not just of the Vanyar, but all Eldar. What a power move.

5. She's able to balance her own culture with the culture she marries into. Indis integrates into Noldorin society easily while remaining Vanyarin at her core, as is evidenced by Finwe saying that "above all her heart now yearns for the halls of Ingwe and the peace of the Vanyar." Her sons also respect and are proud of their mixed heritage; Finarfin "loved the Vanyar, his mother's people" and is said to be like them (as are Finrod and Galadriel), and Fingolfin's daughter-in-law is Vanyarin (plus the Nolofinweans have a special connection to Manwe).

6. She gets an awesome prophecy about her line. "But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. And from them shall spring things so fair that no tears shall dim their beauty; in whose being the Valar, and the Kindreds both of Elves and of Men that are to come shall all have part, and in whose deeds they shall rejoice. So that, long hence when all that here is, and seemeth yet fair and impregnable, shall nonetheless have faded and passed away, the Light of Aman shall not wholly cease among the free peoples of Arda until the end." Fuck yeah.

7. Her name means "valiant woman." This is the only definition given in Morgoth's Ring, I believe. I highly prefer it over the "bride" meaning because it's a badass name and is similar to Artanis ("noble woman") and Astaldo ("the valiant"). A headcanon that I'm particularly attached to is that Indis's mother-name is Indome, meaning "will of Eru."

8. She's popular with most of the Noldor. We're told that "Finwe, King of the Noldor, wedded Indis, sister of Ingwe; and the Vanyar and Noldor for the most part rejoiced." The majority of the Noldor also follow Fingolfin and Finarfin instead of Feanor.

9. She's friends with Nerdanel. HoME states that Nerdanel went to "abide with Indis, whom she had ever esteemed."

10. She gets pissed off at Finwe when he sides with Feanor. So much so that he thinks she won't want to see him if he's re-embodied. I know this is from his perspective but I'm inclined to agree. [However, this is still very presumptive of him, and his comment that "Indis parted from me without death" is super shitty. Eugh.]

11. She's close to her kids. Finarfin takes after her, Fingolfin passes on the name she gave him, Findis lives with her, Lalwen goes by the name she gave her. Finwe also says that "she hath dear children to comfort her."

So there we have it! What little info we get about Indis is pretty awesome. And this is just a list; I could write a whole essay on her fortitude and unconventionality and my numerous headcanons about her.

[auspicioustidings]

BG3 AU with a bunch of buff warrior men and their weak little cleric healer.

OK SO the trope of the little weak cleric is hysterical to me because as a cleric you almost always take con as your second highest stat. Like any cleric I have ever played has been hefty as fuck so they can deal with enemies trying to take down the healer.

The actual squishy healing class would be the bard! Like these buff warriors who want a cleric but every cleric they tried to bully has been too much a tank, whacked them and walked away. It's exceedingly easy to bully the bard though. What you gonna do? Angrily play the lute at me? (Vicious mockery never seems to work either since they don't actually have any shame and saying things like "son of a whore" only sends them off on a tangent about all the tricks they learned at the whorehouse).

They're awful sure, but in a sweeter turn of events they are so gentle when it comes time to camp. They find the soft singing and playing of their bard to be such a comfort and they make sure that in recompense they get the softest bedroll and are wrapped in big warm arms to protect them from the chill.