#he crafts spells for a living

[sn0wbat]

oleander.

[safety-pin-punk]

yall Im so fucking tired. This month has been exhausting. I promise Im alive, just barely functional atm.

[deathbind]

I remember my ideas for Serot's lifetimes as a mageweaver and a jackal but what the hell is this bard lifetime I have noted down

[agatharkn3ss]

Nicky's Rio son too.

I feel there were so many lines that imply this and the finale is starting to make more sense - especially because the dandelion in the trial!

Jen explains that Green Craft™ is about the cycle of all living things - growth and decay in constant flow. So it's not just about dying but being born too.

So it would track that Rio's love for Agatha was so strong that it actually created life - Nicky. However, there would be consequences to this because proper balance had to be maintained somehow. Rio probably even warned Agatha about it, but Agatha always believes she is above the rules so in her head she probably thought she had every right to Nicky (maybe even her "prize" that she alludes to in their final confrontation). This would really add to Rio's hurt - Nicky was her son too. She thought she was giving Agatha a gift of life, but instead Agatha sees her as this cruel "evil" that "gave her nothing". To her Rio is the one who just "took."

It feels like it is also implied by Rio at the start of the episode when she says "This walk with another woman's son on a road that doesn't...". She could be referring to Nicky being her son.

But I think Agatha finally accepts her truth during the final trial when she sees the dandelion seed in her cameo. She even says "Out of Death - life" as she grows it because she finally understands the literal implications of that phrase.

That Dandelion is representation of Nicky. And sure enough, as soon as the flower grows and blossoms, it quickly enters the final stage - when it turns into the seeds that can be scattered by the wind again and continue the cycle of life. Because guess what, "dandelions produce seeds asexually by apomixis, where the seeds are produced without pollination, resulting in offspring that are genetically identical to the parent plant".

When Nicky is born, we could probably assume it was indeed asexual reproduction - Agatha says she didn't use a spell or incantation, but instead he was made from scratch (obviously a clever nod to his name). On one hand it could be read like Agatha is astonished how something this magical could happen without actually using any witchcraft. However, this also feels like a suggestion that maybe she is just amazed at how he could possibly exist. Kathryn Hahn in her recent interview alluded to how the witches didn't need men, babies were just born. So it was Rio's "dandelion seed" that made it happen.

It is the second characteristic of dandelion species is what seals the deal for me - "the offspring being genetically identical to the parent plant". Nicky as the offspring of Death needs bodies to survive in this realm. During his birth Rio says she can offer only time, because she can maintain the balance, as long as Nicky gets his bodies.

That's why she hates Rio and calls her evil - not because of Rio herself, but because of what her "genetics" did to Nicky. Agatha would rather have people believe that she is this evil witch killer that traded her child for the Darkhold, than anyone to know the awful truth that it was Nicky who was the cause of the killings.

In the flashbacks, there are those remarks about how they haven't "eaten for days" and that whenever Nicky was poorly he said he was hungry. Agatha said she couldn't create the food for him (and protect him from what's coming). She could've cooked that goat they had with them if they were really that hungry (btw, I still believe that goat is Senor Scratchy), but that wasn't the "food" that Nicky meant.

And just like Billy, Rio couldn't just take Nicky. He had to "turn himself in". It was his choice not to kill any more witches. On the day Nicky dies, he says "My mother needs me home". I think he is talking about Rio here, since he usually calls Agatha "Mama". This is the moment the decides for himself and goes home to Death.

I feel like this opens the possibility that we will indeed see Nicholas Scratch in the future (and have a role similar to the one in the comics). That maybe even he might not have "died" because he is an offspring of death, so he just exists in some Underworld realm, where he no longer needs bodies to survive. Maybe Agatha might have hoped that by killing more and more witches, she will bring Nicky back to life/this realm?

And the Ballad really was a protection spell she made for him too?

This would also be a more plausible explanation why Agatha went to kiss Rio when Billy asked "Is this how Nicky died?". I feel this was more of an apology to Rio for hating her for Nicky's treatment, because she finally understood why she had to do it?

[werecreature-addicted]

high-class elf boy with perfect skin and pretty soft features who despises anything "human". Even human nobility are boarish and dirty to his eyes. humans are dirty, cloying, desperate for glory, aching for their short pitiful lives to amount to something- anything. Of course, he hates them.

So why is he here? kneeling and licking at the grit on your heel? at least the collar around his throat is genuine elf-made leather with gold embroidery on the front spelling out the word "slut" in elvish. the leash you tug on is a thin delicate gold chain, classy and befitting someone of his station.

He hates humans, he thinks your touch is dirty. he's dirty for wanting you, for craving every fleeting second of your attention. even if it means kneeling on hands and knees and letting you use him as a footrest. at least you're touching him at least he's here with you. time is different for you, what is a few hours to someone hundreds of years old?

And you do seem to care for him too. you know how much he despises the cheap human-made stuff, so you spoil him with artisan-crafted elvish sex toys. his chastity cage, for example, it's delicate with patterns carved in the metal. it looks so pretty locked onto his soft dick. a thin silver metal bar attached to the head of the cage that you slick up with only the finest oil before pushing down into his urethra. You sit back and watch him beg and plead to let him out so he can piss, you ignore him until he's a babbling mess promising he'd do anything just let him out.

It's cute. seeing a high and mighty elf reduced to something less than a lowly human like you.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Male Yandere Human-like Golem x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Noncon, huge dick, golem man, magic, fatal violence towards bandits, spit used as lube, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took forever, was originally going to be a drabble and then kinda got away from me, hope you all enjoy huge dick golem man.)

The small town that you lived in, Somnheim, had been victim to a swathe of horrible luck. Raided by bandits, packs of beasts killing livestock, and enemy soldiers scavenging what they could. Finally the town had enough and sent for a practitioner of the magic arts to aid them in the defense of their village.

This was you.

They didn’t have much but they offered a home and food for your services. You figured you could help them and have a quiet place to conduct your research away from the prying eyes of the council, who liked to hold newer mages under their thumb. It would also just be something nice you could do for your fellow humans, and these folks clearly needed the help.

You didn’t want to stay in this place forever though, so your solution would have to be one that would last long after you were gone.

Given your expertise in summoning and animating the logical choice was a good, old fashioned, golem. A pentagram, some select incense, clay flesh molded to a slate skeleton and imbued with an amethyst heart carrying an artificial soul, some runes carved in, and a scroll inserted that would have him follow his purpose and give him personality.

Then just add in a spell that turned the humanoid clay man into something more human so as not to frighten the villagers too badly and make him able to experience a near human existence.

The ritual was a complete success. Of course it was. You were you after all, young but talented and more importantly utterly dedicated to your craft.

Somnheim now had a mighty protector. An artificial man over 9 feet tall, with huge bulging muscles, shaggy brown hair, stoic brown eyes that gave nothing away, and glowing green runes on his arms and legs. The spell that made him human-like was more than just visual, it gave him nearly all the functions of a human male, he’d be as durable and strong as the hardest metal, never age, and of course he was certainly infertile.

Not one for creative names, you named him Slate.

Eventually bandits came by and decided they would stock up in Somnheim before going on to bigger and better loot.

They did not live to regret that decision.

Slate simply rolled a massive boulder down the hill they approached from and flattened all but a couple. Those he took care of quickly with magically precise throws of average sized stones.

Over the months any threat he couldn’t flatten with a boulder or smack with a stone he would pop open with his mighty fists.

By the end of his first year as the village’s guardian he was beloved by every single townsperson. Even the tiny children, who would climb on him and put flowers in his shaggy hair as he smiled and watched, had no fear of him.

You had enjoyed your time there, but eventually it was time for a change of scenery. You wanted to do more field research and you had saved enough money up with side projects to be able to fund a trip to the other side of the country near The Great Forest.

The villagers were grateful and sad to see you go, but they were much more interested in Slate than you.

But when you packed your bags to leave behind your wattle and daub dwelling once and for all you found yourself blocked by Slate.

He uttered one word in that deep, almost monotone, voice of his.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I have to leave.” You tried to squeeze past him but he was not having it.

“I must protect the village… Your presence here makes the village safer… I might need repairs… or reinforcements… And you also tasked me with keeping you safe…”

You fudged the wording. You, breather of life into stone, weaver of clay, and creator of souls, messed up the wording.

He picked you up like a box of luggage and sat you on a chair in your makeshift study before going over to the heaviest bookshelf, picking it up, and placing it in front of the only door so you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll move it when I need to leave… then I will put a rock outside to keep you here…”

And that became your life. A literal prisoner in your own home.

Your magical abilities were useless in this situation, you were not a battlemage that could explode a wall, you couldn’t teleport, you bent earth.

Of course you tried to tunnel your way out by making a hole under your bed, but Slate had walked in and caught you red handed. He had confiscated and locked away all your magical supplies and texts unless you needed them to repair him you were not getting them back.

Slate was tentative enough of your physical needs, bringing you food and water and taking you outside like some sort of pet for sunlight, fresh air, and exercise. You had tried to run away but of course he had inhuman speed. And the villagers refused to help. What if Slate refused to save them if they did that?

It was a fair concern, he was made to protect the village and not villagers, he may even see them as a threat if they assisted you. You were on your own.

Though you were healthy enough physically your mental condition was deteriorating rapidly. How could you not be? Being trapped in the same building, even with trips outside, was awful. The villagers only looked at you with pity if they looked at you at all, and no one would even talk to you anymore.

It got to the point where you barely eat, refused to go outside, and spent all your time laying in bed.

Slate was failing the magical directives that governed his personality and behavior. You were clearly not safe, he was convinced that you would die if this continued, and honestly you likely would… eventually…

But the golem was not incapable of learning. He observed the other humans to find out what he could add to your life to bring you back to your usual self.

One night, when he was sitting in front of the house watching the humans passing by and holding hands, he came to the conclusion that humans had families, they lived together in their dwellings and they loved each other. They coupled together and mated.

Up until this point Slate had only been directed by simple emotion and the unyielding parchment that had imbued him with his goals. But now his task demanded something more of him, it demanded a much more complex emotion. The magic in him allowed this evolution, and now he was much more dangerous because he loved you. But it wasn’t just love he felt for the first time, it was lust.

Slate’s expression became one of someone thinking about the one who they adored infinitely, an expression of a man thinking about the person he wanted to have writhing in pleasure beneath him, even his normally green runes and brown eyes took on an amorous pink glow.

When you heard the boulder blocking the door shift and then heard the bookshelf take its place as what was blocking your way out as Slate came lumbering in with his heavy steps you didn’t even glance up.

Not until he stood in front of you and you noticed his strange pink glow replacing his green one did you stir.

You sat up in bed and when you saw the strange way his normally near emotionless eyes were staring at you, and glowing, you scooted away.

“I know what you need now! I am so sorry for not realizing sooner…” He said in a surprisingly soothing tone, a stark departure from his normally deep monotone.

“What do yo-”

Your words were forgotten as he took off his shirt and pants revealing a sweaty body and a frighteningly large cock.

“You need a partner to be happy, like the other humans, and you need to mate!”

He sounded very eager.

“No! Uh… I don’t need to… mate. I need to lea-” he put a large finger over your lips and shushed you before gripping your pants and peeling them and your underwear away from you carefully.

There was no dissuading him from his chosen course of action, he would make you happy and keep you safe no matter what!

It’s what you needed.

Slate leaned forward and spit all over your hole, thoroughly lubing it with his spit, before pressing his big cock into your hole.

It was so large that you let out a whimper of pain at first, but he was somehow knowledgeable enough about sex to know he needed to let you adjust to the size rather than just ramming himself in.

You gasped and writhed but he held you still with his massive hands running up and down your sides as he slowly pulled you down on his prick.

Slate was in complete heaven, he had never really known much pleasure of any kind, let alone the type that came with burying his cock in someone he was now completely obsessed with.

He had no idea his dick could be used for this at all, but now that he did he would certainly be doing this everyday, maybe even a couple times a day! The perfect blend of heat and softness was amazing.

As he began to thrust slowly, with a blissed out expression as he stared up at nothing with drool coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as his cock caressed your depths perfectly.

Hearing your breathy moans snapped him back to reality. You were finally happy again~

The treatment was working! That settled it, he would do this every single day no matter what!

Carefully gripping your sides a bit more firmly he moved your entire body back and forth on his cock. You couldn’t help it, your whole body twitched with the force of a massive orgasm. The sensation of your body spasming around his previously virgin dick caused him to slam in deep and cum hard.

He pulled you close, holding your head into his muscular chest as he panted, his dick still firmly impaling your limp body. You hadn’t been eating much and this serious fucking had taken a lot out of you.

Slate cleaned the two of you up, bathing you gently before taking advantage of your compliant state by spoon feeding you some dinner he had brought from a town person.

Mating with you made you so pleasured and too tired to resist him when he took care of you, he almost couldn’t wait until you had enough energy to do it again, his cock strained in his pants with anticipation.

[johnbrand]

The Power of a Name

With @next-pharaoh

The power of a name is something more influential than most people realize. It created an individual, maintained their identity that had been crafted from the womb up until that very point. It interacted with the world around them, choosing their friends, their enemies, their brothers and their lovers. Names decide brains or brawns, cools or fools, the ins and the outs of every living thing. If it was not for names, then who would we even be?

So imagine the power of a name when it is used for the good of a movement, one that has been silently expanding for hundreds of years. While other cultures were fighting wars and attempting to outscore one another, this particular movement stealthily expanded its ranks. Lineage and ancestry can be traced back through countless generations of the male line thanks to this work. Of course, we are speaking of Arabization.

There are obvious reasons as to why this movement is so strong and only has the potential to further dominate. First and most importantly, the Arab-Islamic culture exemplifies masculine ideals, creating stronger men after every new breed. Higher testosterone levels, unbreakable fraternal bonds, governing genetic codes. Their desert-bound history created more aggressive, competitive, and territorial behavior; their strict religious conviction maintain higher levels of confidence and, by right, superiority.

But if this movement is silent, then how are we able to visualize its effects? Consider the following facts: While numbers in almost all historically-dominant religions are dropping, the current Muslim population is predicted to grow more than twice in size by 2060. Islam, and the core values of Arabization along with it, will surpass Christianity as the largest religion in the world in just 25 years.

Reflecting on a local level will help illustrate these details. The branch of mathematics most widely practiced, taught, and respected is algebra, a rhetoric developed into what we use today by Muslim scholars. Arabic speakers have increased by 276% since 1910, with English speakers at 221%, Hindi speakers by 118%, and Mandarin Chinese speakers only by 96% over the same period. The Arabic name Muhammad has risen to become the top-reported baby name in the entire world when all its spellings are counted together, with Amir, Malik, Nasir, and Xavier following close behind.

With all this in mind, how has the Arabization movement utilized the power of a name? How about we make this more personal. Consider the average man, 25 years old, 5’9, and weighs roughly 197 pounds. He is flabby and balding, already considered past his prime at such a young age. Works a meaningless job, lives a meaningless life. His pale skin is a reflection of the blank resume representing his past, present, and future. All this, until a guiding Arab brother calls him by the wrong name.

“Omar!” Omar? But that was not his name. “Omar!” He hears it again, this time from a local. Eventually it seems to resonate with the people around him. At first, this average man was puzzled, but the constant repetition of the name gradually begins to rub softer, washing over his body and smoothing out his ridges. Every "Omar" scrubbed off a piece of his past, better aligning him with a brighter, browner future. 

It could start somewhere as vulnerable as porn, the average man filtering through and discarding any videos that do not feature the Arab male. Perhaps his playlists begin to reformat with Arab music, its rhythms and verses constantly playing to further seep into his brain. This restructuring can appear in the home too with a space decorated by Arab imagery, and like a vine it delicately extends further inwards and invades the average man’s very place of rest.

Soon, his interactions with the world around him begin to change. A new Arabic word slips into his everyday language, his connections and role models shift to solely Islamic men, his clothing habits adapt to his beckoning lifestyle. Generic becomes expensive, branded athleisure wear, business becomes religious attire. Each time that new name is uttered, the “Omar” inside inches a little further out.

Eventually, that “Omar” has extended far enough that the results become visibly present. The average man grows taller, broader, his fat stretched against a burgeoning muscular glory. Arms bloat thicker, legs bulge wider. His skin bronzes into a shade of brown that can only be defined as perfection, his hair blackens and thickens across his entire body. The jaw stretches, the nose inflates, the brows and lips protrude. And so too does the average man’s package, its sole purpose to breed future Arabs with its potent seed.

And once "Omar" passes the point of resonation and reaches familiarity, the average man will vanish. The power of a name, his name, Omar, means “long-living, flourishing” in Arabic, his language. And he represents it. An alpha male, an Arab male, a purebred Muslim who understands his mission. So now, Omar takes out his phone and texts a complete stranger, another average man, and simply addresses him as "Ahmed". And the cycle begins once more, the power of a name exploited for the greater good of Arabization.

[mask131]

Another reminder that Greek mythology is always somehow symbolic, metaphorical, allegorical, since we are dealing with anthropomorphic personifications and other embodiments of cosmic powers.

For example: Demeter has sex with both Zeus and Poseidon. Something-something about the relationship of the Earth with the Sky and the Sea (or the celestial and chthonian powers). ESPECIALLY since these relationships are said to happen at the beginning of the world, in the primordial times during which the world settled itself for what it is now.

Herakles' wedding with Hebe, the personification of youth, checks in with when he becomes an immortal god (aka, an eternally young entity). What better way to symbolize a hero escaping the clutches of death than by him becoming the husband of the spirit of eternal youth?

Why is Hestia never leaving Olympus? Something-something about her being the literal personification of the hearth, which is at the center of the house/community and does not move.

Why is Ares getting his ass kicked by Athena? Because Athena is civilization, and Ares savagery, and in the Ancient Greek mindset intelligence, wisdom and craft will always be above brutality, bloodlust and random cruelty.

Do I need to spell it out that the myth of Persephone-Hades-Demeter is about the cycle of the seasons, and how the earth renews itself and brings back life after a time of death?

And I wonder why Ares' companions during his mass-slaughters are called Phobos, Deimos and Eris - Fear, Panic and Discord... Why would the goddess that breaks harmony and sows feuds and chaos be depicted as the close sister of the god of the ravages of war and of the brutality of conflicts, what a strange mystery!

And I can go on, and on, and on. Remember, the Greek gods aren't just super-heroes or wizards (that's more in line with more "humanized" mythologies, like the Irish or Nordic ones). They are embodiments of concepts and ideas, personifications of natural forces and cosmic powers, they are living allegories and fleshed metaphors. Zeus wields the lightning because he IS the lightning and thunder. Dionysos is both the bringer of joy and madness because he IS alcohol. Hades is both the name of the god of the dead, and of the realm of the dead. Hestia's name is literaly "hearth" in Greek, Hebe "youth", Nyx "night", Gaia "earth", Eros "desire". You can write "Eris met Helios at Okeanos' palace" or you can write "Strife encountered the Sun at the palace of Ocean" and that is the EXACT SAME THING!

[Mind you to limit the gods to being JUST allegories is also a mistake not to make. Greek deities are much more than just X concept or X idea... But one part of the myths will always be, down the line, some weather metaphor or some natural cycle motif]

[charcubed]

Go the fuck OFF @ilarual holy shit!!!!!! Cosigned a million times over!!!!!

Controversial suggestion: Supernatural.

Is it going to win? God I hope not. But there really are canonically queer characters. They just happened to also do as much queerbaiting as they conceivably could before revealing Cas was gay the whole time and never letting Dean acknowledge it. And the whole pulling 'bury your gays' on Charlie and Cas. But hey, Claire was still alive!

I'm going to put this one up to a poll

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 .

# with eustass kid.

absence makes the heart grow fonder. in kid's case, it all but made his cock grow harder; more famished. rest assured, he’d have his cum spell his name on your insides soon enough.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day fourteen. smut (mdni!). breeding kink. cockwarming. dry humping. nipple sucking. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2k.

eustass kid was a man of restless character, molten fire etched on his soul; an ever-eternal burn that thrummed with every beat of his heart. he was insatiable, starved — for prestige; power; respect. certain loss had led him to a state focused on immediate reward, on the guarantee that his dreams would no longer be laughed upon. a fortitude of a man crafted throughout the decades, whose temper and rage were supported by said strength. height and length a mingled alikeness; muscles themselves capable of cowering a foe. kid was a powerful man, somewhat blessed in terms of figure. bearing such natural vigor, yet with the passage of time, the perspective of not passing those genes ahead was pitiful.

the second he had your walls wrapped around his cock, kid knew it’d be but a matter of time until he stuffed his load into you; until he lost the strings of control and milked your insides without second-thought. many had struggled to take-in his shaft, oftentimes ruining the complete experience or offering a half-assed fuck that left him twice as frustrated; brief orgasm that did nothing to soothe his aching desire. perhaps kid was a god-chosen, for amidst his bitterness, you were found — cunt made to shelter him. of course, by assimilation, that meant your womb, too, was made to be a solage for his children.

with the chaotic lifestyle led, he was forced to suppress the urge to cum inside. those damned condoms who were never a perfect fit. your stomach and ass and breasts, whose sight stained with his load was not as exciting as, he presumed, would be to witness it dripping down your hole. for a man with his absence of patience, it was a miracle for him to have waited that long; perhaps a doubled effort for the sake of your health. regardless, within the instant at hand, the time proved to be far more proper to claim you. and you were not there.

kid grunted for the uptenth time that evening, failing to lose himself amidst tools and pitiful excuses of creations. the crew got separated three days prior for the stupidest reasons, and their return to the docked ship was gradual. were you not paired up with killer for the island’s scavenging, kid would have rioted at your delay and left the ship to drag you back himself, but he doubted that would be fruitful; the territory was enormous and best-case scenario, kid would find you in four to five days. his metal fist met the table’s surface, destroying it with a single punch out of frustration. his cock was twitching; had been for the past seventy-two hours. and though he spent hours fisting his cock with utter violence; gripping the flesh until it grew crimson and abused; his high would not come. his hand was too big; too scarred. it did not hug his shaft the way your cunt did, it was neither warm nor moist. the fact that the images that guided his masturbation were of you, stuffed full, belly round, did not help him whatsoever.

kid needed you, not a half-assed masturbation session. hence why, the second his observation haki wrapped itself around your presence, he tore the door open, out-of-breath at the sight of you — a bit shocked; amused. your eyes observed the state of his workshop, and you hummed with certain delight.

“what has that poor table done to you?” you inquired with certain humor, yelping when he threw you over his shoulder, smacking your ass with his metal hand — if only to make it hurt.

“you made me wait,” he snarled, sitting on a random, overall uncomfortable chair.

“killer and i fell straight into a cave and it was a living hell to crawl out of it, besides—”

“i don’t give a fuck,” he snapped, pressing your ass against his cock. “how wet are you right now?”

you were startled, at last recovering enough to settle yourself better on his lap. kid pushed your front to meet his own, groaning the second your nipples brushed against the bare surface of his chest. the metal hand on your ass constricted your movements, and he pinched it to tether your attention to him.

“not much,” you confessed, to which he scowled. “but i can get there.”

“the hell you waiting for? move,” kid snapped, evermore demanding due to the accumulated desire.

he forced the roll of your hips, glance anchored to the sight of your cunt dragging itself on the fabric of his pants. your hands gripped his shoulders for further equilibrium, ever-growing whimpers falling past your lips once kid strained the muscles of his thigh to tease your clothed intimacy. he clenched his jaw, growing impatient at the lack of contact.

“kid,” you warned, wary upon the realization of his sudden movement.

he ignored your voice altogether, raising his hips to remove his pants. his tip was of a violent pink; leaking essence; the visible twitch of a vein. his fingers toyed with the button of your shorts, the devil-fruit powers claiming it whatsoever. the fabric slipped once the said button met the back of his metallic hand, and his other one did quite a decent job at tearing the jeans off your figure.

“push those aside,” he demanded, eyeing your underwear. “before i rip it, too.”

kid grinned gradually, observing your shrinking figure as you did as you were told. the brief dry-humping had not been enough for a proper lubrication. when one was to consider his length, preliminaries were crucial to a shared pleasurable experience. if kid was a better man, he’d keep that in mind. but he was everything but. he was selfish; demanding. his was the fist that maimed the earth, would it dare not give him what he wanted. and that was a fact he never once hid, showcasing the despicable character to those with eyes to see. you were well-aware of the man with whom you laid, so when kid positioned his tip at your entrance, dragging it through your folds, you all but had your eyes closed, shuddering in anticipation.

kid grunted as he sank you into his cock, the tip sent straight into your unprepared cervix. inches of his base stretched you out — a painful addition; a famished viper. he placed a hand on your thigh, gripping it as though his life depended on it. the sensation of your walls, clenching around his erection; gradually soaking his flesh; had him struggling to contain the tide of his cum. kid threw his head back, maiming the flesh of your ass with the metal of his fingers; leaving perceivable marks. his breathing grew labored, self-restraint leaving him altogether when he caught the sight of his tip on your stomach, lodged so deep into you, prepared to take-in all he had to offer.

you required a set of precious seconds to get used to his size, at last prepared to move. a temptive roll of your hips; the threat of a bounce. kid hissed, gripping your waist to stop you from moving. tear-stained cheeks; confused glance.

“stay still,” he snarled, observing the spot where your intimacies mingled; the entire length of him buried deep within.

he had your g-spot at reach, velvety walls embracing him; a greedy lover, clenching and teasing him to the edge. kid sat upright ever-so-slightly, burying his nose on your neck, reclaiming the scent that had vanished for an insufferable period of time. you mewled at the sudden movement, his cock tearing you in half. he felt his flesh give-in under the pressure of your nails, and had to stop himself from thrusting into you out of instinct. he felt your yearning; the throbbing around his cock. your figure trembled on his lap, his girth shoving itself deeper — and he stuck out his tongue, greedily sucking on a covered nipple, soaking the fabric of your shirt. his teeth all but chewed on said bud, and you arched your back at the touch, unable to move.

kid was an erratic lover. he had neither the time nor the patience for a slower fuck. whenever he felt the urge to have his shaft pushed inside your walls — whether it was your abused pussy or butthole — he’d strive to have you bent and bare on a table. a faster pace meant countless orgasms drew from you, and that was not a thing he was willing to abdicate. yet, as his eyes drowned into the sight of you, kid noticed how much he had been missing due to such ruthless tendencies. tears sticking to your eyelashes; the scrunch of a brow; trembling lips; a light moan born from the briefest movement of his hips.

he could see your strained obedience; how much you held back, despite craving for more. trusting that he’d be the one to handle your desperate figure and tend to the incommensurable desire. it was in the shift of your expression; your heaving breath; the wild fluttering of your heartbeat. when kid’s teeth tore through the shirt to have a closer contact to your swollen nipple, you whimpered and tugged at his hair. he had never seen a prettier sight.

“kid, please,” you pleaded, eyelids fluttering after a harsh bite. “move.”

kid’s cock twitched, and he grasped your ass; forced your hips to move ever-so-slightly as a source of relief. excruciating pace that did nothing but to punish the pair of you, and you tried to grind down despite his obstinate grip. hooded eyes failed to find a focus as your walls squeezed him twice as much as usual, increasing his pleasure and leaving you under the impression that he got bigger. kid felt as though a pathetic virgin, close to his release at the merest act of having himself lodged inside your cunt; perhaps the absence, too, had heightened the need and sensitivity. regardless, you seemed to share such a state, for your toes curled; your throat produced feeble whimpers and pleas.

kid snapped his hips, thrusting himself into you, no longer able to keep himself still. his entire length was felt at each movement, cock parting your walls from the base to the tip. kid dragged his mouth up, latching it on your neck, tasting the increasing sweat. he slammed himself harder, sensual thrusts shifting into wilder, sharper ones; your figure bouncing on his lap from how viciously he was fucking you.

“i’m going to cum inside,” he rasped, kneading your ass. “fill you up—ngh with my load.”

you moaned, nodding your head. your body jolted, the thick shaft making your eyes roll back. kid forced you to bounce deeper on him; to have your pace meet his own halfway. ever-growing ring of white adorned the crown of his tip, pale flesh lighter with the mixture of both of your essences. kid had to contain a moan at the image of you — filled to the brick with his babies; uterus carrying his legacy. he hammered himself deeper; faster; canines digging into your flesh.

“will make you a mommy,” he continued, voice muffled. “you want that.”

it was neither a question nor a proposition, rather a convicted statement. you would be the one to shelter his children, for that was what he wanted — and kid always found a way to get what he wanted.

“and if it doesn’t work, i’ll cum inside again,” kid grunted, shaft abusing your g-spot as your moans increased in height. “again, again, and again. until your goddamn blood turns white from my load.”

“please,” you cried out, holding him tighter. “please, kid, i want to cum.”

“say it,” he snapped, gripping your chin in order to force you to face him.

“i’ll be a mommy,” you sobbed, fucking yourself on his cock. “i want to have your babies, i want—ah!”

all thoughts of taking it slow had vanished from his mind as kid thrusted his girth into you with a strength enough to make you shriek. his balls constricted before he found himself cumming, the sound of your name a poison that dripped from his tongue. kid was lost in the haze of his own orgasm, ruthless pace; unrelenting movements of his hips. he had half-the-mind to caught on the feeling of your own, warm essence drowning his member, mingling itself with his load.

“too much,” you shouted, but his mind was wrapped itself in the thought of his cum, traveling inside; striving towards your — for now — empty womb.

kid pushed your back on the broken table, figure falling forward until he hovered above you, cock still secured inside.

“you’ll take it, brat,” he smirked, his palm applying pressure on your stomach. “you’ll only leave this workshop once i’m sure you’re pregnant — and unable to walk.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : kinktober is super fun (im feeling like the white rabbit looking at his clock and running and screaming while shouting I’M LATE I’M LATE).

[galedekarios]

doth thy mirror crack?

so if you have gale interacting with mirrors, two of the three comments you get aren't anything overly special:

"looking magical, as always."

and:

"no harm reflecting on one's appearance."

they 'only' show that he's not particularly insecure about his looks.

the third comment, however, is interesting:

"'doth thy mirror crack?' apparently not."

which refers to this waterdhavian saying:

Early on in his learning of magic, the long-dead and locally famous first Lord (revered in Waterdeep for his role in establishing the city as it is today) Ahghairon said, "I am no wizard. I am a dabbler but no master of magic; it seems no mastery burns within me." These are famous words in Waterdeep, still known by most Waterdhavian children and all adults, and are oft referenced, as in the dry comment "No mastery blazing forth yet," or "A dabbler but no master, eh?" (Comments applied to skill trades and crafts, not just to magic use.) Tuezaera Hallowhand was a famous "lone cat" thief of Waterdeep in the 1200s DR who disappeared suddenly and is thought to have come to a violent end. She once robbed a wizard, and wrote this on his wall with a fingertip dipped in his favorite red wine: "I take things. You take freedom with your spells. Which of us is the greater thief?" This statement, too, is well remembered, and usually echoed in Waterdhavian speech by someone using the last (questioning) sentence of Tuezara's inscription.  Laeral, Lady Mage of Waterdeep for some years (when married to Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun), once publicly rebuked an overambitious wizard of the Watchful Order of Magists & Protectors thus: "If I hurl spells but think not of consequences, I am nothing. If I take lives but count not the cost, I am nothing. If I steal in the night and see not the faces of the devastated come morning, I am nothing. If I make decrees like a ruler but undertake none of the responsibilities of the throne, I am nothing. And if I do all these things in the name of the Watchful Order, I am less than nothing. Doth thy mirror crack?"  These scornful words are remembered and used almost daily in Waterdeep even a century later, though almost never as the full quotation. Rather, someone will ask scornfully, "Doth thy mirror crack?" or "Hurl but think not?" or "Take but not count cost? Be nothing, then!" [source: waterdeep: dragon heist]

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Hey,

First of all, I absolutely adore your writing style and in general your stories (especially the Hannibal ones). Could you please write one, where Hannibal is overly possessive, because he thought his wife got too close to Chilton at one of his dinner parties? And to end it all of there is smut. (If you are comfortable with that).Thank you for considering

Close Call

Hannibal Lecter X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Over possessiveness on Hannibal's part, slight angst, swearing, mentions of blood and wounds, sociopathic and manipulative tendencies, uhh first time writing smut so hopefully it's okay (it's fairly light) ⚠️

I also didn't read through this again and edit it, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Hannibal finds himself somewhat outraged at an overly confident Chilton getting too close to his wife. No matter, he'll just have to remind the two of you of what's his.

Dinner parties were nothing short of extravagant when it came to Hannibal Lecter's craft.

The wines were paired with the delicacies adorning the plates on the mahogany table; everything had its own respective place, down to the last spoon and fork on each intricately folded napkin. There was, of course, the smell wafting through the corridors of the Lecters' home, signifying the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen and acting as bait to those mingling in the living room as they awaited the call to be seated. From your perspective, the table had to be crafted to perfection so that the party full of rich good-for-nothings had no complaints of the events of the night. Of course, you adored your husband's cooking, but less so you enjoyed the company he chose. Intelligence wasn't something that came from the accumulation of degrees and the bragging of doing so- in your opinion- but rather came from the passion associated with the understanding of others and their natural environments. In other words, conversations of nonsensical retellings of the rise to power and gathering of wealth that these particular guests had were of no interest to you. These people spoke of books on law and work projects as though they've forgotten entirely what it means to express humanity: experience.

But you were ever so careful to express your opinion on the subject of what it means to be human. Although you acknowledged your differing perspective, you didn't want to diminish the perspectives of those who might only know of the desires associated with "book smarts," and not what you referred to as "experience points." These two things could coexist, but it was often that a person leaned heavier towards either side. You still had more to learn about the balance of these, but alas, that is the human condition.

Hannibal loved you for this.

Being someone so intensely driven towards the path of psychology and law, it was refreshing being married to someone who expressed opposition to having that be the basis of every conversation. He loved a good conversation on written words and philosophers and mathematical expressions, but he loved even more to have someone in his life that kept him his understanding of biology and the preservation of his humanity. With his- er- hobby, as some would refer to it as- it became difficult to maintain this humanistic approach. These dinner parties served more as an obligatory social preservation to his image, so as not to be caught with his peculiar hobby.

And the culinary arts were his escape, anyways. A win-win except for the fact you'd be bored out of your mind talking to some of these people, he knew. Nevertheless, you had a polite smile etched onto your face wearing very presentable attire. You were a master at code-switching, it seemed, replacing your usually laid-back and outgoing personality with a more hoity-toity, reserved aura.

You had on a slightly more revealing outfit; a dress so navy it almost seemed black under any lighting that wasn't direct candlelight. This dress had been cut just above the knees with an off-shoulder neckline, exposing the very top of your chest and the beginning of your upper thighs. It was classily paired with silver earrings gifted to you by your husband, and a half up-do with your precariously crafted curls threatening to spill out of the fastened hairclip from behind. Hannibal had expressed just how lovely you'd looked as he helped you with your zipper earlier, placing a hemline of kisses to your collarbone.

He wasn't the only one who'd had this realization dawn on them during the night, however. A bright-eyed Dr. Chilton who'd received nothing short of a pity-invite, found himself drawing away from the conveniently placed appetizers to the lavish chairs facing the fireplace where you sat. He silently waited for your conversation to conclude before he decided to sweep in and take the woman's place on your right, finishing the glass of brandy in his hand before doing so.

"(Y/N)," He almost seemed exasperated, as if he were already slightly drunk, "A pleasure."

He reached out his hand to you in an attempt to get you to shake it as an overly friendly gesture, acknowledgement to his presence. You proceeded to smile at him instead, as you'd become familiar to his intentions.

"Hello, Dr. Chilton, how are you?"

His face flushed as he withdrew his hand from your space, opting to rest it against his leg as he sunk further into his chair, getting more comfortable. He was definitely drunk and if not drunk, then the far side of tipsy. You already didn't care for the guy much, so this chance encounter was a hinderance in your eyes before conversational topics even arose.

"You know, I never understood the drab curtains you chose for the interior of your living room, Mrs. Lecter. They block out all of the sunlight." He began, eyeing the bottle of scotch being poured out by another guest to the left of your chair. His eyes seemed to be glazed over as he spoke, however, the dimly lit fireplace seemed to cast some light back into them. His suit of choice was a corduroy one. The heavy material of the fabric already making him break out in a slight sweat.

Grimacing, you feign another smile as you fully acclimate yourself to the conversation at hand. You tell yourself to remember your polite flattery, but honestly with the way Dr. Chilton was, you knew he would take any sort of attention to his character the wrong way.

"Yes, that was the way we intended them to be, doctor. Have you ever been to our home during the daytime? It's not as drab as you may have perceived it to be."

Dr. Chilton had been coming onto you for quite some time now. Despite knowing you were wed and the many implications of your marriage you'd spoken about, he still managed to hold onto the hope that maybe one day something would spark between the two of you. It wouldn't. It hadn't. His blatantly disrespectful comments about yours and Hannibal's relationship were starting to burrow under your skin and take root in an uncomfortable fashion. Part of you felt bad for the man, another part wanted to sock him in the face.

Respectably, of course.

"Perhaps not. Maybe I spoke out of turn." He claimed, uneasily moving about in his chair despite his initial comfortability at the beginning of your dialogue. Maybe if you kept with the slight I-don't-like-you innuendos, then maybe he would be drunk enough to give it a rest and would return to his normal self come morrow.

"Maybe." You agree, taking a sip from your glass of Chardonnay. It was almost dinnertime. You could hold out until then, couldn't you?

"You know," Chilton began, staring deep into the fire and allowing a hushed sigh to escape your lips in anticipation of another redundant comment, "I used to set fires in Uni all the time. Its a miracle I graduated with any degree at all with the amount of trouble I used to get into as a boy."

Pause. Was there finally something worthwhile to discuss with this man?

"Really? And the occasion was...?" You asked, trying to direct the topic back to this small bombshell the Doctor had just dropped in your presence. Experience points were far more interesting to talk about than a poor understanding of the "48 Laws of Power," which was the last conversation you'd had.

He seemed to perk up in his chair realizing that you'd finally taken something that left his mouth with interest. "None, we were just playing with matches and grew bored. Only got caught because the wind carried the flames back to our dorm which almost set alight." He smiled and for a moment, you could see the memory replaying through those glossy eyes of his. You felt included, as if you'd been there yourself, watching the growing light of the flames dance around the edges of the matches you were playing with.

As if on cue, your husband's hand was gently but firmly placed on your shoulder from behind. You knew instantly it was him because of the wafting smell of his woodsy cologne and the wine he was drinking infiltrating your nose. His grip on you was polite but there was an edge to it, an unfamiliar one at that. Was something wrong?

Turning around, you see his darkened glare towards Chilton in the chair next to you. His matching dark navy suit making him look all the more professional and intimidating in this light; if you were Chilton you'd have run far far away from the glare Hannibal had. He seemed to pay no mind, however, eyes still focused on you until your husband broke the silence:

"Dinnertime."

It was at that moment that you noticed all the other guests had made their way to the kitchen and the three of you were the only ones in the living room. How long had you been talking to the doctor for? Hannibal's repressed anger suddenly made sense.

Walking to the kitchen, you were in awe at the sight before you. Hannibal had really put his all into tonight, and it showed. The plates were nothing short of art with the first course on display with accompanying sauces and garnish that turned them into something out of a museum painting. The entire get-up was something out of the Renaissance itself; everything in its perfect place. Hannibal stood at the head of the table, glass in hand as he prepared to make a toast to progress the night's dinner.

"I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight."

A collection of smiles and exchanged glances ensued, everyone pleased with their invite.

"Amongst this crowd are the most intellectual and inspiring people I've had the pleasure of getting to become familiar with. You're all of high accomplishments and achievements and I would like to thank each of you, individually, with a meal that encapsulates such dedication shown by you all."

Your husband then smiled at you and raised his glass.

"I would also like to thank my lovely wife, with whom I share this simple but joyous life with."

There was a hint of something there, something alongside the adoration he expressed for you on the daily. There was a twinge of that anger once more, but could it really be directed towards your conversation with Chilton? It seemed so clear to you that your husband surpassed the former in every way possible: intelligence and compassion, hell, down to the formal attire he adorned himself with daily. There was no way he would feel threatened by another man so unruly.

"Likewise." You said, tilting your glass up to the ceiling in acknowledgement of his kind and respectable words.

"Once more to reiterate, MY wife and I spent a long time on this meal so I hope you all enjoy it." He smiled a forced grin and directed his gaze towards Chilton. "And nothing on the menu for tonight is vegetarian."

...

The night was filled with more of the usual countless bantering between everyone in the room, trying to appeal more and more to everyone else. You were swept into what seemed like every conversation in the house and all of this sociability was starting to grow exhausting. The meal was phenomenal, to say the least, but did little to calm your worries with your husband's current expression of intolerance and dismay. You wanted nothing more than to head upstairs to your shared bedroom and to sort things out with him; to maybe end the night with a passionate kiss and to then retire to bed, finally. That desire, however, seemed like miles away because of the ongoing event that you were starting to despise more with every passing minute.

Not to mention, your dress was starting to get extremely uncomfortable, as if your skin were melting into the seams of the fabric.

As if on cue to make the night worse, Dr. Chilton was making his way towards you, undoubtedly much more drunk this time. He was stumbling over his own loafers and the floorboards were not his friend at the moment. He was making a fool of himself and you wanted so badly to just disappear.

Just then, the floorboard by the fireplace where you were sitting popped up in front of him. Everything from then went in slow-motion, the wood, the stumbling of Chilton's feet and the slow advancement towards the fire. Seeing how this would play out, you wanted to yell "Stop!" but you were frozen. Just as you had predicted, he had a horrid fall towards the open flame, his cufflinks connecting with the place stones and his right arm breaking the fall. His hand wasn't lucky enough to miss the fire, his scream instantly echoing throughout the room.

"Dr. Chilton!" Hannibal yelled, already to his feet with the pitcher of water from the charcuterie table. It was insane that his reflexes allowed him to respond instantaneously. Almost as if he had prepared for the doctor's fall. Springing the water onto Chilton, the fire was put out almost as quickly as it had started.

"Are you okay?" You asked the doctor, leaning down to his level on the floor, holding his now hurt hand.

"B-b-bandages." He was able to muster out.

The closer look you got to his hand, the closer you could see the wound. The flames didn't consume his flesh for very long, although there was now a coating of red on his skin alongside a few open gashes. Looking to your husband for help, you instead saw him standing above you, a scowl on his lips. He looked angrier than he'd ever before and the sight of it scared you. Had he been angry that the party was ruined? That one of his guests were hurt?

Chilton was then led to the kitchen where his wounds were properly addressed and tended to. The aid kit that had collected dust on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet had finally been put to use, and, upon further inspection, it had been decided for the doctor to call for an ambulance for a more professional treatment.

He left. Everyone followed suit. It was now only you and your husband.

"I'm sorry that had to happen the way it did." You said, reaching out to touch his shoulder and soothe him in my way you could. "Would you like me to help you clean up?"

He mumbled something under his breath before he made his way up the elongated glass stairs. It was unbelievably peculiar for him to retire to bed this early, especially before cleaning up from a party.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, voice coming out as nothing more than a feeble whisper. He stopped in his tracks, his blazer now resting atop his free arm opposite to the one holding the railing. His tie was loosened and from where you were standing, you couldn't see his face all that clearly.

He finally spoke up.

"What are your intentions with Chilton?" He asked.

You stopped in your initial tracks to follow your husband up the stairs. Was he accusing you of courtship? And with the doctor of all people?

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N)."

Your heart broke for a moment, there was no way he really thought that after years of marriage, after what you had come to learn about him and his... capabilities...that you would choose another man, albeit in front of his own eyes?

"I have no intentions with Chilton, Hanni. Not as an acquaintance, not as a friend, not as a lover." You continued to follow him up the stairs and to your shared bedroom where he placed the blazer and tie on the bedside table rather than hang it up as he usually did. He undid his cufflinks and unbuttoned the top his neckline.

"I only want you, Hannibal. You know that."

He pursed his lips and finally, from where he leant against the bed, looked up at you standing in the doorframe. Your expression was a worried one, not of someone who had underlying intentions. Hannibal knew what you wanted, knew who you wanted, but Chilton had gotten the better of him tonight. And besides, tormenting the two of you to remind both of you who you belong to was a much more satisfying game to play.

"Alright." Hannibal said, accepting your validation with his thick, Danish accent. "Show me."

"I- what?" You asked, being taken aback completely by surprise. His eyes were dark with thoughts you had grown to be all too familiar with from him. Despite clearly understanding his interpretation of the words, you still stood frozen at the door, waiting. There was something about this that wasn't going to be as sweet as the usual slow and sensual intimacy you'd had with your husband and you knew this fact.

Just then, as if taking your hesitance as permission, he stands and walks over to you, the height difference ever so apparent now that you were face to face. His gelled hair was now starting to come undone, as was yours, as he held your gaze. His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear and then trailed to your neck, your collarbone, your breast. He then allowed his hand to go further, down to your waist and then pulled you into him, holding you there as gently but firm as one could be. He was watching your face as he did so, never breaking eye contact even once.

Your breath hitched in your throat. A growing warmth developed in your midsection as your husband had you entranced with his every move. He was enjoying this, enjoying you, enjoying the situation he put you in. He had turned on his more sadistic side and it was becoming evident with the way he progressed down your body, replacing his hands with kisses and moving towards your thighs then back up, as if with haste, towards your mouth. You felt as though you were going to faint right then and there.

He suddenly stops his kisses and then goes to finish unbuttoning his shirt. His wide frame was revealed with every unfastened button popping off, slowly but surely. Every inch of his skin had been crafted to the likes of the gods, it was as if he were one of them himself. No imperfections in his skin as far as the eye could see. He was beautiful. He was the divine definition of beauty itself.

He swiftly moved his hands to your throat, fingers following suit as he held you there, against the bedroom wall, a juxtaposition to his masterfully divine beauty of feigned innocence. His breath was hot but not unpleasant as he whispered into the nape of your neck:

"You belong to me."

And that was all it took for you to fold entirely, becoming a puppet to his every command, desires of the flesh being the only thing on both your minds. You needed him and he needed you to need him. He wanted a full surrender, a full understanding that he was the only man you'd ever be able to fulfill these lustrous fantasies with.

"Do you understand?" He asked, not giving you a second to think any further before he moved you from the wall and to the bed, where he towered over you.

"Y-yes." You said, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Good. Now take it."

Confused, you looked up at him but he had already had other plans, flipping you into your stomach and forcing himself inside you, under your dress. The instant burn that you felt was replaced by immediate satisfaction as you saw stars. Through this position you could feel him inside you, hot and intense, pushing deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He dug into you until he was all you could feel, hear, taste, see. He was owning every inch of your skin and forcing you to feel it.

And you loved it.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, anger laced in his voice.

"You." You tried your best to get out with the intense feeling between your thighs but it was next to impossible.

"What was that?" He asked once more, forcing you to say it louder.

Just as you were about to respond, he picks you up and turns you around to face him, taking in his expression. You were on your knees looking up at him, tears in your eyes at the intensity of what had just happened. Your dress was definitely ruined by this point but you couldn't care less.

"You." You said, waiting for him to say something, anything at all. He placed his finger on your lips and smiled down at you while he toyed with them. He then put himself inside of your mouth, your jaws stretching to be able to take him.

"Good." He said, quickening his original pace as he sighed with content. You allowed him to finish before the two of you fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

He was holding you in his arms now, making sure you were alright as he kissed the top of your head and face, looking at the marks he'd left on your skin. He'd make sure those were more visible the next time someone tried to intrude on your guys' company. Especially on a pity invite.

He'd also make sure not to let Chilton off with a warning next time, making sure to purposely set his entire body on fire, not just his hand.

But you were asleep soundly in his arms, full of him and he had won.

...

A/N : Hello! This is my first time writing smut kinda so I hope this is up to par with some other fanfic writers. I really hope this fulfills your request! Lmk if anyone has any other requests, my ask box is open! 🫶

[deadbaguette]

Day 2: High Fantasy ft. Sorcerer!Odysseus and Witch!Penelope with some AU ramblings

(Everything for this month will be very quick and not rendered most likely! So please take my doodles <3 )

High Fantasy AU:

I LOVE HIGH FANTASY! But I am too uncreative to actually give this the love and lore it deserves 😭 But I will do my best to give the details I have thought about:

The gods are still gods in this AU! But I would love them to look a lot more eldritch and don’t take human forms very often. As a result they get mixed up in a lot of the folklore of their respective regions of influence

Sometimes the gods will take on apprentices of sorts, and depending on what type of god they are, they will teach them the ways of their craft. Often times thought this is through magic or fighting/weaponry

Odysseus in this AU was picked up by Athena hence why he is a sorcerer. He did not inherently know magic, but was taught it by Athena. Sorcerers are quite rare since magic is a sort of gatekept art form, and it’s not common for non-witches to know magic

Diomedes is also in this AU because I can’t not have him.. He’s also under the apprenticeship of Athena but he’s a knight. He’s not currently serving under any royalty, and instead has just taken to travelling around with Odysseus wherever he goes. Athena is a master with weapons and Diomedes is as a result really REALLY fucking strong. If Odysseus’ spells don’t work, Diomedes will brute force it

Penelope is a witch! Her mother was a sea witch, so her medium of magic is often channeled through water. I don’t know if anyone knows Witch Hat Atelier but you can think of her magic as similar looking to Qifrey’s!

Folktales are SUPER important to this AU! Despite it being high fantasy, I do like the thought of a lot of creatures being in obscurity. If you’re not 90% human looking, the likely hood of you being part of the active civilisation is small. Things like merfolk, dragons, etc are all part of tales im the area believed to be extinct or not real. They ofc are, but live much deeper in the thick of a magical place otherwise more difficult to reach. The gods have created these creatures/are in contact with these creatures which often leads to their connections in folktales as previously mentioned

I would normally rapid fire some characters and their roles but that would in case only to actually make me think about lore to back it up so I cannot this time HAGSGHSG.. might come back with some concept art tho

Prompt list below the cut!

[isagrimorie]

I was skeptical about Rio as Nicky's Other parent until the finale.

Until Agatha said this:

"I spoke no spell. I said no incantationn. You were made from scratch."

And then, Jen said:

"Green Craft is about the cycle of all living things. Growth and decay in constant flow."

Who else was Agatha hooking up with? Rio. I think Agatha spoke of wanting a child and we know how fast Rio folds whenever Agatha asks something of her.

I think unconsciously, Rio gave Agatha what she wanted.

And, when Rio realized what happened, she realized that no offspring born of her power should ever live or be known. So she came to take the baby from Agatha except Agatha begged. So Rio gave in again.

Gave her time with Nicky.

But also why Rio took Nicky in the dead of night when Agatha was asleep, so Agatha couldn't beg and bargain with Rio.

I do think Nicky also knew Rio because he was familiar with Rio when she took him. I think anytime Nicky was alone, and Agatha was away, Rio was around. But Agatha didn't know.

Agatha could have seen Nicky again in the after life, if she went on with Rio. Until Marvel disputes it, I think Nicky lives within Rio's domain. Just like Rio's brother, Eternity, has his own domain. I think Death has her own.

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Dracule Mihawk With a Witch S/O

Mihawk is naturally drawn to his S/O's mysterious abilities and the aura of magic they carry. As someone with immense strength and skill, he respects those who possess power, and his S/O’s magical abilities intrigue him in a way few things do.

Though Mihawk is a man of few words, he often watches his S/O work their magic in silence, admiring their grace and control. He’s fascinated by how effortlessly they wield their spells and charms, much like how he masters his sword.

When fighting together, Mihawk and his S/O become a force to be reckoned with. Their magic complements Mihawk’s swordsmanship perfectly, creating an elegant and deadly combination. Mihawk trusts his S/O’s powers as much as his own, and their partnership in battle is seamless.

Mihawk enjoys learning about the arcane arts from his S/O. He asks thoughtful, probing questions about the origins and mechanics of their magic. Their late-night conversations are filled with intellectual discussions about power, mastery, and the ancient forces that govern both swordsmanship and magic.

Mihawk is patient when his S/O is experimenting with new spells or potions. He watches quietly from a distance, never interrupting unless they ask for his opinion. If something goes wrong, he simply raises an eyebrow and remains unfazed, trusting in their abilities to correct it.

While Mihawk respects his S/O’s independence, he’s highly protective of them when it comes to their magic. If anyone dares to underestimate or challenge their powers, Mihawk steps in without hesitation, his presence alone enough to intimidate most.

Mihawk is skilled at locating rare and powerful items, and he occasionally surprises his S/O with ancient magical artifacts or grimoires. These gifts are his way of showing his appreciation for their craft, though he presents them with his usual composed demeanor.

Mihawk’s calm and steady presence balances out his S/O’s sometimes chaotic magical energy. When they’re overwhelmed by a difficult spell or their magic acts unpredictably, Mihawk’s unwavering support helps them regain focus and control.

Mihawk’s island, with its eerie castle and ominous atmosphere, feels perfectly suited for a witch. His S/O’s magical energy only enhances the already mystical feeling of the place, and Mihawk enjoys the way their presence makes the island feel even more alive with enchantment.

Mihawk may not always express his feelings verbally, but his actions speak volumes. He never questions his S/O’s magical pursuits, allowing them the space to practice and grow. There’s a deep mutual respect between them, and his quiet understanding makes their bond even stronger.

If his S/O enchants Mihawk’s sword, Yoru, it’s a moment of deep trust between them. He doesn’t need magic to enhance his skills, but allowing them to imbue Yoru with protective or offensive spells is a sign of the high regard in which he holds them.

Though Mihawk has a stoic exterior, his S/O often enjoys using small, harmless spells to tease him. They might make his wine float just out of reach or conjure little illusions to catch him off guard. Mihawk rarely reacts outwardly, but the smallest smirk gives away his amusement.

Mihawk and his S/O are both comfortable with silence and solitude. They often spend time together in quiet companionship, Mihawk sharpening his sword or reading while his S/O brews potions or practices their craft. It’s a peaceful existence that they both appreciate.

Mihawk shares a dry, subtle sense of humor with his S/O, and they bond over dark, magical jokes that others might not understand. Their shared wit adds a layer of intimacy to their relationship, with Mihawk appreciating the cleverness his S/O brings to every interaction.

With his S/O being a witch, Mihawk contemplates the longevity of their lives. The prospect of them potentially living longer due to their magic doesn't worry him. He is unafraid of time and fully embraces the idea of spending his life, however long, with his powerful and enchanting partner.

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Masterlist

[manifesto-of-a-femcel]

Beautiful Movies All Girls Should Watch

A list of movies that touch on coming of age, romance and complex female emotions.

May (2002): A socially awkward veterinary assistant with a lazy eye and obsession with perfection descends into depravity after developing a crush on a boy with perfect hands.

Audition (1999): A widower takes an offer to screen girls at a special audition, arranged for him by a friend to find him a new wife. The one he fancies is not who she appears to be after all.

Helter Skelter (2012): Top star Lilico undergoes multiple cosmetic surgeries to her entire body. As her surgeries show side effect, Lilico makes the lives of those around her miserable as she tries to deal with her career and her personal problems.

Ginger Snaps (2000): Two death-obsessed sisters, outcasts in their suburban neighborhood, must deal with the tragic consequences when one of them is bitten by a deadly werewolf.

The Craft (1996): A newcomer to a Catholic prep high school falls in with a trio of outcast teenage girls who practice witchcraft, and they all soon conjure up various spells and curses against those who anger them.

Malèna (2000): Amidst the war climate, a teenage boy discovering himself becomes love-stricken by Malèna, a sensual woman living in a small, narrow-minded Italian town.

Perfect Blue (1997): A retired pop singer turned actress’ sense of reality is shaken when she is stalked by an obsessed fan and seemingly a ghost of her past.

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): A young couple trying for a baby moves into an aging, ornate apartment building on Central Park West, where they find themselves surrounded by peculiar neighbors.

The Virgin Suicides (1999): A group of male friends become obsessed with five mysterious sisters who are sheltered by their strict, religious parents in suburban Detroit in the mid 1970s.

Sucker Punch (2011): A young girl institutionalized by her abusive stepfather retreats to an alternative reality as a coping strategy and envisions a plan to help her escape.

Piggy (2022): An overweight teen is bullied by a clique of cool girls poolside while holidaying in her village. The long walk home will change the rest of her life.

The Love Witch (2016): A modern-day witch uses spells and magic to get men to fall in love with her, with deadly consequences.

Pearl (2022): In 1918, a young woman on the brink of madness pursues stardom in a desperate attempt to escape the drudgery, isolation and lovelessness of life on her parents' farm.

Girl, Interrupted (1999): Based on writer Susanna Kaysen's account of her 18-month stay at a mental hospital in the late 1960s.

Black Swan (2010): Nina is a talented but unstable ballerina on the verge of stardom. Pushed to the breaking point by her artistic director and a seductive rival, Nina's grip on reality slips, plunging her into a waking nightmare.

Gone Girl (2014): With his wife's disappearance having become the focus of an intense media circus, a man sees the spotlight turned on him when it's suspected that he may not be innocent.

Jennifer’s Body (2009): A newly-possessed high-school cheerleader turns into a succubus who specializes in killing her male classmates. Can her best friend put an end to the horror?

Bones And All (2022): Coming of age romance about two cannibals

In the Mood for Love (2000): Two neighbors form a strong bond after both suspect extramarital activities of their spouses. However, they agree to keep their bond platonic so as not to commit similar wrongs.

Brokeback Mountain (2005): Ennis and Jack are two shepherds who develop a sexual and emotional relationship. Their relationship becomes complicated when both of them get married to their respective girlfriends.

Call Me By Your Name (2017): In 1980s Italy, romance blossoms between a seventeen-year-old student and the older man hired as his father's research assistant.

Maurice (1986): Two English school chums find themselves falling in love at Cambridge. To regain his place in society, Clive gives up Maurice and marries. While staying with Clive and his wife, Maurice discovers romance in the arms of the gamekeeper Alec.

Y Tu Mamá También (2001): In Mexico, two teenage boys and an attractive older woman embark on a road trip and learn a thing or two about life, friendship, sex, and each other.

Caroline (2009): An adventurous 11-year-old girl finds another world that is a strangely idealized version of her frustrating home, but it has sinister secrets.

Corpse Bride (2005): When a shy groom practices his wedding vows in the inadvertent presence of a deceased young woman, she rises from the grave assuming he has married her.