#lantern’s editing corner

[lanternlightss]

uhh i think somethings wrong with my bards guys

[polarfarina]

I put magma blocks under my bed in my Minecraft house. Bed warmer

[felassan]

[source]

We learned in a Game Informer article that during the prologue of the game,

As you traverse deeper and deeper into Solas’ hideout, more of his murals appear on the walls, and things 'get more elven’. Rhodes says “this is because you’re symbolically going back in time, as Minrathous is a city built by mages on the bones of what was originally the home of the elves” At the heart of Solas’ hideout is his personal eluvian [original post]

The scenes being described here were among the ones that had been edited out of the gameplay reveal video. The rest of the scenes in the new NVIDIA trailer are from the prologue of the game, so maybe these images from it are too?

Image 1: Solas' eluvian? Maybe the one in his Minrathous hideout?

Image 2: On either side of the room is a Fen'Harel statue standing in attendance. they look to me like this one, only these good boys are also holding lanterns very helpfully :) In the center of the room in the foreground, is that coal? like maybe the area enclosed in the gold ring sometimes lights up on fire like a brazier? just a lightsource, or maybe part of a puzzle? In the right hand side of the room in the corner is what looks like a lootable chest. In the center of the room is a desk and chair[?]. if this room is somewhere in Solas' Minrathous hideout (or a Solas hideout), I guess this is Solas' desk and chair? ^^ on the other side of the room opposite the desk, some complicated-looking instruments. :)

also in Image 2, the central focus is the elven tree statue. the tree statue asset is found all over DA:I in ancient elfy places, including Fen'Harel's mountain ruins in Trespasser, the area in the DA:I postcredits scene when Solas kills Flemythal, the Crossroads, and the Dead Hand puzzle in Ghilan'nain's Grove.

(Image from DA:I)

Here's another quote about Solas' hideout.

“[Neve] informs us that Solas has a hideout beneath a nearby statue, and lo and behold, it is Solas’ hideout. He has painted murals around it, magic is used uniquely even by Tevinter standards, and at the end awaits a beautiful Eluvian” [source]

[bingiessm]

WARNING, LONG POST

Hello, welcome to the Bridgerton Season 3 trailer over-analysis corner. I am bingiessm--a film student that needs an outlet right now and wants to practice some film analysis--and am here to bring forth the FIRE/FLAME/CANDLE motif that was all over this trailer and I feel will be a HUGE motif throughout this season for Penelope and Colin (Polin).

So within the Polin context, let's look at each shot where a flame of a candle or lack thereof could represent their romantic interest in one another--and in particular the understanding/recognition of it.

This show is going all out putting candles EVERYWHERE--yes it was actual lighting in regency era, but you don't have to have it in the shot. That is a CHOICE. Also a choice to have it lit or not.

Also, "I burn for you" anyone?

FIRST SHOT: somewhat obvious but considering the context of both the mirror as well as other future shots within this trailer, this flame represents the feelings Penelope has for Colin, that she is well aware of and has held for a long while.

I also just have an inkling that she is seeing herself differently in this moment (feeling something for the first time possibly)--the way Nicola looks feels shocked/contemplative, but not scared as if it might be Whistledown-related.

SECOND SHOT: they are outside, talking about Penelope being a "lost cause." WHY IS THERE AN UNLIT CANDLE IN A MARKET STALL, if not to represent some unrealized feelings on Colin's part? It is also on his side of the frame. This is similar to this next one, both of which I believe are earlier in the season, as this is the start of him "helping" her.

THIRD SHOT: Once again, right there on Colin's side of the frame, YOU DID NOT NEED THIS IN THE FOREGROUND. It was a CHOICE to put a candle there again. They could have not had it, yes the shot would have had less depth and this does give a better sense of the space, placing them in a corner of the room instead of in an open space--but they didn't need to make it another CANDLE.

Colin has not fully recognized his feelings for Penelope yet, though they have always been there, and these two shots demonstrate that lack of understanding/feeling, but one that is soon to come with an unlit candle.

FOURTH SHOT: this, in the timing of the trailer, does come before the third, but RIGHT THERE IS A MIRROR AND CANDLES. It is on Penelope's side of the frame, but Colin, the mirror, and candles are what is in focus. She might be center frame, but we are drawn to the light as well as the contrast in Colin's outfit. This could arguably be Penelope's perspective, her burning feelings as he compliments her--also her future (we all want that mirror scene).

FIFTH SHOT: a HUGE TURNING POINT--a small flame, barely noticeable suddenly burning brighter as we focus on Colin in the background. This is so clearly him realizing his feelings for Penelope. It is also at the midpoint/turning point of the trailer when there is a big tonal shift. There is no more talk of Colin helping Penelope, but a larger focus on his perspective of her (all the gazing), the idea of romance, as well as mention of Debling--his rival. It will be a turning point for Colin when Debling--an actual suitor vying for Penelope's hand--comes into the picture. EDIT: Also going to add in, the candle is in a lantern--though that might have been easier to manage filming-wise--which could also represent him still holding back, especially with Debling in the picture.

SIXTH SHOT: This comes right after we hear Debling say "You look especially beautiful tonight, Miss Featherington." One of the many examples of Colin staring at the two of them, being jealous/worried. But right behind him? Oh, more candles. That they totally didn't need to have in the frame. Also, it doesn't look so much like a candle, but they are placed so close to one another that it looks like more of a flame. The lack of focus adds to this.

THEN WE GET TO THIS FINAL SEQUENCE--which imo is a FANTASY SEQUENCE

SEVENTH SHOT: Colin is coming from the darkness, with an unseen flame flickering directly behind him (small ember that he can't see).

EIGHTH SHOT: Penelope, also coming out of the dark, but with another flame on (what in this sequence is) her side of the frame. Though it is somewhat hidden behind these bars--some rough patches/guarded emotions? (probably depends on what point this is in the series).

NINTH SHOT: Penelope, already in the light of these fires, Colin entering with the large burning flame in the background covered by some growth.

TENTH SHOT: Penelope, lit by these fires, breathing heavily. A very clear close-up with so much blur to focus just on her face.

ELEVENTH SHOT: Colin, with a flickering/burning flame literally right behind him, lit by these other fires, staring right at Penelope.

So this whole sequence, in my opinion, is a dream sequence. But, in terms of this flame representation, this is Colin realizing he has feelings for Penelope. We see the flickering from the unseen light behind him in the seventh shot build and become the flame right behind him in the eleventh. It feels so obviously representative of the season. (The fog also seems to lift for him in this sequence, he comes out of the fog to Penelope--I could say more about this sequence and why I do think it is Colin's dream, mostly due to costuming and lighting and the fog as well) ______________________

And thus comes to a close my analysis/evidence of the FLAME/FIRE motif between Polin. I am cutting myself off here because this is a lot and I have an actual film shoot to plan. Thank you if you actually read all this. I love film analysis and Bridgerton is so fun and a stress reliever for me, so this was fun for me to write out.

Anyway, if any more of this fire/flame stuff comes up I might add on later.

TLDR: they are using fire and candles to represent the burning love between these two.

[allisluv]

hello! may i request a flufftober fic where jake's new girlfriend invites him over for a halloween themed movie night, and when he comes over he is surprised by the amount of cozy halloween/autum decorations she has up. and she surprises him with warm apple cider and jack-o-lantern shaped pumpkin cookies and a disney halloween movie marathon and her apartment smells all autumn-y and when he brings up the sheer amount of autumn-ism she is exuding she just shrugs and says 'it's my favorite season'. just jake with a girlie who really loves fall, and doing all the cutesy fall things with her.

flufftober -- day two

pairing: jake seresin x girlfriend!reader

content warnings: new established relationship, use of pet names, not edited but apart from that it's just fluff!

summary: when you invite your boyfriend around for halloween, he's surprised to see how much you love the holiday.

word count: 400

jake wipes his hands down the front of his blue jeans and knocks, knuckles brushing against the autumn wreath hanging from your knocker. your apartment door swings open, casting it's light into the hallway.

jake kisses your cheek and shoves the bouquet of red and orange flowers he bought on the way here into your hands. you smile and it's a cheesy, dorky thing that makes his heart skip a beat. "you look beautiful," he says, stepping into your apartment but stopping short when he sees the dissaray your space is in.

orange tinsle hangs from your ceiling and candles bathe the room in a warm glow. it smells of spice and something sweet, and pumpkins with faces carved into them are placed by the back door.

"shit! our cookies!" you rush past him, throwing on a pair of oven mitts, and rescuing your junk food before they burn to a crisp.

jake peeks his head around the corner, green eyes scanning the sitting room, only to find even more autumn decorations on every available surface. "i take it you like fall, huh?" he asks, grinning as you grab his arm and guide him to sit down on the sofa.

"what gave it away?" you tease, carrying a tray of jack-o-lantern-shaped cookies into the room and setting them down on the coffee table. jake laughs and takes a sip from the glass of warm apple cider that you hand him. "do you like it?" he nods around the rim of his glass. "it's homemade!"

one corner of his mouth twists into a smile and he pecks you on the lips, swallowing your squeal as you melt into his touch.

"what was that for?" you ask, grinning like an idiot, eyes shining with excitement.

jake lifts his shoulders up into a shrug. "just 'cause, sugar." he pulls you in close until you're tucked under his arm. "now, what we gonna watch first?"

you hum thoughtfully. "what about halloweentown."

"sure thing, sweetheart. i've never seen it before." jake winces when your mouth falls agape and you look at him as if he's personally killed your kitten. "i'm gonna regret saying that, aren't i?"

"oh absolutely. we're watching all four of them now."

[writteninthebinds]

Teach Me

A Jayvik fic - part two

Word-count: 2256

Summary: Jayce teaches Viktor how to dance. Things get a little heated.

Warnings: This is pretty tame. A little nsfw dialogue at the end that alludes to part three.

Notes: I really love this. This is technically part two but you can read it on its own. You can find and read part one on my page. I didn’t put near the same amount of effort into part one, so I might even go back and update it sometime soon. I’ll create a list where you can find them all together too. It’s currently 5am, haven’t slept and I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t post this now, so I apologize if there’s mistakes lol. I’ll edit them when I wake up again. 🫶🏼 you guys.

“Oh, but there is no music,” Viktor musters with pause, like a last-minute thought. Like he didn’t fully think through asking Jayce to teach him how to dance. Here, alone, in his room for the night. Viktor stands towards the end of the large king-sized bed, navy-colored sheets with gold stitching. His cane is tucked into his side, eyes on Jayce, who’s still standing in front of the double doors leading to the balcony.

Jayce is luminated from behind. The glow of the party lanterns below casting warm shadows into the night sky and their -  Viktor’s room.

“We shouldn’t need any,” Jayce promises as he steps further in. He’s still taking in the room, the colors and warm ambient lighting, when he focuses back on Viktor. For a split second, he stands there looking unsure, doubtful or perhaps even regretful for asking Jayce.

Something akin to dedication and reverence rakes its way across Jayce’s bones. Deep in his marrow. He wants to erase any trace of unease from Viktor’s body and mind.

Taking a few long strides, Jayce moves to a small coffee table in the room. Sly smirk painted across his lips, hands already deep within his pockets, searching, he says, “You get the steps right, I give you more of these.”

Confusion clouds Viktor’s face. Eyebrow quirked, nose slightly scrunched, until he looks down. Jayce litters the tabletop with sweets. The same candy he stole earlier. Viktor’s favorite. A laugh is shoved from Viktor’s chest as handfuls are dropped. He watches in awe, in surprise. Jayce can’t tell which, though he decides right then and there that he’ll do anything to keep that look of wonder and mischief on Vik’s face.

“Jayce.”

Viktor laces his name with muted laughter and accusation, really failing to look upset in the slightest. 

“Don't. Don’t give me that. You’re lucky I didn’t grab the crystal dish they were sitting in. Would’ve been easier to carry all night. Been weighing down my pockets,” Jayce rambles.

Set ablaze from the joy on Viktor’s face, he’s moving faster again, not overthinking every move. He gets excited. Jayce knows this. His words and actions speed up, excitement bubbling in his chest. Enhanced by Viktor.

He's still going, Jayce. Still talking, still moving, until a slight breeze pours cool air down his back. It’s then Jayce pauses. His suit jacket is already halfway down his arms, resting in the crooks of his elbows. He wasn’t thinking. Why would he take off his jacket just to dance? Is it weird? Does Viktor think so?

No.

Jayce watches as Viktor stands there rolling up his own sleeves so causally. He doesn’t stop, still folding the fabric. He only looks up at Jayce when he’s been quite for a little too long. And Viktor just smiles. Easy and cool. Like a lazy creek. It soothes Jayce, like the most expensive balm one could buy.

“Alright,” Jayce explains as he shucks off his jacket the rest of the way, “the Waltz. It’s a simple box step.”

He closes the distance between them. His nerves are only settled for so long, until he comes to stand in front of Viktor. Until he realizes, they both can’t lead.

A smug smile tugs at the corner of Viktor’s mouth. He doesn’t wait for Jayce to voice what he can clearly read written on his face. Confident as always, he grabs Jayce’s hands. Hosting their right and left into the air, clasped together, and guiding Jayce’s right to his back. Viktor whispers, “You lead. I will follow.”

That stirs something within Jayce. Deep in his gut. A pit buried and nestled behind his belly button, and Viktor’s dipping his fucking fingers in.

He feels the back brace beneath Viktor’s black shirt, firm under his open palm. Jayce wants more. To feel more. He looks good in black. Fuck.

The feeling of Viktor’s hand coming to a rest on his shoulder shakes Jayce from his thoughts.

“We’re essentially mirroring one another’s steps, in the shape of a box. Each step is a corner,” Jayce describes. His hands are still on Viktor when he realizes he probably should’ve shown him the steps first, with more space between them. He steps away to demonstrate.

They walk through it slowly. One step at a time. Apart and then together again. Jayce gets lost. It might look like he’s letting Viktor work through the stumbling steps on his own, but no, he’s just lost. In Viktor.

Jayce in time relaxes. His right hand splays broader on Viktor’s back, covering so much space. His thumb trailing the line of his spine through the brace. He wants to feel skin. Their palms are slick with sweat, Viktor’s fingers tightening against his hand and shoulder with each misstep.

“Viktor,” Jayce speaks, “eyes on me.”

Instantly Viktor is there, grip still tight and honey amber eyes fixed on his face with determination. A bit of annoyance. Jayce smiles softly. He finds it endearing. Viktor’s intent to learn. Though now Viktor doesn’t respond, doesn’t return to the steps either.

A beat of silence. Then –

“How do you suppose I learn if I am not looking?” Viktor sputters, frustration etched into his features like Jayce asked him for something impossible. It only fuels Jayce’s adoration. Laughing, he pulls away gently, fingertips lingering, and walks over to the small table.

“You’ve done exceptional,” Jayce says as he swipes two pieces of chocolate. He walks back over to Viktor, unwrapping the fudge himself and holding the foil flat for Viktor to pick off of. Even more melted than before, fudge and peanut butter coat the foil, smudging their skin.

“The only exceptional thing I’ve achieved is not breaking any of your toes,” Viktor muses. Joking, but still frustrated. Viktor finishes eating, slipping his thumb into his mouth, ridding it of any left-over fudge.

Jayce finishes his own, tucking the trash into his pocket to deal with later. Busying himself, Jayce stares at Viktor’s feet, his brace, partly thinking and partly looking anywhere else that is not Viktor’s mouth. He replays the steps in his mind.

While he didn’t lie to Viktor at all, he can understand the hiccups due to the brace. The small steps forward aren’t so much the issue as the side steps and going backwards. Viktor’s leg brace was built for stability. Rigid and sturdy, not for flowing movements. Counterbalancing his weight without his cane is also new.

“Take off your shoes,” Jayce declares. It stops Viktor mid sentence, going on again about Ms. Ellis and when she’ll notice the missing bowl of sweets. He stands there frozen and perplexed.

“I will have to remove my brace as well,” Viktor explains slowly. Jayce gives him a soft smile.

“Would that be alright? Do you trust me?”

Viktor’s features melt at Jayce’s questions. Relaxing, from unsure to fondness, he replies without doubt, “Of course.”

Jayce doesn’t wait another second.

He kicks off his own shoes, and then drops to his knees. Jayce’s calloused hands, callouses Viktor has now felt scratch his skin through his shirt, they start disassembling his brace with ease. Viktor can feel the heat of Jayce’s palms, warm and large trailing their way from his thigh to his calf, slipping the brace off with care. He then slips the ties of Viktor’s dress shoes loose easily, letting him hold onto his shoulder as his heels slide out.

Perhaps the chocolate has gone to Jayce’s head.

“Now what?” Viktor ask once their both standing again, facing each other, amusement and sarcasm replacing his confusion. They’re both in their socks. Feet sinking into the plush carpet, Jayce takes a step forward, and another.

“Wanted to try something. You’re gonna have to be closer this time though,” Jayce explains. He crowds into Viktor’s space. His right hand reaching forward with confidence, with the excuse that it’s for the dance. Viktor doesn’t hesitate, slipping back into the familiar stance. Until -

“Now, place your feet onto mine,” Jayce explains.

Now Viktor hesitates.

Looking up from the floor, amber eyes on hazel, Viktor says nothing. He just looks at Jayce intently. A moment passes, thick with tension. And in another moment, Viktor drops their clasped hands, grabbing Jayce’s other shoulder.

It shouldn’t be as intimate as it feels. The soft arch of his feet. A shutter shouldn’t rack its way down Jayce’s body as Viktor’s sock covered feet slide onto his.

It’s closer than Jayce thought. Both of Viktor’s hands now rest higher up Jayce’s shoulders. Instinctively, his left found Viktor’s waist, holding him steady as he found his balance and a comfortable position. Just as he settles, looking back to Jayce directly, soft music drifts in from the balcony. The party outside.

Jayce nearly forgot. The sea of people outside, mingling and some dancing themselves. Though Jayce would never trade spots with any of them. Money, power, spotlight. He’s content here. Alone with Viktor, in the sanctity of this room. A new song begins downstairs. Jayce’s cue to start moving.

He moves with a little more effort, the weight of Viktor comforting more than anything though. Gliding across the carpet Jayce starts with a formal Waltz. Poised and perfect. Long strides. He even adds in the turns. He wants Viktor to feel it, the grace of a Waltz you’d perform in front of the eyes of those downstairs.

But here, with Viktor, he shortens his steps soon. Because that is not them. He doesn’t feel the pressure to be perfect in Viktor’s arms. They’re more than fancy parties and the “right way” to dance. He wants Viktor to know he can have it all, that Jayce will show him everything, but that most of all, any way is perfect as long as it’s them. Together.

Before long, they’re simply turning softly, swaying. Moves Viktor could easily do and yet his feet never leave Jayce’s.

“Thank you,” Viktor breathes. The words are spoken lowly enough between them that Jayce barely registers it. Lost again. Jayce hums in response. He can’t do words at the moment.

Viktor’s body has drifted even closer. Jayce thinks if he takes a deep enough breath, their chests might brush together. But right now, it’s Viktor’s hands. Venturing from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, Viktor’s fingers graze against the longer strands of Jayce’s grown out hair. It sends goosebumps erupting, racing across his skin.

“What may I do for you in return? For all of this, tonight?” Viktor ask, his voice different now. Still sweet, still rich, but lower. Jayce understands right then that Viktor reminds him of syrup. His voice specifically. Aged and pure. Sticky sweet and slow. Thick and consuming.

Jayce smiles, responds, “The fudge, remember?”

“No,” Viktor muses, “something else.”

“Teach me something.”

Jayce can’t even regret it, once it’s past his lips and out of his mouth. Words thrown out like a curveball in slow motion. He meant it sincerely. Jayce taught him something, why not offer the same in return?

It came out heavy though. Flirty. Loaded with innuendo due to the slight draw of Jayce’s voice now.

“Like what?” Viktor inquires. It’s this moment Viktor’s fingers, warm and soft, fully slide into Jayce’s hair at the base of his skull. Jayce bites his tongue, and everything he wants to say back.

How to touch you. How to kiss you. How to ask for that from you. Fuck.

Jayce says nothing. He knows though. Viktor knows. Has always been able to read Jayce’s thoughts. Can read it all over his face too, and in the steel look in his eyes.

There is only a beat, soft, before Viktor’s grip tightens in his hair, ripping a gasp from Jayce.

Before he can breathe in again, Viktor’s mouth finds his. Warm. Soft. Their chest fully pressed together now. Jayce’s lungs burn for a full breath, but he doesn’t relent. Neither of them do. He only needs Viktor. To breathe him in.

His arms wrap fully around Viktor’s waist, pulling him in tighter, hands roaming his back now. Their tongues meet and that pit in Jayce’s belly turns molten. A sound Jayce doesn’t want to admit to escapes as Viktor brings a hand around to his face, nails scrapping through his bread. They break apart.

“Jayce,” Viktor rasp.

Jayce doesn’t give him a chance. Driven by need and Viktor’s wrecked tone. Knowing he made him sound like that, he dives back in, erasing the smile from Viktor’s face. Jayce licks behind his teeth, tasting champagne and chocolate, and just - Viktor.

Viktor’s nails scratch his jaw again, venturing lower. His other hand still drags through Jayce’s hair. Things become slower. Hands still roaming, squeezing, pulling. They stand still though. No longer swaying, Jayce’s feet are going numb and tingly beneath them, and he couldn’t care less.

Languid strokes of their tongues draw out more and more sounds. Jayce is distracted. Drowning and loving it. Drinking Viktor in by the lungful. It’s why he doesn’t see it coming.

Another tight grip in his hair, accompanied this time by Viktor’s other hand wrapped around his throat too, squeezing as Viktor sinks his teeth into Jayce’s bottom lip.

“I – unnf.”

Jayce groans, best he can with the way Viktor has his neck cranked back, fingers tightening around his throat.

“Tell me, Jayce. Tell me what you want to learn,” Viktor all but purrs.

He leans in, not going back to fully kissing him but licking across and into Jayce’s open mouth. Like he can’t stop himself either. Like Viktor, too, is fueled by desire, too hungry to wait for a response.

Jayce is weak. Weak when it comes to Viktor. Viktor’s wet mouth and hard touch. He sticks his own tongue out, meeting anywhere Viktor will allow him a taste. He only answers when Viktor pulls back once again.

He pants like a dog. Whines, only a little.

“Teach me how to suck cock.”

[punk-in-docs]

🕸️ Pretty Girls Make Graves 🕸️

Eddie x Pencils - 🎃 Halloween 🎃one shot

2.7k words

Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween one shot with our dearest Eddie x Pencils. Enjoy. Pure fluff. A tiny suggestion of smut at the end. Inspired by this lovely photo set & this prompt post that got me off my ass to write again.

Also another shoutout to the gorgeous @tvserie-s-world who made this amazing Eddie x Pencils edit that I’m still gooey over. 🖤

“So, what brings you to my dark and creepy neck of the woods?”Came a cocky taunt as soon as the trailer door swung open after your knock.

It’s usual rusty-screeching melody preceding its occupants flirty remark. The sound of the Smiths comes slithering out the creaking door behind him. The tape you bought that got lost in the avalanche of both your cassettes that slide and slip, congregate on his passenger seat.

He will not smile for anyone. And pretty girls make graves.

The lanky shadow of your boyfriend cuts across the warm yellow glow of the lights that slant out the doorway behind him. His costume makes you grin. Sheer moronic love.

You stood halfway up the steps. Candles flickering and throwing dozy pools orange in Jack-o-lanterns across the toes of your boots. They’re all wonky and have imperfect slanted mouths and jagged eyes. Loping together on the uneven porch steps. Fat orange gourds all drunk with gravity.

The very same pumpkins you’d helped him carve a week ago, after a misty morning weekend trip to Merill’s pumpkin farm. Eddie had the rather dastardly and determined habit of choosing pumpkins bigger and heavier than his actual van tires. You ended up with so many.

Your kitchen has smelt like squelchy pumpkin innards all week. You’re still finding seeds cropping up under the toaster or in the corner of the cabinets. As per Eddie’s way with most things, It wasn’t exactly a neat process.

You can’t help but laugh at his greeting too.

“I distinctly remember making plans to invade the spooky neck of your woods tonight, my little death trap.” You smile as you edge your way up the sloping steps. Holding a huge pumpkin shaped bucket of candy in your arms. The contents rustle as you move.

Everyone’s touting pumpkin buckets tonight. Driving in and even on the street back home, you saw a load of elementary kids walking around the park in their costumes. Ghosts in bedsheets. Aliens. Bats. One very ambitious papier maché pumpkin. Superhero’s. Clowns. Home made astronauts clad in crinkly tin foil and bulbous helmets. All wandering with an adult in tow and buckets clutched in their hands, ready to be filled.

You opted for a simple witch costume. Stripy tights and your dark thrifted docs. A black dress with a little cape tied around your shoulders and a witches hat. You applied dark purple-plum lipstick and dark smudgey grey eyeshadow, and liner. Your eyelids glitter like purple constellations. He finds stars to gaze at so often in those pretty eyes.

Eddie had gone for an Alice Cooper inspired look. Top hat. The dripping dark eye makeup that you’re amazed he managed all on his own. Hair it’s usual long rocker mess. Gothic black and lots of it. A huge goth belt with studs and buckles. You spy a cane grasped by his side too. A fake toy snake looped around his neck. Just like the man himself. He really does go all out.

The fringe benefit being he looks hot as hell to your eyes.

“You’ve got me under your spell, O’ bewitching one. How could I possibly resist.” He opened his arms out to you as you came to the last step.

“Bet you say that to every witch who shows up at your door on hallows eve.” You smile. Unashamedly grab the snake that’s looped around his neck and reel him in by it.

“Only ones who bought me jolly ranchers.” He preens. He can see the multi coloured hue of the wrapped candy in the huge bowl you’re carrying.

At the same time, he plucks the flimsy pointed witches hat off your head so the brim doesn’t get in his way. You unconsciously move towards the same goal together. It’s spooky. Sometimes it’s like you have the same brain. You’re one entity mashed together in a frenzy of melding hearts, music mania and relentless adolescent infatuation.

He lopes forwards and gladly slots his slanting smirk onto yours. Tasting of orange sweet candy corn and beer. His thumb and forefinger meet on your chin. Your hand slid for his neck. Fingertips along his jaw as you share a giddying kiss. You mouth at the plushness of his lips. He does the same to you.

You pull back before he makes you swoon dangerously down these steps. His kiss should come with a warning sign; dangerously addictive metal head. May possess body and soul.

You can tell already that you’ll have to wave goodbye to this lipstick. It’s now smeared all around your mouth and most of his. Now he looks like Alice Cooper doing nine to ten in Arkham Asylum.

“Hello.” You beam. Rubbing smudged purple off his lips. Vamptastic Plum the colour name.

“Hi.” He smirks like a lunatic. End of his nose rubbing into yours where he gazes at you.

He does it a lot. It’s honestly so lovesick you should be kinda nauseated.

When you’re studying. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn or pizza. Every now and again he’ll just rest his chin in his hand and smile all warm and stupid at you. Cheeks bunched and crows feet at his eyes. Even when you have paint flecked across your forehead. Or pizza cheese slung in a string across your chin. Or when you’re frowning at your fingers when you smear your nail drying polish. He loves watching you just be near him.

It always ends the same way. You’ll feel his eyes burning their fond cinnamon gaze into you. You’ll turn and meet his eyes. And that smile lopes even wider. He’ll loop a pinky though yours and kiss the back of your hand. Or your forehead.

“Permission to enter your lair?” You seek.

“Thought only vamps had to ask permission to come in?” He flirts with you. Eyes on your mouth again. Your lips all kiss bruised makes him ache. In fact, makes another sort of serpent twitch in his jeans.

“Misdirection. I am actually a vampire. The witch outfit is a clever disguise to work my cunning way into unsuspecting trailers.” You raise your brows naughtily.

He grins. “Clever subterfuge.”

He slips aside from the door to let you come in. Another kiss pressed to your lips before he lets you sidle on past him. He hangs your witches hat on the coat rack with his spare jacket and Wayne’s denim.

“Need me to park your broom?” He jests.

“Left it in the car with my black cat. You’re safe.”

“How many more witchy jokes could we stretch this out too?”

“I reckon I’ve a few left knocking around…” you guess. Placing the bucket of candy on the kitchen counter. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t pilfer the whole lot before Wayne’s home. You hope he leaves his uncle a treat or two. And doesn’t scarf the lot like a damn seagull.

This trailer hugs you any time you enter. You thought that when you and Eddie started dating. And you still think it now. Capital H home. This place. Filled with his and Wayne’s memorabilia. And a few more other things tonight;

You haven’t seen your boyfriend as much of late. He’s been out hitting the teenage party circuits with his metal lunchbox. Making a healthy chunk of change by the looks of it. He’s strung up plenty of decorations to help pep this place up with Halloween spirit.

There’s pumpkin paper garlands arced in loops up high. Orange and black twisting streamers over the mug shelves. Fake rubbery bats hanging down from the kitchen island cupboards. Dancing skeletons hanging on the little spare space the walls have to offer. The coffee table is cleared of its usual junk and absolutely heaped in candy and snacks.

Butterfingers. Butter popcorn. Pretzels. Red vines. Cheez balls. Mallomars. All of which happen to be your favourites. He has two cold beers side by side. And a fat tight joint sits waiting in the ashtray too.

He’s even bought those fake filmy cobwebs to spread in a few places with fake plastic spiders - to join in with the real ones dusted around in forgotten corners.

All your tensions melt down right to your toes. All is right with the world. Halloween night. No school tomorrow. And Eddie. And a whole uninterrupted night of movies and bliss. You’ve lost count of the amount of times a movie night has ended up getting dirty on his couch. Tape flicking to the end whilst you’re attached lip to lip with wandering hands.

You sigh gladly as you stand to toe off your shoes. Putting them aside. Heat slides into your stomach all squirly and scorching as he stands from behind you and his hand reach around and skilfully undo the cape around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you comfy my temptress of the night. Beer?” He seeks. Throwing your cape over his shoulder. It lands nowhere even near the coat rack.

“Yes please my lovable nightmare.” You sass. You walk over to the couch. Spying an absolute mound of VHS’s ready to go by the TV. The colour seemed to dip in and out sometimes. The set was old. Eddie had to whack the side sometimes to get it to behave. You find it more endearing than a set that worked seamlessly.

You pluck pieces of popcorn out the bowl and throw them onto your tongue. Crunch them down as you sit with your knees tucked under you.

Eddie kills the music and slings himself down next to you on the lumpy couch. Frame squeaking and rattling as he settles.

“Damn. You got a great selection, Munson. What did you do, bribe Harrington with your soul to score all this?” You remark as you peer at the videos on the coffee table.

1941 Wolfman. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The Fog. Halloween. House on Haunted Hill. And Friday the 13th. You loved old school movies as much as he did. The old swelling suspense of a good black and white.

“Nothin major. Just a little selling of my body and charms. Deviant sexual acts. Just so you know I’ll have raw knees for a month.”

“Mm you filthy slut.” You hush. Impressed.

“Finest slut in the Midwest.”

“So I’ve heard.” You grin. Leaning in to kiss him. Seemed too infeasible not too. He cups the back of your head as you do. Keeping you close as he dares. Sweet kiss like icing sugar dusted across your lips.

He makes a small ‘mmm’ noise before you pull back.

“Besides. I consider The Fog a film that makes me think fondly of our very early courtship.” He remarks.

Snoopy bed shorts. A tin of Campbells. His lunatic escapades of climbing in your window late at night.

“And, well, only the best for you, Pencils.” He grins.

You tilt your head. A sigh caught in your throat.

“You must’ve busted your ass to get all this. You didn’t need too. You know I don’t need all this. I’m happy just to watch crappy reruns with you and order a pizza.” You tell him.

Concerned about the cash he would’ve laid out for tonight. The decor. The snacks. The primo shit from Rick. All must’ve cost a pretty penny.

“You’re worth every damn cent. When you’re dating a spooky awesome girl you gotta put in the ultimate spooky effort.” He tells you. Gripping his beer bottle and leaning back.

You clink your beer bottle to his.

“Please tell me you overcharged those meathead jocks for your product.”

“…. And then some.” He winks.

That’s my boy. You couldn’t be more proud.

“I’ll drink to that.” You murmur. Taking a pull on your cold beer. Cool heaven sliding down your throat.

“Thanks to Tina’s party last week, I mean, man, I scored big time. So many stoners invited. Walk in the park.” He smiled.

That deserved a kiss. Which you gladly give.

“Kinda love you for that.” You suppose. But there were no two ways about it - you were completly head over heels for him.

“Good to know.” He supplies. Hand rubbing your back.

“We better put a video on before I maul you.” You threaten with a great deal of flirt. Dragging your purple painted fingernails down the front of his top.

“Mmm kinky.” He grins. Leaning over to press a spitty kiss to your cheek. Before diving for the pile of VHS.

“Ok, roughly how long do you wanna argue about which one we watch first?” He seeks.

You narrow your eyes. Taking a sip back of your beer. “Depends if I win or not.” You look at him all cunning.

“House on haunted hill?” He bargains. Crouching and pointing the VHS at you.

“Don’t point that thing at me.” You smile. Stealing another handful of popcorn. Eating it with a grin.

Let the bickering commence…

~

The credits rolled to your third film of the night. Halloween the 1978 original. Orange twinkle lights flicker in the warm yellow lights near the kitchen. The rest of the trailer in dozy darkness. The sounds of kids trick or treating and laughing, batter against the trailer side in the night air.

You magnanimously let him pick the film. Maybe you’re growing soft in your old age.

This found you and Eddie slumped down together on the ratty couch. Limbs tangled. Joint smouldering in the ashtray. Verdant smoke in the air. Beer bottles empty. Only popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl. The snacks had been pilfered and pinched at your leisure.

Eddie was pressed down onto you like a lanky weighted blanket. Snoozing happily with a belly full of beer and cheez balls. Socked feet hanging off the end of the couch. Hands slung all over you like a gangly octopus. He’s currently letting out content little breathy snores with his head cushioned against your boobs. A little spit of drool by the side of his mouth.

He’d nodded off sometime around Michael Myers fifth victim with the boyfriend and the blonde pigtails. You’d been carding your fingers through his hair. Scratching his scalp. Made his eyes flick back in his head.

You swear he was one step away from twitching his foot in contentment like a canine at the work of your hands. Made his brain short circuit.

More so when he was on Indica. Just the kinda hit he needed for a slow sleepy and spooky night in. You can’t deny you’re fighting the effects of it yourself.

A couple of puffs. Eyelids drowsy. Your limbs feeling like cotton stuffed pillows. Indolent and slow. And now you’ve got your perfect metal head keeping you pressed down.

“Guess the party circuit wiped you for six, huh babe?” You smile. Thumbing his cheek. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

You shift your leg up. Which tumbles his knee more into your lap. He snuffled. Nuzzling his head further onto you. His breath was all sugary red vines, and fruity weed.

You kept on stroking his hair. Leaning forward to nuzzle a kiss to the crown of his messy hair. Apple shampoo and that lost tang of American spirits.

“Edward?” You ask.

You get a sleepy, sticky gurgle from him.

“I’ve got a really nice bra and panties set on under this dress, y’know.” You whisper at him.

Another mumble. You smile and rest your cheek on his warm head.

“You’ll have to let me move to put the next movie in, babe.” You tell.

“No. S’comfy.”

Then you hear him grumble. “Boobs.”

“Great boobs.”

You chuckle. Honestly.

“Knock yourself out. Munson. You smile.

Shifting down to let sleep come and gently take you too.

“Oh, and Happy Halloween.” You add. Letting your eyes close. Letting the static at the end of the video ebb you softly into dreams. Along with the sound of wind kindly rattling the roof. Brushing along the walls outside. All the trick or treaters have been coerced indoors. Safe inside with their candy spoils.

Much later on. You hear the rustle of clothes and feel the heat of his breath. The warmth of his limbs leeches off you when he moves. Coldness sneaks in.

You wake with bleary-sticky eyes to those brown ones staring back at you. Cheeks all flushed. The tell-tale sign of a tented zipper bursting at his crotch.

That dripping eye make up looks smeared and downright dangerous. He looks absolutely ravishing and you suddenly shake off your tiredness to see him looking so good like this.

“You said something about a bra, Pencils…” he smiles. “Be a shame not to show it off now-“ He beams. Waggles his brows.

“Heard that did you?” Your brow crooks.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

This is for everyone; but especially for @tvserie-s-world @lunatictardis @heyndrix @callmeloverr @joequinnswhore @atabigail @thewrathoffemalerage @lurkingprincess @songforeddiemunson @palomahasenteredthechat @babybluebex

[hijackalx]

PRICE OF WIT +18

(tumblr vers.)

SUMMARY: Astarion can be so mean sometimes, but he swears he can make it up to you.

WORD COUNT: 1788

UNDER THE CUT: F!Reader, dom!astarion, VERY sub reader, make-up sex (kinda?), YALL ARE TOXIC AF TOGETHER, mean!astarion, possessive!astarion, praise, choking, biting, sadism and masochism, small mention of gale being a pervert lol

A/N: reworked this to be in second person, and also edited it since the AO3 version did not get that kind of love 💀 some lines/paragraphs have been changed. also this was originally written with act I/act II astarion in mind but i guess it works for ascended astarion too.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

Intelligent with a silver tongue to boot, Astarion can work his way through and into almost any circumstances he desires.

"I HATE YOU!"

A quick way out of a sticky situation? Got it. A smooth approach into a pleasurable one? No doubt. The world is his for the taking.

"I HATE YOU!"

Except for when it's not.

Sometimes his mouth moves faster than his brain. He occasionally says something a little too harsh, a little too cold— ice cold, and it doesn't matter how much or how little he means it, it still hurts.

Wit has a price, it seems.

You claw and shriek in his grasp. You didn't get far before he managed to wrap his arms around you and stop you from disappearing to who knows where. He winces as your fingernails dig into the skin of his forearms. He succeeds in grabbing your wrists and folding them against your body, trapping you against his chest.

"You're acting like a child!" He shouts through an exhausted growl as you continue to resist his hold.

He knows what he said was wrong— it was a snarky slip of the tongue. But you stormed off before he could apologize, so who's really the problem here?

The fire glows and crackles in the crisp night air, accompanied by Gale and Karlach, whose meals have been so rudely interrupted by your shrill screams. Although, they watch the tussle unfazed. This wouldn't be the first time you and him have had a peace-disrupting argument.

"They're the most immature people I've ever met," Karlach takes a bite of her turkey leg, her tone more irritated than anything. "No good for each other, those two."

Gale watches how you kick up dust and dirt just outside of Astarion's tent. He'd only heard pieces of what led to this as you spoke behind the fabric; some kind of complaint by Astarion that has clearly been taken to heart. Sighing, he meets Karlach's eyes, their shared gaze molding into apprehensive weariness.

"Well," he mutters into a lamb chop, "looks like we're in for another sleepless night."

"I love you, I love you, I love you—" your softly whimpered phrase is the only sound to be heard after the camp has settled in their bedrolls for the night.

All Astarion had to do was guide you back into his tent and successfully lay you down. After that, you were more willing to hear him out.

Your bodies are bathed in the gentle lantern light, your back pressed firmly to his bedding and your legs wrapped around his waist. He intertwines your fingers as he steadies your hands above your head. Soft, white locks tickle your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, his teeth teasing at the skin every so often.

His pace is rhythmical but rough, his hips flush between your legs as he aims for your cervix— his favorite spot. He loves the way you writhe and try to push him away while pleading for more. The way your heels press into his back, how your voice breaks while you call out for him.

"I've got you, sweetheart," his exhales are hot against your skin.

His hand slips down to pinch your side after hearing you stifle a moan, a quick but effective reprimand. You squeak at how he cruelly twists the flesh, your abdomen tensing.

"Don't hold back," he scolds, and you catch how his brows lower in the corner of your eye. Your modesty has offended him.

You screw your eyes shut, mustering up the ability to speak clearly. "T-they'll hear," you blurt out. It's only fair to be considerate to your fellow party members— or at least try to.

Your response makes him laugh, and this time you're the one scrunching your brows. You don't understand what's so amusing until he says, "You wouldn't want to deprive Gale of his own pleasures, would you?"

You go entirely rigid, your face dropping slightly at how sure he sounds.

Questionably, he sits up to examine you, immediately noticing your change in expression. "What?" He asks. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep red, you stare up at him speechlessly. What he's implying is that... gale has been... touching himself while you and him are together?

How perverse.

He coos, squeezing your cheek and giving it a shake. "You're so cute." His condescending tone doesn't make you want to smack him in the face, strangely enough. In fact, you think you might like it judging by the way your stomach turns.

You take a moment to recover from the thought of your private acts not being so private. Noticing this, he balances his hands on the ground beside you, then pulls out before fully sheathing himself again with a fast, hard thrust. Your body jolts like it's been injured, and you can't hold back your yelp. His features are nothing short of devilish upon hearing the sound.

Sometimes he likes to be mean— but sometimes you like to let him.

"I quite like... the idea... actually," he says through breaths while he fucks you, his half-lidded gaze watching how your tits bounce. Leaning down, he begins to leave a trail of bite marks over your chest, each one he soothes with a gentle kiss as if to say 'sorry'. "Imagining Gale all alone—" another bite, another kiss. "—Wishing he were half as lucky as me."

He groans as your hands twitch and grip at his hair. Your back arches off the ground, and he runs a slightly calloused palm over the newly exposed area, tracing the curve of your body.

"Astarion," you say so weakly, so needy. He can't help letting a moan slip at how his name sounds coming from your mouth.

You're close, he can feel it. It's the way you tremble, the way you can't get close enough to him— wanting him deeper, harder, more, more— You're a greedy little thing, but he adores it. He adores you. How couldn't he give you anything and everything you want?

He sits up, his lustful stare heavy and thick as he peers down his nose at you.

You lift your chin as his hand wraps around your neck, allowing him all the access he wants. He begins to squeeze, your smaller fingers prying at his grip.

"You're mine," he watches intently as you squirm under his unwavering stare, his face still and emotionless. "Say it to me."

"I'm yours," you say readily, feeling your heart skip a beat when the corners of his mouth almost split into a proud grin.

"Tell me you won't try to run away again." His hold tightens.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you," you choke out. That's what you told him last time and the time before that. Just as your head begins to feel light and your eyelids heavy, your body buzzes and jerks with an orgasm.

He releases you so he can watch your full reaction; how you writhe and reach for him, how the hands scraping at his chest plead to close the distance between your bodies.

Tears slip down the corners of your eyes— maybe from pleasure, maybe not. He could hold you, but something inside tells him no. It's almost as if to serve as punishment for trying to run off.

Believe him, he doesn't want to punish his baby. But sometimes it's necessary.

Once your high dies down and you're left a heaving, exhausted mess, he grabs one of your limp hands and leaves a kiss on each fingertip. "Ooh," his thumb rubs your palm. "That was a good one."

You know very well that you're not finished. Luckily, he's kind enough to get you off first, even when he's upset with you. He's considerate where it counts, of course.

Or maybe he loves how much he can undo you with a second orgasm.

He caresses your face while you catch your breath. You lean into his touch, almost petting yourself. His undead palm is cold yet gentle, and you somehow find comfort in it. Your eyelids flutter closed.

"You're doing so good for me," he praises softly, his tone no louder than a murmur. "You can go a bit longer, can't you?"

He speaks tenderly and sweet, making your pulse beat even faster. "For me, darling?" He asks as if it's even a question— as if he doesn't know the answer.

Your body aches, worn and tired, yet you nod with eagerness. Anything, you think in your euphoric, fucked-out daze, anything for you.

There are times when you can't stand him, when he's the worst person in the world— but those only emphasize the times when he's the only person in the world; times when he makes you feel warm and loved, and so, so good.

Like when he nears his own orgasm and wraps his arms around you so tight, so close. He holds you like you're the dearest thing he's ever had, your skin pressed together like you're afraid to part.

And he fucks you so good you'll forget the nasty things he says and does, if only until the next time. For now, the way his breaths shake and his muscles contract in yearning— in need, is distracting enough.

"Fuck—" a word you'll rarely, if ever, hear him say. Too vulgar for his tastes, except for when he loses his ability to keep his composure. "Fuck," he hisses again as he thrusts into you, almost hard enough to lift your hips from the ground.

Before you know it, his teeth are sinking deep into the flesh of your neck. You gasp loudly, tangling your fingers in his curls. He stifles his moans by lapping up the crimson leaking from your puncture wounds, finishing inside you simultaneously.

Between the sounds of him reaching his climax and the bite, it's enough to push you over the edge a second time. Extra sensitive, your body reacts more violently than before. Your nails claw and tear at his back, leaving scratches through the maze of scars. The newly raised lines disfigure the old, tiny pools of blood rising to the top— a gentle reminder of your presence compared to his preferred methods.

"That's it, there you go," he pulls away breathlessly, making sure to use slow, flat sweeps of his tongue to clean up the mess he's made. The smeared red on your neck is licked away into a mere stain.

Your bodies finally ease into stillness. Exhausted, he rests his weight on top of you. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, eyes shut as you hold him.

Your lips press softly to his shoulder, your head lying against his. The heavy exhales between you alternate, your chests rising and falling deeply until they progress into something more controlled.

Though out of each other's lines of sight, you share the same troubled expression, your brows furrowed and lips pulled into frowns.

There's a long, silent moment of recuperation before he mutters into your ear,

“I love you."

[flwrkid14]

👻 Gotham Halloween Special: Tim Drake Edition 🎃

Halloween in Gotham isn’t exactly normal — not when the villains see it as an excuse to get extra creative with their outfits and the city lights are already eerie. But the Batfam? Oh, they go hard.

🎃 Tim Drake’s Halloween Highlights:

1. The Costume Switcheroo

Tim suggested they all do a “casual switch,” which sounded easy enough. But somehow, somehow, they all ended up in costumes that make NO sense on anyone else:

• Dick as Red Hood: Complete with Jason’s leather jacket, a foam helmet, and a lot of attitude. “You’re not even holding the gun right,” Jason hisses.

• Jason as Robin: No one’s seen him this self-conscious in a long time.

• Damian as Nightwing: “How do you even FIGHT in these pants?!”

• Tim as Batman: “I get why he’s so dramatic now; this cape is an entire weapon.”

2. The Trick-Or-Treat Conundrum

Tim decided to help patrol the streets and give out candy in costume, which meant… people recognized “Batman” was handing out full-sized candy bars on the corner. Pure chaos. Someone yelled, “Bruce Wayne’s back! He’s handing out candy!” Tim just went with it.

3. Haunted Wayne Manor

Tim went all-out on the haunted house theme, using every security gadget in the house to create creepy effects and hidden jumpscares. Even Bruce got spooked by an unexpected “Jason, is that you?” soundbite.

4. Pumpkin Carving Competition: Wayne Family Style

Let’s just say… it got competitive:

• Dick’s pumpkin was a gymnastic Bat-symbol that ended up collapsing.

• Jason carved a Jack-o’-Lantern “with a twist” (the twist was the Joker’s grin, and no one wanted to talk about it).

• Damian carved an extremely detailed battle scene.

• Tim? Carved out a fully functional Bat-signal pumpkin with LEDs.

5. The Mystery Fog

Tim accidentally (or maybe not accidentally?) set off a fog machine inside the Batcave after trying to add a “spooky ambiance.” Now there’s a perpetual mist rolling around every time someone enters the cave.

6. Finally… The Group Costume:

Somehow, Tim convinced everyone to do an Addams Family theme. Bruce as Gomez, Alfred as Fester, Tim as Wednesday, Damian as Pugsley, Jason as Lurch, and Dick as Cousin Itt. Barbara laughed so hard, she couldn’t even breathe, especially when Bruce got weirdly into character.

And as for Tim? He’s the one setting off all the ghost projections in Wayne Manor, orchestrating creepy sounds, and every few minutes, going, “Wait, did you guys see that shadow?” Just keeping everyone on their toes.

Happy Halloween, Gothamites! Stay spooky. 👻

[mountkennedie]

Plants

Loki x reader

Summary: you visit Loki in his personal library

warnings: Loki season 2 reference (sorry BUT I HAD TO), fluff

A.N. gender fluid Loki means everything to me

The young prince of Asgard had many places he frequented. His room, of course, everyone loves their room. A certain shadowed place in the kingdom gardens that he thinks only he knows about. And lastly, in the place he was in now, the library. For his birthday, it had been gifted to him. There already was a library in the palace. This was really just a smaller version of it. However, this one supplied only his favorite genres, and when that idea was proposed, I don't think the person was aware of Loki's reading history. He has many favorite genres, and space in the smaller library was filled quickly.

You had nothing better to do to spend your time. And usually that meant you would find your best friend of many years. Contrary to popular belief, you knew to check the library first. It makes sense to go to his room, but you know better. He didn't actually have many books in his room. It was a guideline set by his mother so that he would sleep at night instead of read the hours away. All the books inside had been read cover to cover so many times he could probably recite them at any given moment.

Approaching the doors, there were two guards standing watch. "Is Loki in today?" You knew their names, and honestly, more than you probably should for the royal guards. Their jobs were protection, not chatter. But who could resist a little break from that strict code? Especially when you would ask the most random yet interesting questions you could think of.

"If you had the choice of only being able to see one color for the rest of your days, which one would you choose?"

"My lady, I have been advised to limit conversation that does not concern the safety of the kingdom. But also a nice blue would not be bad."

"Yes, my lady, he is. Would you prefer an introduction?" He asked.

"That won't be necessary." They both nodded their heads and opened the doors for me to enter. The room was beautifully lit. The lanterns were a lovely touch, with the edition of the small candles added a very cozy feeling. Luckily, the windows in the corners of the room had been cracked. Neither of you could stand the smell of standing smoke. There were two couches in the center of the room. They were large and rather dramatic, the edition of the green velvet cushions added to the atmosphere.

Upon one to those couches was the one you had been looking for. Stretched out on the right couch, new book in hand. The title was something you couldn't make out. Their fingers covered it perfectly. "You know you can ask instead of trying to sneakily figure it out," they quipped. They finally looked up and smirked at you.

You helped yourself to sit down on the adjacent couch. "No, I am good with sneaking glances," you replied in a similar tone.

He huffed and placed his book down on the table. "Is there nothing interesting going on in the palace? That is why you violate my one place of solace?" He kept his tone light, so you knew his cruel words were nothing but words.

"Oh, I just knew you missed my presence so much. I had to cease your worries and needs." The pair of you could go on for hours if you both wanted. But instead of that, you needed him to answer something. "Loki, if you were a plant, what plant would you be?"

"That's what has been plaguing you today?" She sat up, and you mirrored her. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, "If I was a plant..."

"I have an idea of what I think you'd be, but I still am curious as to what you think." You rested your head on your hands facing him. Your smile of amusement gleamed on your face. You loved watching her in deep thought.

"Well, help me out. What would you be?" Their smile matched yours. It grew bigger when your brows knitted in concentration.

"I think I would be a fern. A nice pretty fern with a big wide leaf span. I would make all the other ferns jealous," You finished your sentiment with a theatrical voice. You had been thinking of this for a little bit. And by a little bit, it was really what you were thinking about on the way here.

"I could easily see you passing as a fern. As for me... I can see myself as some form of tree. Maybe a weeping willow or a variation of it." When he finished his thought, he looked back down at you.

"I was thinking more of a strong oak tree, growing tall and providing shade for anyone lucky enough to walk near you." He looked at you after you said that. Not with the typical look of a friend, but of something more weighted. You could really only hope that was what you were seeing. The growing feelings of adoration towards the god had only gotten more intense over time. You've heard of many seeing the world through rose colored glasses. You could wish that your vision was clear.

"Thank you," They looked like they wanted to say more. And you implored they would. But instead, you both continued the intense eye contact you both had been holding. The air was too thick for your lungs to carry. You wanted them to make the first move because you were frozen. "Y/n?"

Your name was spoken in the way a lover would address another. You said a silent prayer that your eyes were not scarlet sensitive in this moment. "Loki?" Your voice was barely stronger than a whisper. He stood and approached your couch. You stood up and moved to be in front of him.

"It is my turn to ask you something." He took a deep breath and took your hands in his. "I need to know now, have your feelings toward me ever been more than... platonic?" His eyes were full of fear. But you also could see how badly he needed to hear your response.

You managed to get one gust of air inside your long awaiting lungs. You looked into his eyes one last time as a friend, then said, "Yes."

He blinked twice as the clarity rolled over him. His hands lightly squeezed yours, "Even now?" His voice was something you had never heard before. It was frail and desperate. You nearly wanted to apologize for putting him through such torment.

You thought of your next words thoroughly. "Especially now," you squeezed his hands back in the same manner. She sighed and shut her eyes. You did the same, and you both rested your foreheads on the others. Without word, your both tilted your heads up and let your lips collide.

You were not sure who sighed into the kiss, but it was still an accurate representation of the need for action. It stayed slow, but not any less passionate as a kiss of messy fire. When you both pulled apart, your hands stayed conjoined. No one spoke. No words could describe what was flowing between you two.

Eyes closed and lips locked yet again. Again and again and again.

[lanternlightss]

yeah

[1caru]

Please! Can you give us more LU in twilight’s hyrule?

More ancestor and descendant relationship between time and twilight! 🥹 *cries*

hehe I'm honored that you like my work so much and want more <3

unfortunately I already have a ton of other projects lined up, so I can't promise anything yet, but you did remind me that I wanted to write a bit of a second part to my Time and Skull Kid comic, so I whipped this up for you. it's not really edited or anything but hopefully you enjoy it anyway~

(here's the link to the comic that comes before this for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, please read it for context:

"Hold on, where's the old man?"

Twilight turned around sharply, drawing a surprised yelp from the sailor sitting on his shoulders. "What?"

"He was just here," said Four, "Did he just... wander off? That's not like him."

"Maybe he got grabbed by something!" Wind exclaimed, searching the dense foliage for any signs of monsters.

"We haven't seen any monsters since we arrived here, though," Hyrule said thoughtfully, “And we would have heard him put up a fight.”

Dread began to build in Twilight's chest as his wolfish senses caught the faintest sound of an ocarina. He lowered Wind from his back and approached Legend, pulling his map out and offering it to the veteran. "I'll go look for him. There's a Spirit Spring not far from here, wait for us there," he explained, tracing the path with his finger, "The tunnel up ahead is dark, so you'll need a lantern, but the tunnel after that is well lit and leads right to the spring. I'll be back soon."

"Hold your horses, rancher," Legend said, grabbing Twilight's shoulder with his free hand before the man could run off into the woods, "Shouldn't one of us come with you, just in case?"

"I... I think I know where he went," Twilight said softly, "Don't worry, I know every corner of these woods. Trust me."

Legend released Twilight's shoulder and watched as he almost immediately shifted into wolf form and darted back down the trail they had been following. He sighed and motioned to the rest of the group, glancing back at the map in his hand. "Well, come on then, guys."

*

Twilight raced along the scent trail, muscle memory carrying him effortlessly over tree roots and through small tunnels left by local wildlife. His ears flattened against his head in panic when he picked up Time's trail, heading in the exact direction he had predicted. Would he reach his mentor in time? Or had the man already discovered that which he should not see?

The plaintive whistle of the ocarina, which had been gradually increasing in volume, came to an abrupt halt, and Twilight's heart jumped in his chest as if to mimic it.

He was too late.

His paws slowed to a defeated trot as he approached the quiet clearing. He shifted back into his Hylian form, then silently crept through the bushes, bracing himself for what he would find.

Time knelt in the clearing with his back to Twilight, his arms wrapped around a very familiar little spirit. Just beyond them, a simple gravestone sat nestled in the mossy ground, the inscription on it as clear as the day it was chiseled:

Link, Hero and Mentor.

The spirit in Time's arms lifted his face from where it had been buried in the man's shoulder. Little yellow eyes met Twilight's pale blue ones, and the spirit gasped. “Link! Doggy Link is here too!”

Time turned in surprise, as if just remembering who he had been traveling with until ten minutes ago. He smiled at Twilight for a moment, but suddenly found it hard to make eye contact when he noticed the expression on his protege's face.

“Um, Skull Kid, would you give us a moment?” he asked softly, looking down at the spirit that was still clinging to him.

Skull Kid held on tighter, suddenly looking very scared that Time might simply vanish if he let go.

“I'm not going anywhere, I promise,” Time soothed, “I just need to talk to him. I'll stay right here, okay?”

Twilight nodded behind him.

Skull Kid studied Twilight for a moment, then looked up at Time. “...Okay,” he murmured. He picked up the ocarina he had dropped earlier and pressed it into Time's hand. “Play this when you are done, okay? You better play it!”

Time smiled. “I will.”

He watched Skull Kid hop off into the trees, then rose to his feet, cradling the little tan ocarina in his hand. His thumb ran over the polished surface, the texture so familiar yet such a distant memory. He looked back at the gravestone, suddenly regretting that time their little group had taught each other how to read their different Hylian scripts.

“Seems I've wandered somewhere I should not have gone, haven't I?” he sighed.

Twilight walked into the clearing and stood by Time's side, somberly following his mentor's gaze. “Did Skull Kid tell you anything?”

“No,” Time replied, “But actions often say more than words can.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, unsure how to approach the subject at hand.

Twilight opened his mouth to speak, but Time quickly raised a hand to stop him. “Pup, I will not ask for an explanation if you do not want to give it. The flow of time is all too easily altered after all, one little word can completely change the course of history. However,” he continued, turning towards the young man, “I've seen the way you look at me, especially when our journey began. Someone your age should not have to look so sad. If telling me about this will ease some of the burden you carry, then I am more than happy to listen.”

Twilight looked up at him, his thoughts tripping over themselves in an effort to reach a decision. He desperately wanted to tell Time everything, how he had met him, what he knew of his mentor's fate. He wanted to tell him that changing the flow of time was his greatest desire, that he wished every day for a way to save Time from a death filled with regret and sorrow. And yet, his mind always wandered to that moment, when he had dealt the final blow to Ganondorf. The blow that Time's spirit had taught him. Would he had been able to defeat the Demon King if his ancestor had not been there to guide him? Would “saving” Time ultimately mean dooming Hyrule? Would it mean dooming more young heroes after him to take up the sword and attempt what he could not accomplish?

The rancher closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead on Time's breastplate as his shoulders sagged and tears threatened to form. Time held him close, rubbing gentle circles on his arm with one hand and wrapping the other around his upper back, still clutching the ocarina.

“It's more of a memorial than a grave,” Twilight eventually spoke, "I met your spirit during my journey. You taught me your sword techniques. I suppose I just wanted to thank you by honoring your memory."

Time hummed in response. “I must have been a good teacher then. Your skills are amazing to watch in action.”

Twilight let out a watery chuckle. “They saved my life more times than I can count.” He rested in Time's arms for a moment more, then pulled away with a small smile. “I think that's all I can say for now. Go ahead and spend some time with Skull Kid, I'll tell the others you'll catch up later. Ask Skull Kid to lead you to Ordon Village when you're done.”

“Thank you,” Time said gratefully.

Twilight nodded and headed back out of the clearing.

“...You know,” Time continued, looking at the ocarina thoughtfully, “That song he was playing, it's not from Hyrule.”

Twilight paused.

“It holds a very powerful magic, one said to put the sorrows of the departed who hear it to rest and allow them to pass on peacefully.”

Pale blue eyes widened as another memory floated to the surface. A stone sitting on a mountain path, howling a song that he had mimicked without wondering what it meant. A song that had been answered by a golden wolf with a single eye. A Shade, uttering words that Twilight had almost forgotten in his worry over Time.

At last, I have eased my regrets.

Perhaps things would turn out all right in the end after all.

[shyficwriter]

i love your writing !! can you please do a fix where the reader had a bad day and is overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki tickles bcuz they won't start it

I could maybe produce a drabble... lol (Thank you!) [Edit: Sorry this is late! I started it and then got busy and forgot all about it!]

***

Loki walked into the kitchen to find you standing still, staring intently at a pumpkin on the countertop.

"Are we expecting it to do a trick?" Loki quipped, resulting in you jumping as you had been so focused you hadn't noticed him enter.

"No," you sigh, returning your gaze to your bare pumpkin. "I just don't know what I want to do with it. I mean- I could make it funny, but I not sure what would be funny. Or I could make it scary- but there's so many possibilities for scary- like the classic jack-o-lantern face, or I could make it a monster-," the corners of your mouth twitch as you continue, "or... I could model it off of your face..."

"Hey, now!" Loki scolded in mock-hurt as he calmly closed the gap between him and you. "One might take offense to that!"

You grin cheekily at him briefly as he joins you at the counter, but don't apologize. Within moments your attention returns to the pumpkin and your face returns to one of concentration.

"What about a happy face then?" Loki suggests.

"Not feeling it." you respond. It was true, carving something happy just didn't feel genuine considering just an hour ago you had been scolded by Tony for spilling some paint in the lab. You knew he wasn't actually angry, just frustrated from lack of sleep and you knew that he knew his robots would get the stain out of the floor in short order, but your anxiety still pulled you into a funk where you couldn't quite focus on doing anything productive- even something fun like decorating your pumpkin.

"Hmm..." Loki ponders, walking behind you to your other side. "Maybe I could help with that?" he pokes you in the side, making you jolt.

"Loki!" you scold, eyes popping wide as you grab his hand as he went in for another poke, "What are you doing!?"

"Helping," he said, matter-of-factly, using your distraction to latch onto your ribs with his other hand, sending you into a fit of giggles.

"Loki!" you scold again, giggling as you both crumple into yourself and make a poor attempt to defend yourself by grappling for his hands.

"Yes?" he asks, grinning mischievously as he further melted you into helpless laughter.

"Quit it!"

Loki hummed as if considering it before asking, "Are you feeling happy yet?"

You knew this was a trick. If you said no, he'd tickle you more. If you said yes to make him stop, he'd take that as a 'confession' that tickling would be a way to cheer you up in the future, and would probably definitely use it as an excuse to tease and/or tickle you. Given that, your brain must have short-circuited in your answer, because you only managed to reply with a giggly, "I'm going to bite you!"

"Oh!" Loki exclaimed in humored surprise. "Well that's not very kind of you at all! We should fix that- you're much too grumpy." He pulls you in again as you try to pull away and starts to rapidly dart his hands around your ribs and stomach so that you can neither get used to one sensation nor manage to grab his hands to stop him.

You're now doubled over in full belly laughter, uselessly trying to fight him off and scolding, "No fair!"

Loki chuckles and shakes his head in response. "Are we going to be less grumpy?" he asks, cheekily.

"Okay! Okay!"

"Hmm?"

"Yes! Alright!" you manage to get out, realizing he was fully intent on being a little shit. "Alright! I give up!"

Loki stops, but doesn't yet remove his hands. "Are we feeling happy yet?" he asks in a lilting voice.

"Okay- yes! I'm happy now! Are you?" you reply, still giggling as you catch your breath.

Loki thinks for a moment before deciding he was, but also deciding to give you one last quick tickle just for good measure, which you then swatted him for, only to then hold up your hands in surrender when he gave you a look that told you he had absolutely no issues with tickling you to pieces again.

"So, have you decided how you wish to decorate your pumpkin?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I think I know what I'm going to do with it now." you respond, already picking up a marker to get started.

"Well, I'm glad I could be of service." Loki gives a cheeky bow before departing, leaving you grinning in his wake to decorate your pumpkin.

You watched him leave as you drew on the goofiest, dopiest, face you could manage, before raiding the kitchen cabinets for some tin foil, which you then molded into a fairly good replica of Loki's horned helmet.

He was sure to be surprised when he saw it sitting with the other pumpkins later, though that might spell more trouble for you.

You'd decide later if it was worth it.

[wifiwuxians]

happy mid-autumn festival!!! i hope it's a day of good fortune and reunion for everyone! i yearn for the day in which i am able to eat a mooncake.

much to my chagrin this drawing appears very different on desktop and on mobile but oh well. i think i'll take a crack at writing an ID for this one, just because there are a few characters! including xunyang 83 everyone else is offscreen lol but they're there i promise

[ID: a scene depicting a moonlit picnic to mark the start of mid-autumn festival, featuring several characters from MDZS, as well as two of the artist's own characters from a fic titled Dawn Chorus. in the bottom left corner sit Wen Zhuliu, Wang Lingjiao, Mo Xuanyu and Wen Chao. they are conversing pleasantly. the bottom right corner hosts Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Jin Ling, alongside a puppy version of Fairy. Jiang Yanli has brought her famous soup, as well as some spring rolls. Jin Ling is lying down and holding a lantern as his mother strokes his back. Jin Zixuan has a loving arm around his wife's torso. behind them, Jiang Cheng is attempting to wrangle Fairy and keep her from eating their food. above and to the left sit the Dawn Chorus characters Wen Xun and the fic-specific version of Xue Yang, who has his arm around him as he laughs. they've brought wine. in Xue Yang's lap sits an infant, Hexie, who is reaching out to a fruit gleefully offered to them by Standard Edition Xue Yang, who is sitting a bit ahead with A-Qing, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan, who smile at the scene while drinking tea and eating. they've brought a platter of crab. to the right of them sit Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, who are happily holding Lan Sizhui between them. their snack is watermelon. behind them, just arriving, are Mianmian, who is carrying her daughter in her arms, and her husband, who is carrying their lantern and food. behind them is Wen Qing, who is calling out to Wen Ning, who is rushing up to her with a smile and a box in his hands. the corner of a blanket in the top left and the top of someone's head in the bottom right suggest there are more people at the gathering. a few white flowers bloom on the grass everyone sits on, predominantly around Wen Xun. every picnic blanket has mooncakes, and most characters brought lanterns. many other lanterns are seen floating by and up into the sky, towards the full moon. the atmosphere is friendly and lighthearted. /end ID]

[08melancholie]

Hello! I've read a lot of your works, and I love them,

I was wondering if you could write something that has the reader’s admiration and almost worshipful awe for Micah’s boots(like licking them, being stepped on, etc.) with him also maybe hurting or insulting the reader as well, fully aware of the effect he has. A bit of hair-pulling would also be nice.

Thank you so much!

OOOH i love the filth of this sm 🙏🙏

i like to push the boundaries of my writing and i feel like this type of thing will do it perfectly for me as ive never written anything related to boot worship just yet and i absolutely needed an excuse to try it :) as always, thank you for the ask!

Spurs and Leather. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Micah Bell Is His Own Warning, Top Micah Bell, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, Boot Worship, Sexual Tension, Blow Jobs, Grinding, on the boot... yeah., this fic is making me realise some things about myself, Degradation, Praise-Degradation, Spanking, Overstimulation, Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell

summary: Your knees turn a lighter, bruised color from kneeling on the floors of your tent so long, but his degrading words and harsh manner make you stay put. His boots shimmer at you, making you want more. Worship him like a God, and you might get yourself a small reward this night to go with your colourful bruises and other love marks.

a/n: oh boy this is something to write about.... feel like ill need a long overdue visit to church. EDIT: i finished this four hours before i had to wake up for church. yeah it didnt feel right at all

words: 2,472 | AO3 LINK

Things tend to always escalate with Micah around. Whether jobs and missions or sex, it'll go somewhere you wouldn't expect it to. Likewise for tonight, where he's got you fully nude before him while just watching, still clothed himself. Micah was a man into many different things in bed—spanking, per say. You don't remember which night, so far, left your ass the same color as the rest of your body—mostly always ending a more bruised color from his harsh slaps and blows, always soothed with his rough hand caressing your cheeks.

But you were no saint either; you had your own array of sick fantasies yourself, too.

"Well, 'ya know you want to, sweetheart,"

His words echo in your head, looking up at him on your shared cot from your spot on the ground, kneeling for him. His hand is on the top of your head, first gently running through the many locks of hair on it, before he makes a ponytail with the strands and tugs back slightly. "and I know it too. Get to it, give in." Your hair is let to rest slightly, though his hand doesn't fully release it just yet.

The sliver at the tip of his boot reflects the light of the dim-lit lantern in a corner inside the tent, and you can almost see your own reflection in it, only if they were polished better or washed more often. His hand kneads at your scalp and he sprays his legs a bit more out; closer to you. You know what to do.

Your back arches with you when you lean downwards to his shoes, not daring break eye contact with him. The metal tip is always the cleanest of any other part—thankfully, because of yourself and this usual endeavour. His erection twitches in his trousers when he sees your tongue flatten out over his shoe, licking a quick yet fine stripe on the metal. That flushed, embarrassed and downright humiliated look on your sweet face makes it even harder for him to not bend you over the cot and fuck any other thought out of your head; to leave himself and himself only on your mind, all the time. Oh, how he'd love that. Even if you look embarrassed, he knows your sweetness is a façade; you're loving this. You want to keep doing it, he knows how hot it gets you to treat his boots like a starved man would bread and water. He palms himself through his jeans, watching that hypnotising motion of your tongue painting saliva over his boot. Your focus is on only one of his two shoes, which is simply unfair to Micah. He pokes the tip of the other into your cheek, watching your eyes dart between them with a sinister chuckle. "Give 'em both some of your sweet, sweet love, hun."

From one to the other, the two shoes now share a small string of your saliva. You don't even know if you've blinked since you started treating his boots like so, but you can't even focus on that when you have to try your hardest to keep your eyes on his—and not his throbbing cock, practically pleading against the restraint of his zipped trousers. Micah isn't as cruel to himself as to you, as he groans and reaches for the restraints of his jeans, undoing them slightly sloppily. "Think it's 'bout my turn with that pretty little mouth, huh?" He frees himself out of the restraining material of his pants and shuffles them down more comfortably, not having to order you again yet again as you sit up and place your hands on his thighs, waiting for his little signal to taste the throbbing, precum-leaking shaft just inches from your hungry, almost salivating mouth.

Your little facial expression draws a low chuckle out of him, his cock giving another little throb. "C'mere then, bet you're real hungry." With the permission, you lower your head between his thighs and lick the tip, collecting a hefty amount of the precum dripping out of it. The salty liquid paints your tongue, smearing and helping slicken Micah's member when you lick a stripe up the throbbing body part. He gives you an approving nod, and you take the tip into your mouth, your eye-contact not faltering a single time when his mouth parts with a small pop at the feeling of you swirling your tongue around him. "Teasing me, little whore? Yeah, still haven't learned how bad of an idea that is, have 'ya?" He growls, gripping you by the hair tighter, the line between painful and pleasurable blurring significantly. He pushes you down his cock until you gag, gripping his thighs from the motion. "Oh, don't give me that; you always take me like a cheap street slut so this should be nothing for you, 'ya know?" Some of your saliva drips down your jaw when Micah's hips start thrusting up, his tip tapping lightly against the back of your throat with every push of his hips into your face. You see stars, per usual, gripping onto his thighs to ground yourself enough to not gag all over his cock as it pistons in and out of your mouth, the lower abdomen region repeatedly lightly slapping against your face with each quick thrust.

His pace is relentless and almost bruising, but you don't dare move even an inch—anything could make him stop the fun and leave you unsatisfied, before it's even truly started. You stay stiff in your spot, drooling and humming moans against his dick as he face-fucks you, essentially. You're so pent up yourself that your cunt is practically aching, for anything. And anything you will get.

You gasp and gag once more on Micah from the surprising feeling of a cold sensation suddenly pressing onto your clit, that being the tip of Micah's boot. And he just laughs in response, positioning it under you. "Get to it. Get yourself off on every part of me, fuck." He curses at the thought, biting his lip. "Oh yeah, do it." He repeats, brushing the boot against you again. You move up a bit, from the metal to the leather before you give a quick roll of your hips to test it out. It's rough, but it draws you to moan and for your hips to twitch for more, so you comply.

He continues to fuck your mouth in a bruising pace, all the while muffling your sounds of pleasure as you roll your nub and wet pussy over his boot, drawing yourself closer by the minute. "Fuck yeah, girl. Keep moving them hips, oh God," He rambles breathily, punctuating himself with a thrust into your mouth each few words. He grips your hair harder as time goes on, usually the indication that he's close, and to warn you of it. A few moments pass before you feel his hot cum shoot at the back of your throat and hear him groan, using the tight hold on your hair to push you down fully on his cock as he empties his balls into your mouth, not much caring for the protesting gags of your body—but you don't care either, anyhow. Once he finally lets go of you, you slip him out of your mouth and swallow before clearing your—probably bruised—throat, and starting to move off his boot. That's when he grabs you by the arm.

"Oh, no. You didn't cum, did 'ya?" He asks, using the hold on your arm to perch you back over his boot. "What, 'ya think I'm that cruel, won't let you finish?" He says with a small laugh, leaning back on the bed. "Make yourself cum for me. On my boot, nothing else." He orders, and you're torn between wanting his cock or his boot getting you off. And while you love getting fucked into by Micah's thick shaft, those boots do something to you.

You position yourself over his boot, and Micah takes your wrists into his hand—to make sure you get yourself off only on the oh-so precious leather shoe of his. Heat already builds in your abdomen when you brush your clitoris over the material to get situated on him, and it's even more prominent when you start moving again, grinding your sensitive sex on the leather. With Micah's dick out of your mouth, your moans are much more clear; whining and groaning to punctuate every thrust over his boot, hands and fingers clenching, sometimes digging into his hand holding your wrists and preventing you from touching him or yourself to get your orgasm going.

"That's it, move them hips. These boots will smell like your sweet cunt for weeks, won't even wash them." He rambles on as he watches you, his once-more-hard cock twitching and leaking again, eyeing you with mesmerised eyes as you lean your head back and moan almost pitifully from how your sensitive nub drags across the rough leather beneath itself, pleasure quickly mixing with the small stinging leaving you torn between stopping and giving your poor, bruised clit a break—or getting an orgasm out of yourself. Is your orgasm worth the slight hint of pain? Apparently so.

You speed up your hips just enough to draw yourself to that long-awaited orgasm, leaning forward into his lap as you cum over his boot, a whine leaving your parted lips straight into one of his thighs as you lean over onto him, dragging your orgasm out until you have to stop. Micah has been patting your head, like a dog, since you leaned into his lap, watching your hips twitch as you soak his boot. "Well, ain'tchu a sight.." He murmurs, but as always, you don't get a long enough break to count your stars.

Micah releases your wrists to get you up on the cot, laying you flat on your stomach as he places his hands on your hips, positioning them up slightly. Like the asshole Micah is, he gives a firm slap to your backside, laughing when you yelp and arch your back more. "What, you think I'm done? Come on, I gotta help.. ease yer nerves, after all that." He purrs, punctuating himself with another spank. You groan and your oversensitive pussy twitches, hands gripping the sheets. Micah positions your hips a little higher, and spreads your knees so that you're on display for him, gaining himself a good view of your soaked cunt and ass, which he gladly takes in for a moment before he rubs your clit with his thumb. You let out a pitiful whimper, still not nearly recovered from your high. "Micah, I'm not—" You almost huff out loud when he shushes you and awards the next slap to your cunt, your nub stinging from it as you gasp-whimper at him. He soothes the stringing by resuming the rubbing on your clitoris, brushing two fingers perfectly over it, enough to have your knees get weak and muscles to quiver and tremble under his touch. "Mm, look at that.. already shivering for me, and I've barely touched this pretty cunt." He hums quietly, pinching your clit which has you almost drooling into the sheets under you.

He shuffles onto the bed behind you while pulling and pinching, then slowly rubbing over you, before he stops to flip you over. Micah's met with your flushed, sweaty face and uneven, quickened breathing. "This is your best look, sweetheart—trust me on that." He comments with a small chuckle, before he leans down between your now-parted thighs. Your head rolls back when he instantly and roughly sucks on your bundle of nerves. You gasp and moan, arching off the bed as Micah places both hands on your inner thighs to keep them open, stopping your weak attempt at clasping them closed on him. His tongue runs a fine stripe between your labia's, drinking up the aftermath of your previous orgasm as your muscles spasm with every inch of your sensitive cunt his tongue covers. Your hands grasp at his hair, unsure if you want to push his head in closer or away to give yourself a break. Either way, Micah's head doesn't move an inch, devouring your pussy like his life depends on it. Your back isn't even on the cot anymore, it's hovering over the sheets as your moans become even more incoherent, gasping and heaving as you twitch your hips up into Micah's face, the overstimulation causing tears to form in the corners of your eyes. Like shit, you might be meeting God if he continues eating you out like this.

Micah isn't letting up for even a moment, his tongue drags between your lips, circles your clit or fucks into your entrance, as you sob and mewl under him desperately, slowly seeing stars again as your second orgasm quickly approaches, causing your legs to soon practically give out on you. Clearly, this doesn't bother Micah one bit—as he holds you up to his mouth to continue eating you out. You've been reduced to a whimpering mess by now, the tears in your eyes rolling down one cheek from the stimulation, and Micah's determined to get you to cum a second time.

He keeps one hand open on your inner thigh, the other snaking around to knead at your ass as he sucks on your clit hard, raising the volume of your moans to a whole new volume. You're practically howling at this point, and he's still not even tempted to let up.

It doesn't take him too long to finally draw that blissful second orgasm out of you, your legs spasming as you squirt and arch off the bed completely again. Micah fucks you through the orgasm, tongue delving between your walls as if drinking out of your pussy, collecting every drop your orgasm is offering him. He finally lets you rest after your eyes roll back slightly, and he sees you're finally too exhausted to continue. He kisses your mound before parting from between your soaked legs, and the damp sheets underneath you. He almost laughs at the sight of you so out of it, proud to know it's him getting you so foggy-brained. "That's my girl, always lettin' 'ol Micah get what he wants outta 'ya. Good fuckin' lady." He praises as he stands up to get a clean rag for the two of you, coming back and first wiping you down. "Need somethin'? Water, or.. think I got some crackers in 'ere somewhere." You thank him and he gets up to grab you the items, all the while collecting your clothes and tucking himself away, uncaring of the new erection in his pants.

This man can drive you insane, but damn—can he also make you see stars.

Kudos on AO3 heavily appreciated!!! This fic has been put off for a very long time because I was scared of writing boot worship, as I've literally never done it before, but I think I did fine! Do tell me what you think anyhow <3 Thank you for the request, anon!

[simp-ly-writes]

Meeting Mrs. Dekarios

Can be read as a standalone: What is Left by the Lakeside (pt.2)

Pairing: God!Gale Dekarios x Sorcerer!Reader & Tara

Summary: You and Tara travel towards Waterdeep in order to meet Mrs. Dekarios. Your adventures fare well with minimal bumps in the road but what happens when you arrive at the long-awaited home?

Warnings: mentions of sadness and regret.

A/N: got a bit carried away with this one... but my heart needed a feel good moment as I hope yours do too!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

When you awake in the morning, the sun dripping through the patchwork of your tent, you stretch to meet its warm embrace as you settle further into the covers. The world did not need saving today, so why not save yourself these extra moments?

Little did your sleep-induced mind know that Tara was sitting at the foot of your bed, watching- waiting for you to notice her and the journey that laid ahead north, towards Waterdeep. Tara chuckled to herself, her inner dialogue voicing that of Gale's voice, the memories of him announcing themself once more.

Shaking her head Tara began to paw at your covers, shifting them to fall off your bed only to be stopped by the summoning of a mage hand lifting the sheets back up- much to her disappointment with a small hiss sound escaping herself. 

Looking further around the tent, she saw a few stacks of books in the corner- purrfect~ Making haste by quickly knocking them over, the loud thuds of them all hitting the floor had you up in an instant within a fighting position.

Licking her paw while eyeing your readied form, Tara could not help herself but to make a comment, “You sleep like an ogre after too much ale.” 

“Ouch- Tara, I thought we had something going for us last night” you teased back while rubbing your eyes and settling your hair. 

You watch as Tara rolls her eyes and ruffles the feathers of her wings before addressing you once more, “It is time to head out child; eat, get dressed and say your final goodbyes. Mrs. Dekarios awaits our presence back in Waterdeep.”

“Yes Ma’am,” you say while raising a mock-salute- as you conjure a plat of food on your bedside table and look for a nice set of robes for the occasion. 

“Do you think Mrs. Dekarios would appreciate blue, red, or purple robes Tara?” you ponder to the furry companion, holding out each option for her to see. Tara looks at each with thoughtfulness, waving her paw to cycle through all the options before settling on the purple one. 

“I think she would appreciate the sentiment of this one.”

“Hmmm, yes I suppose-so,” You say while throwing the other two back in the chest. A rush of bittersweet memories flood your head as your eyes cloud over, thumbs rubbing the colour tentatively as the fabric settles across your frame. 

A meal down and now time for goodbyes, Tara sits in the tent awaiting your return as hugs are carried out and a good few slaps on the back leave you staggering from Karlach. Rubbing your shoulder with a few new tears in your eyes, you roll them in with a breath as you motion your hands to wrap up your tent and supplies. 

Bag settled on your shoulders and another floating behind you make your way north towards waterdeep as the sun rises in the sky and the clouds part- marking anew. 

--

The sky had fallen and you had settled into a nearby inn with a quarter of your journey left. You could already see the mountain and the shores from your window as rain trickled lightly down the panes. You squint your eyes to see various creatures flying in the skies as a high castle’s lanterns flickered with the stars. 

Smiling to yourself, it was hard to remember getting lost in a large town- busting with people, smells of new food and adventure awaited you that made it hard for you to fall asleep. Alongside listening to the soft snores of Tara- it had truly been quite the journey for her already as you felt pity for her. 

Sleep found you soundly late in the night as you swear to feel the light caress of the night air drifting through the cracks in the walls and the holes in the floor as you snuggled into the warmth of the covers. 

--

Waking up before the sun had risen, you take your change purse and head a little bit further down the road to find some local merchants. Obtaining some produce and fish for Taras meal you hurry back to prepare the food within your room- eager to surprise your new friend. 

Tara wakes up to the smell of her favorite fish being cooked in the fireplace beside her and the sound of a knife chopping up some greens. Stretching out her body from toes to head and then finally giving the ol wings a good flap or two she settles in watching you work with a light smile. 

“What a wonderful surprise to wake up to, thank you my dear.”

“Thank you Tara, for being here.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“Yet it means the most to me,” you finish the conversation with a relaxed smile accompanying both your faces as you eat before the dying embers before packing up for the rest of your travels.

--

You entered waterdeep from the southern ward, deciding to take the path nearest to the docks as you explored the city in the fresh light of morning. You heard the cobblestone streams clink against your boots as the sounds of shutters swinging open and the rising bustle of the city pumped energy into your system. 

This reminded you of your own hometown, the neighbours greeting one another, the children running off to the schoolyard as parents set up shop for the day and adventurers readied themselves for the seas or shores. 

Tara had found a spot on the floating chest behind you as people stumbled out of the way as to not knock the object or feline. Your robes fluttered in the breeze as wind rushed down the streets and between buildings, the sun now kissing the top of your head as you listened to Taras careful directions to the Dekarios home. 

Those directions eventually led to a guarded estate, settled on the mountain side with a few other homes keeping it company. You saw the various offerings that laid on the doorstep as you gave the wood a careful knock before stepping away and fixing your appearance. 

Looking towards Tara for support, she merely rolled her eyes at your stress and murmured that you were already loved without ever meeting the woman. 

“You told her things about me?!” you hurriedly whispered out to your friend as she gave you a teasing look. 

“Was I supposed to leave the lover of the ambition god out of conversation, hm?” 

“Well maybe-yes,“ you scoffed back as the door flung open and you were met with a staff being pointed towards your chest. 

“ANY DEVOTED FOLLOWERS TO THE GOD OF AMBITION, LISTEN TO ME NOW- YOU ARE NOT TO PLACE WORSHIP ON THESE GROUNDS,” the home protector yells out towards you, their spit being caught on your face for a brief moment as Tara jumps off your supplies and rushes into the home. 

Holding your hand up in surrender, the other one behind you begins to flicker its flames as you ready yourself for a potential attack. “My name is Y/N, I am a sorcerer and past companion to the Wizard Gale of Waterdeep. I am here for an appointment with his mother,” you stressed towards the guard, not wanting your first physical impression to the mother of blood on her doorstep. 

The guard looks at you more closely now, their eyes widening as they glow a slight purple tint and their shoulders caving in before they bow in recognition of your presence. “Sorcerer and Savior Y/N, please hear my deepest of apologies- the lady of the house and the god of ambition have told me of your welcomed presence within the home. I am truly sorry for making you feel as though you were never welcome,” they rush out, sweat dripping from their brow as you wave the flame out from behind your back and offer them an apologetic smile in return. 

“There are no worries to be held, you are doing a good job protecting this estate. I must assume how difficult it has been as of late with the recent ascension and the protection of those closest to the man before,” you state back, motioning for them to rise as you become increasingly embarrassed from their overreaction and title-calling. 

“The compliments you offer are staggering in reality to my work. I thank you but cannot accept these words. I merely work out of devotion to my late friend and his family, please welcome yourself into the Dekarios home,” they bow once more, opening their palms to guide you through the door. 

They later point towards the study were Mrs. Dekarios can be found before leaving with your belongings, “tea is prepared,” you hear Tara call from up the stairs as you observe the space, smiling as you can imagine a miniature Gale running rampant around the house- casting various spells and cantrips that scare the staff and the animals. 

Your heart aches at this fleeting thought as you make your way up the stairs and down the hall, following Tara as she confidently navigates down the floor runner and presses her paw against the door you should open.

Wrapping your hand around the door handle, you give it a light twist before hearing a click and the running of footsteps from behind the wood. Looking down at Tara- ensuring that this is the correct room she simply presses the door and makes her way inside- settling atop a window ledge as arms are being thrown around your torso. 

“My-oh-my! I am so happy that you are here Miss. Y/N, and what a sight you are on my very eyes- not some projection but reality! Oh, what a gift you are in these times!”

The woman squeezes you a little bit harder as you struggle to breath and move your hands to return the hug. Yet before you can do so, her hands move to your cheeks- cupping them while accessing your features with a delicate look and smile gracing her face. Her eyes are shown to wrinkle into her smile lines and small strands of grey hairs fall within her curled brunette locks. A spitting image of the past Gale- your heart leaps as both a chuckle and cry escape. 

Mrs. Dekarios shushes you softly while wiping away your tears with elegance. Her delicate touch as you reeling in all sorts of emotions as her tears join your own. 

“You are truly stunning, darling. How I wish Gale was here now to introduce you to me personally. But I feel as if I already know you from the tales Tara has spoken to me,” she says as she drops her hands to touch the purple fabric of your robe before making her way to a set of couches- motioning for you to sit beside her as she settles a cup of tea into your hands. 

“So do tell me dear, how did you and Gale meet? I would love to hear things from your perspective- let a little old lady like me reminisce on our human account of memory,” Mother Dekarios says, a twinkle in her eye while sipping her tea. You watch Tara sunbathe while contemplating your answer.

╰┈➤ A/N: there is still more story to come, but for now I hope that you enjoyed this chapter :)

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here