#magic for times of turmoil

[elminx]

Magic for Recentering During Times of Conflict

Note: I am writing this immediately following the November 2024 election cycle, but this is not meant to be specific to this time. Nor am I inferring that magic can solve all of our problems. Please seek out help from a professional if you need it.

One of the deep truths that I have uncovered in my life is that when I am unbalanced (emotionally, physically, spiritually), I am of no use to myself or to others. When something rocks me to the core of my being as this election has, I need to feel all of the feels first and foremost. Then, I need to find a way to move on from the immediate (VERY VALID) emotional turmoil so that I don't get stuck in a pattern of rumination or pathological catastrophizing.

These are some of the ways that I do so. This list is not meant to be exhaustive and, of course, I do not expect every one of these to work for everyone. That is okay and expected. I'm also not including medical, psychological, or court-based interventions because I am not a doctor or a lawyer. Some of these tips are purely magical in nature and some are what I would call magic adjacent - they are mundane actions that are cleansing in nature.

Feel your feelings. I know I said AFTER, but I feel that I need to reiterate this. These steps are unlikely to work until you have worked your way through the first stages of rage, revolt, grief, name your emotion here. How long this takes will be different for everyone. Don't rush this.

Breathe. When I am really In It, I find meditation nearly impossible. I need to be reminded how to take deep breaths. This is when I get help—I use the Tide App for this. I set it to "Breathe," a fifteen-minute timer, and balanced breath. If you're new to breath work, start with five minutes. This is very simple: The app makes a sound for inhalation and one for exhalation. For many people, deep breathing helps to bring your nervous system into balance.

Change. This isn't a tip for everyone, but you know who you are. (I'm definitely guilty of this) If you've been wearing the same clothes for a week, stewing in your emotional turmoil, it's time to change them. Every single item you've been wearing. This may go to blankets or bedding, too. Put them all in the wash and give yourself a fresh set and a fresh start.

Wash. Take an intentional bath or shower. Wash every part of your body, focusing on removing the bad emotions with soap and washing them down the drain. You can add oomph to this by using soaps with cleansing scents (think lavender, citrus, lemongrass, sage, etc.).

Cut or Dye your hair. This is a deep take that will only work for some people, but if you're like me, cutting your hair can be a big release. It doesn't have to be a big change (though I find the bigger the cut, the bigger the release). Sometimes, making a visible change to your appearance can change how you feel. IYKYK

Small Cleansing Rituals. These will vary greatly depending on your practice and culture. If cleansing yourself with smoke or crystals really gets you, do it.

Clean Your House - stale energy is stale. Part of getting over an emotional episode, for me, is getting the energy in my environment flowing again. Open some windows. Wash your floors. Pick up the mess you created when you were too In It to do anything more than feel. This could be your bedroom, house, or space in which you spent the most time while you were down for the count. You can add oomph to this with Cleansing Vinegar.

Big Cleansing Rituals—When something is really stuck, we need the big guns. This could be cord-cutting or cleansing spells, whatever works well for you. I have a spell that works for this here.

Flush it out of you. (TW: alcohol) If you're the potion type, you can make a cleansing potion to move the emotions through your body until you eventually pee them out. This doesn't have to be alcoholic, though I like alcohol for its mild diuretic effects in this scenario. Think cleansing with citrus here, especially. My long-form lemonade will definitely work here, as would many types of tea. I have a seasoned cocktail specifically designed to do this here.

Banish it. There are too many ways to do a banishing spell for me to list them all here. But, since we are talking about explicitly banishing something from your own body - I suggest using food. Onions and black pepper are good banishing ingredients that taste great, too. I have a French Onion Soup banishing recipe here.

I want to reiterate here that if you are still dealing with your emotions stage of things right now, that is completely okay. This isn't meant to rush anyone through this process. We are all different people with different needs. It's also okay (and probably expected) that all of these things listed above won't work for all people - after all, they are things that work for me, specifically.

You need to find out what works for you. If don't know where to start right now, I hope this gave you some ideas. And, as always, if there's a method of getting through the hard shit that you'd like to add to this, please do! We could all use some new ideas for the hard road ahead.

[goathouseofficial]

actually so funny of aabria to say, "you fucked it up a bunch of times and lost" completely unprompted

[jzzxxy]

They’ve done sm episodes about cat noir and ladybug revealing their true identities to eachother and honestly I just need one where Andre finds out the truth instead like bro is the is the true victim here lmao

[kikigeh]

Want to know how I know Frozen 3 will most definitely not be great? The announcement of a Frozen 4.

The problem with Frozen 2 was that it had many, many ideas and they attempted, and utterly failed, to condense them into one singular linear story; the problem with Frozen 3 is that they "have so many ideas" that they realized they can't realistically condense them into one singular movie so their solution to "not repeat a frozen 2" is to instead push for ALL ideas to move forward which in turn has given them an overly lengthy cut.

Watching Frozen 1 in cinemas for the first time in a long while really reminded me how Frozen worked because it was very very simple and most of its heart was in the two "main" characters and how they navigated through life after a horrendous situation they were put through.

The heart of Frozen is not all the mystical and mythical elements that they can't get enough of attempting to push, hell, the most compelling part of Elsa as a character was just how raw and human she felt DESPITE having otherworldly powers.

I truly don't know which road they're taking the franchise through, but if the podcast and the books that have come out are anything to go by, it's straying way too far from what made the first movie compelling and enjoyable: its freaking simplicity.

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

The last of the Fankids (for this particular series)

Meet Amber Stone - Starlight's (and Trixie's by association :P) student-eventually-turned-adoptive-son He's Ambrosia's age

His special talent lies in magic :]

Also have this shitty doddle of him I made in the middle of the night

[robotsafari]

ok so far i've played 2 hours of 0.2 and wow. im stunned. a modern kingdom hearts game is actually making me feel so much joy and wonder and fear and AUGH THE EMOTIONS AND THE GAMEEE ITS LIKE A VIDEO GAME YOU CAN PLAY AND HAVE A GRAND OL TIME ITS KINGDOM HEARTS BABYYY !!!!!! WOAAAHHH WOOOWW

[missdynamighttt]

↳ ❝ HONEY.. COME BACK TO ME. PLEASE. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you and your ex-boyfriend katsuki bakugou can't seem to resist each other no matter what. even if you're only supposed to be friendly at the class reunion party.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x ex-girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: mentions of handjobs and oral sex in 3rd year at ua, oral sex (f! receiving), tits fixation, penetrative / p in v sex, car sex / semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie 🤭

note: spoilers for chapter 431 (a little different in some parts), usage of "brat", "honey", "sweets", "woman", fem reader, mentions of izuocha, second chance romance trope, porn with plot, microscopic angst, credits to gsony for center pic in my banner, i love them sm^^hope i did our husband justice 💜💜

╰┈➤ ❝ [why is he here?] you murmur quietly, discreetly watching katsuki from a distance, seeing him quiet and grumpy, drinking with a few of his friends alongside izuku.

ochako raises an eyebrow with a grin, clearly amused at your turmoil with the pro hero. she nudges your arm, looking at you from the side. "he's a part of the class too, y'know."

"i know that," you huff, sighing as you land your drink down the table, glancing back at him before looking back at ochako with a frown. "just.. its hard."

of course it was hard to see great explosion murder god dynamight. your ex-boyfriend, no matter how hot he looks in his usual black attire, his big biceps straining against the material, his post-war scars framing his muscular, gorgeous physique.

even before the war, you and katsuki were a great couple, despite your constant bickering and petty arguments. it just led up to increasing sexual tension and great makeout sessions. maybe got handsy a few times and did.. oral stuff in your 3rd year together but no more than that.

it all just came crumbling down after graduation, when you two gradually spent less time together as work kept both of you away from each other. you both ended it on good terms only after a year of being pro-heroes, but that doesn't stop you from missing him. from wanting him, needing him.

katsuki felt the exact same way. even if he was nonchalant about it now, he was barely holding himself back from dragging you away from this party and kissing your face off until he made up with the time both of you spent away from each other. which, to him, seemed like forever.

throughout the years, the two of you did see each other frequently during patrols and in joint-cases, made appropriate civilized small talk, but never ever talked about getting back together. it wasn't that both of you didn't want to: it just wasn't the perfect time. unlike this setting, where the two of you could talk properly.

ochako sighs softly, a small sympathetic smile on her face. "he's just a man, sweetie. after this, you'll barely see him again."

you bite you bottom lip and nod, tugging on the skin. you knew she made a good point, its just.. well, it doesn't change the fact that katsuki's in near proximity.

you sigh, smiling softly at her. "yeah, i know," you grin, nudging her arm, gesturing your head to izuku. "enough about me, though. what about you and midoriya, huh?"

ochako widens her eyes a little at the mention of her old highschool crush, shakes her head profusely, clearly flustered as vibrant pink tinting her cheeks. "i-i haven't even talked to deku in awhile! its been so long ago.."

you scoff and roll your eyes, grab her shoulder, and shake them a little. "well, change that. c'mon, i saw him looking at you anyway. maybe the same way he did todoroki but at least he looked at you. that counts for something."

you could still see the reluctance in her eyes to go so you shake her arm again in encouragement. "gooo, i'll be here, drinking my problems away, rooting for you."

ochako shakes her head at you with a soft grin, clearly wanting to but shyness was holding her back.

"i suppose a hello wouldn't hurt," her grin widens, pressing her cheek against yours, mumbling a soft thank you. "wish me luck."

you wave at ochako, mouthing to her good luck, as she approaches izuku, watching their cute interaction from afar. they wave at each other like the young, shy high-schoolers they once were, chatting and laughing softly over something trivial. izuku then offers her to sit beside him.

izuku eyes katsuki with a grin, gesturing his head to leave. katsuki rolls his eyes, but stands up, giving his seat to ochako. like the little bitch fate is, katsuki approaches ochako's empty seat beside you, looking at you with a small grin.

"oh, you sly fucker," your eye twitches. you didn't know who to be mad at, izuku or his insufferable best friend, but you could see ochako looking at you in worry, mouthing a quick sorry before getting enveloped by izuku's conversation again.

you sigh, shaking your head. on the bright side, whats the worst that can happen?

you give katsuki a soft smile, waving weakly at him. your hand feels stiff from how nervous you are, shaking it under the table to shake off the nerves. "hi."

katsuki raises an amused eyebrow at you, wearing his signature snarky smirk. he nods, settling down in ochako's empty seat. "hey, brat."

as you sat next to him, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. a pang of nostalgia, a flutter in your chest at the sight of him, and a hint of sadness at the memory of what could have been.

you took in his spicy cinnamon scent with smoky notes that you missed so much, the way his blonde hair was messily fixed, and his sardonic grin. it was hard to ignore the spark of longing, repeatedly chanting in your head that he was your ex for reason.

katsuki glanced over at you, eyes meeting for a brief moment. his crimson eyes catch the light of the room, making them glow like bloodstone. it made your stomach do backflips, forcing yourself to breathe.

”i’m surprised you actually came,” he says, his voice low and casual.

when he spoke again, the sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. it was the same voice that had whispered sweet nothings in your ear, the same voice that had laughed at your stupid, corny jokes, the same voice you had fallen asleep listening to on countless nights in the past.

you felt your palms begin to sweat but couldn't help but be a little pissed. it reminded you of what you said to ochako earlier, but still. "why wouldn't i? i'm in the class as much as you, aren't i?"

"don’t be a smartass,” he takes a sip of his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. your eyes followed the movement, a wave of memories hitting like a tidal wave.

other classmates fanned out of the room as the night goes on, but katsuki took advantage of this, seperating you from them, keeping you all to himself.

he turned to face you fully, your knees touching with his for a moment as he shifted in his seat. the sudden contact made you inhale sharply, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

"you look good," he said quietly, eyeing you up and down slowly, his gaze lingering on parts of your body that he clearly remembered well.

the warmth in your cheeks grew a little, clearing your throat, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "thanks. wish i could say the same for you."

he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "is that how it’s going to be?”

"well, you look like you need a shave," you lied. he didn't.

"oh? i thought you liked it when i was a little scruffy, sweets," you absolutely fucking did. there was nothing you wanted more than to lean in and feel the stubble on his jaw, to remember the roughness of his cheeks while you made out him. while he spoils your neck with hickies. while his head is in between your thighs, kissing your clit-

"that was years ago," you avert your gaze from him, unable to look at him any longer without crumbling. why was he so fucking attractive? it's been seven goddamn years. don't ex-boyfriends get ugly after a break-up?

"why do i get the feelin' you've missed it, hm?"

"i don't. you're delusional."

"you're a real terrible liar, brat."

"lying about you being delusional?"

"lying about you not missin' this. missin' me," he reached out to you, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. his touch was gentle as his knuckles grazed your cheek briefly. fuck.

"i don't.. i don't miss this. i don't miss you," you chew on the inside of your cheeks, trying to hold on to any semblance of composure you had. all the dignity you had was telling you to pull away but did you listen? fuck no.

"you're not very good at hidin' how much you want someone, sweets."

"quit it, katsuki. i said i don't."

"oh, that's real fuckin' funny. but i'll be clear," he chuckles deeply, a slow victorious smile on his face. you're starting to crack.

his hand slowly sliding towards your thigh, hidden from anyone else's view under the table. fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. his closeness was already making it harder to think, the sensation of his touch only weakening your resistance.

"i'm done pretendin' i don't want you. so, honey, cut it out, because we both know you want me too."

your gaze widened, quickly biting down on your bottom lip, trying to stop yourself from saying anything stupid.

luckily, before you could even respond, the very man who put you in this situation, izuku approached with kirishima in tow.

"hey kacchan, would it be okay if we leave now? i have an early class tomorrow," izuku asks, not a care in the world that he interrupted something between you two.

katsuki was staring daggers at him though, because he had to pull his hand away from your plush thigh.

"yeah, i gotta hit the sack too, man," kirishima rubs the back of his neck, who knows hes interrupting something between the two of you but doesn't say anything about it.

but.. that doesn't mean he doesn't want to fuck around a little. kirishima looks at you with a friendly grin. "hey, wanna come with?"

you panic a little. another chance for katsuki to wreck your defenses? could you handle that?

"nah, i'd rather not disturb, i'll just wait for a cab-"

"the fuck you're not. you're not takin' a cab, brat. i'm drivin' you home," katsuki spat, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the ride home was pleasantly quiet in a way that wasn't uncomfortable. the atmosphere was a bit tense, but it was manageable.

you found yourself in the passenger seat of his black porsche 911 gt3 rs, not because you wanted to, but because according to katsuki:

"you better sit your ass down here or i swear to god, woman, i'll pin you down this chair myself."

so, it left izuku and kirishima in the backseat that seemed to drown them (comfortably). you didn't utter a single word during the drive, merely listening to their conversation, occasionally cracking a small smile and chuckling at their banter.

the silence thickened again when katsuki dropped kirishima and izuku off, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet car.

okay, you needed a game plan. keep quiet, do not give in, and do not fuck him-

"i missed you, y'know," he murmurs, his eyes still focused on the road.

his words caught you off guard, startled you. you missed him too. so fucking much. but the words got stuck in your throat, pride and fear holding you back. you try to keep your emotions in check, keeping quiet and not giving in according to your game plan-

"too fuckin' much. pisses me off. started to bother kirishima too," he lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip on the steering wheel tightening a little, his knuckles turning white. "plagues the shit out of me. that i think about you almost everyday at the most random fuckin' times, its terrifying."

he glances at you briefly, sighing before focusing his eyes back on to the road, running his free hand through his blond hair. "honey, talk to me."

"...what do you want me to say, katsuki?"

"just.. tell me what you're thinkin', okay? what you're feelin'. the fuckin' truth, goddamn it, don't shut me out."

fucking hell. it was just so easy to give in to your feelings, to tell him how much you missed him. how much you wanted to be with him again. but you were afraid — afraid of having to start the healing process all over again.

but.. that didn't stop you from bearing your heart out.

"you want the truth?" you turn your head to face him. "fine."

"it haunts me that you're the first thing i think of whenever i'm overjoyed with something or whenever i have a bad day. that whenever my friends ask if we could eat something spicy, i think of you. can't tell you the multiple times i had to hold myself back from hitting the send button to your old number."

"i missed you too, katsuki. more than i thought. hell, more than i should. you never left my mind, no matter how many times i tried to tell myself that you did."

katsuki remained silent for a while, his mind obviously occupied with your confession as he watched the road. it made you panic a little. was it too much?

but then, without warning, he makes a quick turn, swerving off the main road and into a nearby parking lot like his life depended on it.

it catches you off guard as the car suddenly lunges forward, making you hold on to the side of the car door. he parks the car in a secluded corner, away from any prying eyes.

"what are you doing?" you asked, still taken aback from what happened as you watch him unbuckle his seatbelt.

"what does it look like i'm doing?" his eyebrow arched, as if the answer should be obvious.

without waiting for a response, he reclines your seat for more space. he unbuckles your seatbelt before climbing over, hovering over you. "gonna get what i fuckin' want. and right now, sweets, that's you."

you swallowed hard, his words and closeness sending a shiver down your spine. you could feel yourself getting hotter with every second that passed, your body aching for his touch.

but you were still reluctant. even with your thighs clenched together, your core felt like a pool of hot, wet need. and he could tell.

katsuki's frustration was evident. he lets out a deep sigh, leaning his head against your neck, inhaling your scent, barely trying to hold himself back from doing anything drastic.

"honey.. come back to me. please."

his voice was thick with pathetic need, a raw desperate desire for you burning in him.

fuck.

you know you should put up a fight, should try and resist him. but your body was aching for him.

and you really, really, couldn't fucking care less.

the moment your palms caress his cheeks, katsuki's eyes flutter shut, and he leans into your touch, sighing. you can feel him shiver under your fingertips, his body burning with longing. as your eyes meet his, a flash of raw desire flickers across his face.

and then, it's as if a dam breaks.

he leans in, his lips crashing into yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. his mouth is hot and eager against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips in a possessive, needy gesture.

katsuki's hands find your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as if the space between you is unbearable. you could feel his dick pressed up in between your legs, almost trembling with the intensity of his need.

your fingers slide up into his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly strands as you deepen the kiss. he groans against your mouth, the sound low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. his lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every taste.

when he pulls back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath comes in ragged gasps, mingling with your own. his crimson eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, bore into yours.

“don’t think for a second that im done with you,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “you're not gettin' outta here until i've had my fill of you, sweets."

he grins, chuckling darkly. "or should i say.. until i've filled you up."

when he grinds his hips harder against yours, you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. the feeling of his dick pressing against you makes your head spin, desire pooling in your wet cunny. fuck, was he always that big?

"oh, fuck," he inhales, almost hissing. "you feel that, sweets? hm? feel how hard my dick is, just for you?"

your bit you bottom lip, your head nodding slightly in response. your breath hitches when his hand reaches for in between your legs, inching up your skirt, rubbing his thumb against your damp panties.

"look at you, already such a fuckin' wet mess," he coos, a predatory grin on his face, glancing between your clothed, wet cunt and your flushed look. "haven't even started yet. you that eager for me, sweets?"

"stop being such a fucking tease and just.." your cheeks burn, embarassed, turning your head to the side. "fuck me."

"oh, i plan to sweets, don't worry," his voice low and sultry, tugging on the elastic of your panties, pulling them down your thighs. "wanna taste you first. haven't tasted this sweet fuckin' pussy in a long, long time."

"katsuki.. what if someone sees us?"

"honey.. i don't fuckin' care."

katsuki had brought you to the backseat of his car, stripped you off your skirt and panties and had your legs spread out like he needed to taste you or he'd die.

katsuki flicked his tongue at your clit, licking up your sweet, wet slick, feeling you squirm and mewl from under him. your legs were practically begging to be close shut, but he forced your legs open with his big, strong arms, both of his hands holding either side of your thighs.

"fuck, sweets, you taste so good," he groans against your folds, the intoxicating scent of your sweet cunt flooding his thoughts. "so fuckin' wet.."

you could hear the squelching sound of his tongue lap at your pussy, the lewd sound of his saliva and your slick turning you on. you took off your top and unhooked your bra, tossing it somewhere in the car. you played with your tits, pinching your nipples as you watched him ate your pussy like it was his last, delicious meal on earth.

"katsuki," you mewled, breath hitching as he fucks you with his skilled tongue.

"what, too much?" katsuki rasped, enjoying how you responded to his touch.

you nodded, already seeing stars.

he grunts, biting your inner thigh before chasing your orgasm again. "fuck that. missed this tight wet pussy of yours too much. can't believe you kept this sweet thing from me for so long..."

"katsuki," you moan his name, you grip on a handful of his hair, embarassed, almost going cross-eyed. he was eager to give you his all, it was slightly overwhelming. but you needed him. "too much, too much..."

"take it all for me, yeah, sweets?" katsuki grunts, raising the pace of his tongue, earning whimpering noises from you. "i know you can, c'mon. makin' my dick so fuckin' hard just watchin' you, holy shit.."

katsuki continues his delirious advance on your cunt, his perverted appetite for you making him so fucking horny. his cock twitches in his pants from the arousing act, throbbing from all the gluttony he was feeling. he couldn't get enough of it. he acted like a man starved and he needed all of you to quench his craving.

not that he'd ever stop craving you.

"katsuki, 'm about to-" you wail about your climax. your walls tighten around his tongue, your hips squirming from under him. you push your cunt against his face, wanting more friction.

"cum for me, sweets, c'mon," he continued to lap at your wet, sloppy mess. "need to taste you so fuckin' bad."

"fuck, fuck!" you squeal, moaning loudly as you painted his tongue white, shattered breathing as your chest heaved up and down.

katsuki doesn't waste another second, burying his face in between your legs as he glides his tongue across your pussy at a quick pace, savoring it all and riding out your orgasm. your legs shake from the overstimulation he was doing, whimpering from the way his tongue feels. he looks at you greedily, his cock agitated as his carnal desire to fuck you until your legs shaking burns more in him.

"'m so proud of you, sweets. c'mere, come gimme a kiss," he moves closer to you, his touch gentle and affectionate as he caresses your cheek before pressing his lips against yours in a kiss. you could almost taste yourself on his tongue.

his kisses are slow and gentle, his fingers find your nipples, pinching them as your fingers find their way into his hair.

he pulls away from you, panting and sweating, quickly stripping himself of his clothes, tossing them somewhere in the car.

he tugs his boxers down and pulls his cock out, already dripping with pre-cum before pulling you back in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. fuck, you don't remember it being that big.

you could feel his erection, his cock cushioning your wet cunt, his throbbing tip kissing your stimulated clit, just begging to be inside of you.

"you ready for me, right, sweets?" he murmurs, in between your tongues clashing together, waiting for your nod. he dips a finger inside you, making you moan. "look at this fuckin' pussy, could just slip in and bury my dick deep inside of you..."

"please," you plead, your voice soft and trembling, a pout tugging at your lips. you're needy and desperate, the words spilling out in a breathy whine. "i need you... so bad."

"god, you're killin' me here sweets," he took a deep breath, panting for air. "you sure?"

you took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "yes. please... i want this, i want you."

your words broke the last thread of his restraint. in an instant, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with unrelenting intensity. as if you were his only source of salvation.

katsuki's hands found your waist as he grips on you firmly, guiding you onto his lap and positioning you to straddle him with an effortless, commanding strength. he was desperate, completely consumed by the need for you, his longing obliterating any trace of rational thought.

katsuki positions his dick inside of your pussy, groaning as he watches you mewl, disappearing inside of you and stretching your walls painfully. yet you still felt the raw need for him.

"katsuki," you pant as you sat on his cock, adjusting as you dangle your arms by his shoulders. "fuck me, pl-"

he doesn't even let you finish, carrying you briefly before slamming you down on his cock, feeling your pussy clamp down on him again and again.

"you look so pretty like this, sweets, fuck," he looks up at you in awe. his moves his mouth is on your tits, sucking on your nipple.

you take it all with a wail, closing your eyes in blissful pleasure as the tip of his cock kisses your walls.

"oh my fuckin' god, i love you so fuckin' much, sweets. holy shit. and this fuckin' pussy too. you know that, don't you?" he asks, his crimson eyes gazing into yours, tension filling the small corners of the car.

"yeah," you nod, your skin heating up, stammered breaths as his cock was stretching you, abusing your warmth.

"then say it back."

"no wa-"

you scream as katsuki humps you down on his cock mercilessly, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you struggle to take him. your hips squirm against the girth and length of his cock abusing your hole to its satisfaction.

"katsuki!" his name slips out of your lips, letting out a wanton moan as his deep, hungry thrusts buck inside you out of spite. "sl-slow down..."

"hell fucking no."

"katsuki, please!"

"not until you say it back."

"fucking- fine! i love you, okay?" you mewl at the pain, but at the same time it made you feel so so good.

"say it again, didn't hear it," he taunts, his thrusts still deep and desperate enough capable of making you cream on his cock.

"i said, i love you!" you panted, whimpering from his hips snapping into yours.

"that's my girl," katsuki grins, letting his hand travel to caress your cheek before pulling you in for a messy, sloppy kiss.

you feel your cunny coil of essence, chasing your climax desperately with him at the last few thrusts.

you pull away from him, panting. "katsuki, fuck, gonna cum again..."

"mhm, gonna cum too, sweets," he grunts, thrusting into your cunt sloppily. "cum with me, yeah?"

you pant out of bliss, nodding. his hips snap into yours as he thrusts into your cunt harder, dripping of your shared slicks.

you mewl as shockwaves of pleasure hit you, throwing your head back as your tight, white walls clench around his cock. katsuki groans, his hips stuttering as he cums inside of you, a creamy frothy ring of white wrapped around the base of his cock as it kisses your folds.

both of you lay intertwined together, bodies tangled and panting together, breaths mingling, basking in the quiet warmth of each other's presence.

you pout up at him, delivering a playful slap to his cheek before sinking into his arms with a huff. "you're so mean."

katsuki chuckled deeply, the sound low and teasing. he didn't seem offended by your light hit, he seemed more amused by it.

"oh, please, you love me," he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against his chest. he nuzzled into your hair.

his body relaxed somewhat as he held you. he couldn't help but marvel at how easily you fit against him, how well your body molded to his.

"i've missed having you in my arms, you know," he admires you, tugging a strand of your hair. "it's been... goddamn painful."

you bite your bottom lip, a deep sense of understanding in the sympathetic smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. you hold his gaze, knowing intimately the emotions that swirl within him. "i know, hon. me too."

the softness in his eyes is palpable as the pet name you had for him washes over him, a hint of vulnerability there that he rarely shows. he hides his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "honey, i never wanna let go of you again."

you raise an eyebrow, a cheeky grin on your face as you tenderly caress his cheek, your gaze locking with his.

"i'm not going anywhere."

he looks up at you, returning your grin. his lips then gently meets yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

"good. i wouldn't let you even if you tried."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ tags (blogs who requested/ commented / reblogged on teaser): ˚⋆ @pikachuzhc @dragonscribble @obitosdefencelawyer @oladelmars @dietc0ke-stomach @liliththedxmon @junehasnotbeenfound @kaizuzuzu @babylambdietcoke @bri-licious08 @itadoriwife @katsukiglazerrr @secretlilli @trishiepo0 @akitafox @un-limit-edd @kalulakunundrum @krbkswifey @orangeheliophile @kenqki @thisbicc @augustraine @lisbethw @vikizzy @king-dynamight @legendarybatherringmonger @srcyy @moonlightwriter

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ was overwhelmed with how much attention the teaser was getting, EVEN ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS LIKED THE POST @cathnospam ILYSM YOURE MY HERO. feedback/constructive criticism is always welcome!! i was working on my thesis defense (accepted!!) while writing this so i apologize for the delay and if theres any grammatical errors^^ i am beyond grateful to all of you and i hope you enjoyed reading the epitome of me being horny for katsuki🥹🥹

[bunnwich]

Why Leona Gave Himself The Bad Ending

Leona Kingscholar Analysis

Usual disclaimer to say that these are just my thoughts and you don’t have to feel pressured to agree. This was my thought process as I played through the parts of Chapter 7 Parts 212-226, featuring Leona’s dream triggered by Malleus’s magic.

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I wanna start off by saying that I believe all the dreams are a mixture of Malleus’s magic and the dreamers themselves. 

Idia theorized that Malleus is sort of “setting up the parameters” in a way, then each of the dreamers' personalities and imaginations affect the dream in different ways. The emphasis of this has been brought by Idia several times that it’s the strength of imagination that determines how complex dreams are. Which is maybe why in the first years dreams seem so basic? They’re young, their magical abilities are still new, and their magic is no match for Malleus’s magic. That and, to be fair, most of the first years don’t have the same amount of angst and turmoil as some of the other second years and third years have.

With that being said, I believe that because of his high intelligence, magical prowess, and his hyper-vigilance, that is the main reason Leona’s dream was so…different than the others.

But let's get into it!

There are a lot of Lion King references in this dream, and it’s very clear the writers wanted to play around and show this off. I feel like they did a good job of integrating the themes of the movie into Leona's dream. It does give me a little validation as I feel Leona’s struggles and personality are closely linked to his great Seven Counterpart, Scar. More so than any of the other overblotters. When I analyze Leona I sometimes I do use Scar as a starting point to understand his intentions.

This is how I came to the conclusion long ago that being king would never make Leona happy because it's not what he truly wants.

We start with the dream back in the Sunset Savanna. It’s VERY interesting to see that there is hyena prejudice right off the bat as a woman flees from Ruggie while he attempts to buy food. 

Right off, everyone can tell something is…off about the city. Especially coming fresh from Ruggie’s dream where everything was idyllic and happy for hyenas BECAUSE of Leona.

Grim hits us with the: “I laugh in the face of danger!” line. We even get the three hyenas referenced and the “love for you to stick around for dinner” line. The once proud lioness-dominated palace guard has been taken over by hyena “ruffians” (interesting choice to portray a disenfranchised group being given jobs as the new guard as a negative thing, but moving on.)

The first interesting thing we get is that the palace is somewhat rundown and empty? The group makes comments of how dark and dreary it is, and how few people are around. Is there an implication that the servants fled at some point after Leona became King or did he replace them? This further shows me that Leona for whatever reason has chosen to isolate himself. To me, it's most likely that he already feels isolated by his country and those in the palace.

From the looks of it “Malleus’s magic” has given Leona the one thing he has always wanted, but has he? Leona seems less than thrilled and genuinely upset by the fact his whole family is...gone. As I mentioned in my Leona relationships post, I think that he holds a complex relationship with his family, and while he resents them, in no way can I see him wanting them to be dead. 

It’s now I started to think that Leona’s magic was overriding the simple “let them eat cake” logic of all of the happier dreams. This dream feels TOO real, dark, dreary, and…sad. Could it be Leona’s intelligence or cynicism, ruining what’s supposed to be an idyllic scenario?

Why is even in his WILDEST dreams Leona is still miserable?

Hmm.

A lot of people have talked about Kifaji and their thoughts on his presence. It’s strange to see people praise him as “a loving parental figure” as if he’s really there trying to help Leona. But, Kifaji is not there. This Kifaji is a manifestation of Leona’s mind and I’ll get to why that’s interesting and what I think he represents. Remember, that often in other dreams we’ve seen of loved ones or rivals and they can act normal, out of character, or even cruel. Vil and Neigie come to mind and Neige turned out to be the blot keeping Vil asleep.

Kifaji is a bit different. He actively tries to help the group wake Leona as opposed to encouraging the twisted dream logic. For this reason, to me, Kifaji represents Leona’s conscious and the Dream!Leona we see represents his shadow self, like the dark side of the moon. AKA, the Leona we meet in Chapter 2. In fact, this whole dream feels like a rehash of Chapter 2.

We get the outdated Leona that dumbs himself down and settles for less, cloaking himself in his pride and believing that everyone is below him. An idle king while he lets others do his dirty work. (Scar basically.)

Leona asks Kifaji to sing (another Lion King reference) and it plays out how you would think. Leona tells Kifaji that he is the only competent person in the kingdom. And he argues that the kingdom is in shambles, not because of his choices as King, but because everyone else sucks basically.

Hmm. 

Kifaji reminds Leona that while he is clever and his plans are grand, that he can not treat people like human chess pieces. (Can I just say I love when chess is brought up to us because I find that when people analyze Leona or his thoughts they often forget how much he uses chess to process his thoughts. We saw that plenty in the Tamashina Mina event!) I think it helps him sort his thoughts and emotions which he can have a hard time doing.

I think Kifaji represents Leona’s mindset post Chapter 2 and because Kifaji in his real life is one of the only people who probably stands up to Leona, he has placed him in this antagonist role in his mind. (but not really) Plus, it’s not far off from Kifaji’s actual treatment of Leona in the Tamashina Mina event.

So yeah, Leona acts more like he does in Chapter 2—he's the player or the king even and everyone else around is just lowly pieces.

Just like the scene from The Lion King, Scar and Leona are not happy. Even though they are supposedly getting their deepest desire, they remain bitter and…alone. 

When I first began to read into Leona it was quite obvious to me that the whole “I’ll never be king" thing was just a front for something else. What I think Leona truly craves is approval and acceptance.

Being king, especially of a broken kingdom that despises him, will never make him happy. But, why do the people not love him? This is supposed to be a fantasy right?

There is this interesting layer of how he became king too. Instead of Cheka or Falena simply not existing, like I thought it might be, they are dead. That is…so much more tragic than it needed to be. As if deep down Leona believes the only way he can become king (his dreams to come true) is if tragedy happens. This reminds me of his bitter view/the symbolism of his unique magic. That he can only bring misery wherever he goes—everything he touches turns to sand. 

I also think that Leona is afraid of failing and much of this dream is his anxieties and insecurities that linger from all his past failures.

Though interestingly enough, I sense that in the dream, as implied later by Idia, Leona has implemented an “over-exaggeration” of his policies and plans for the kingdom. It was almost like he purposely ran his resources dry and gave up trying to compromise with anyone for the sake of “progress.”

Why, though?

It’s very masochistic in a way. It’s almost like he wanted to prove himself right. Everything he touches will turn to sand eventually and his grand plans will fail even if he claims they are “perfect.”

That’s why this dream is probably the most masochistic and self-deprecating we have seen. I think what initially began to draw me to Leona’s character is because of the hidden pain he holds. He is by far one of the most easygoing, and lackadaisical acting of the cast, but…he cares, he cares so, so much about how he is perceived and his haunted by his hopelessness about his future and the failures of his past.

I think the pain of never feeling good enough, causes his mind to be unable to “play nice” with Malleus’s dream magic to even manifest any sort of positive future. One where he holds a position he wants AND is loved and respected. it’s just impossible that he could ever have that, even in his wildest dreams. 

He’s too much of a “realist.”

Side tangent, but a frustrating take is to see was the: “Oh yeah, see? He would have sucked as king.” tinged comments after this came out.

 I think it’s more complicated than that. 

This isn’t me trying to defend him necessarily, but to be fair, all dreams tend to be over exaggerations by the dreamer. Plus, I think the fact that Ruggie HATES Leona in this dream and is suddenly in favor of Falena, is a sign right there we can not trust Leona’s interpretation of the people he knows in his dream. He is sort of an unreliable narrator that way. 

Besides, like in The Lion King, why would all the water dry up, just because the hyenas over-hunted? 

A big theme in Lion King and even The Lion Guard TV show is "the balance of nature." The blight upon the Pridelands when Scar takes over feels more like symbolism of the “unbalance of nature” caused by the tragedy of Mufasa’s death. Which makes me again, connect that Leona feels the only way he can succeed is by inflicting misery on others. Like his magic, perhaps a part of him believes he is a curse. 

I theorized in my Tamashina Mina review, that maybe Leona feels like an outcast himself, and the separation he feels from his country is showcased in how he blames the citizens for the decline of the kingdom, rather than his plans. He feels isolated from them.

By this point, I was having flashbacks to Chapter 2, where he got a whiff of his plan failing and he still pushed through even though he knew it would fail. At first, he may have started doing okay as king, but maybe when he came upon too many obstacles or pushback, He just gave up. Because he was not instantly loved by the people, who probably already feared him, he’d rather not even try. Suddenly, they are “not worth his time”, and he can’t help them because they suck.

Leona’s problem has always been his pride. I think he has to put it aside to genuinely help people reach their potential and learn to collaborate with others more. Part of how this dream plays out, is him realizing that maybe some criticisms Kifaji had about his pride all along may be true. Leona refuses to play nice with others. 

That’s why I think Kifaji represents a more sensible and lucid Leona. He is in a sense, talking to his past self, and trying to shake himself from the dream and his outdated ideals.

Ortho even points out that Ruggie is not really the Ruggie we know but rather a part of Leona’s imagination. Again, which puts emphasis on how the characters in his dream are more indicative of his mindset as opposed to being “in character”. Maybe Ruggie hating him in his dream is his inner anxieties about him and Ruggie post Chapter 2 fallout. He feels like Ruggie could never forgive him for what he did. He let him down. And Leona being bad with people and feelings, doesn’t know the proper way to apologize.

Kifaji (woke Leona) says that the state of the kingdom is a result of him “pursuing efficiency over all things and disregarding other people's feelings.” It really feels like he is calling himself out here. Does he REALLY wanna help people? Or is it just Leona’s selfish pride who wants attention for just being smart?

Dream!Leona complains about the protesters interrupting his nap which is another sign for me of the exaggeration of the scenario of Leona being the king. Like...did he not criticize Falena for having the same carefree and laid-back attitude? And yet here he is...complacent in the same behavior he once criticized Falena of. 

Interesting.

Ortho mentions that Leona’s dream is clearly a more complex situation than the other dreams.

I think there is a key implication we are missing here too, that I haven’t seen many mention. There is a throwaway line that Jack mentions that Leona has not attended school and is king instead. And he doesn't seem to know Dream!Ruggie either. Nor Ruggie him.

There is no doubt his time at NRC has shaped him to be the Leona we know now. Someone who has at least somewhat benefited with the connections he made at school. It does seem like this Dream!Leona is regressed. And because he never attended school, he is a much colder person who has no regard for others' feelings at all. He is even more socially inept.

I feel like this is a common theme to show us that despite the independent nature of most of the students at NRC, that it can still be “the friends we made along the way.” trope.  These connections do matter and especially to Leona. He mentions this in his post-overblot monologue in the light novel. He found his pack at NRC.  This time with his dorm members affected his personality for the better. It's kinda sweet when you think about it!

Ortho mentions Dream!Leona appears DEEPLY absorbed in the delusions of his dream. This means that even though he has the lucid failsafe of Kifaji, Leona’s self-deprecation, despair, and pain are still overtaking his logic. That's what's crafted this nightmare. (And he later references it as such.) 

Everyone acknowledges that he can’t possibly be happy and looks EVEN MORE miserable than at school. It can't be a silly happy fantasy, but a grim dark reality of what he thinks of himself. 

That's why he gave himself the bad ending.

I love the double entendre of Idia saying Leona is building his dream like a “sandbox” game. Lots of Minecraft references. (Leona Minecrafter confirmed? Or hear me out…Leona playing King Crusaders or Civilization V FGHJ)

Anyways, Idia or Ortho, (I forget) suggests that perhaps he has run out of ”simulations” for his dream playthrough. And being an intelligent person his mind tends to overthink naturally and this caused his dream to have a more realistic tone. Plus, I theorize that because Leona is powerful and his intelligent, his magic and imagination was almost able to overwrite Malleus's, a standard happy dream formula.

Ortho suggests Leona chose a more “realistic mode “on purpose.” Perhaps like I theorized earlier, it is almost a masochistic test to see if he could have everything he wanted? Leona is a very analytical person who enjoys games. It makes sense, the way he often plays chess alone to practice “strategies.” But as I mentioned before, I think he just genuinely believes it's not possible. Ortho mentions he thinks Leona’s the type to understand that an “aggressive urban development” would come with risks.

Jack asks “If Leona knew this was a bad plan then why would he make the citizens suffer and be hated?”  (Sheesh, now we know Leona really is the type to play pretend and get a lil too real with it.)

Ruggie adds that Leona may be “doing something he knows he shouldn't be on purpose.” Like maybe he did it to be dastardly and maybe he just wanted to “feel the rush” of being a ruthless and hated king.

When Azul asks Ruggie if he thinks Leona takes pleasure in immoral things he says that he can't say for sure, only that he is a prince that no doubt can take pleasure in “bad things”.

To me, however, it feels like a masochistic move to prove to himself his happiness is unattainable. 

Then Sebek chimes in: “How could he go so far to kill his family only to abandon his responsibilities as a king and become a horrible one?"

No one seems to know for sure. Everyone in the group has their theories but the consensus in the group is that - nobody fuckin’ knows why this guy intricately carved himself such a miserable fantasy for himself. Very masochistic for a guy who appears to be so proud huh?

Idia continues to mention that Leona’s imagination is so vast compared to everyone else's. It fills out a whole “world” completely and the mechanics of this world must make sense. He's playing on hard mode. In Leona’s brain this seemed to manifest as if he is to “get what he wants” it can't be serendipitous or through triumph, IT MUST be through tragedy.

Can we lighten up a little?

Again, he may have started to do “good work” but quickly realized that keeping up with all to create a perfect kingdom was waaaay over his head. Maybe he was afraid to give it his all, because he knew everyone would still hate him anyway.

Another reason I think Leona thrives better as a “big fish in a small pond” so to speak. Like his dorm leader role where he can interact directly with his cute (this man used this word a lot for some reason) froshes, make tangible make things better for a small group or community. 

But as we saw, even with his dorm Leona began to feel overwhelmed with the pretty promises he made to his underclassmen in Chapter 2 about the Spelldrive tournament. He like…wants to be wanted but he’s terrified of people actually relying on him, because trying your best and then failing anyways is the most painful thing to him. His instinct when he gets too frustrated with something is to act like he never cared about it in the first place or anyone. AKA “I did everything right and it's THE REST OF YOU who are incompetent.”

That’s why I personally think that in the future Leona working within a small community might be a better fit for him, using his skills to see potential in others as a way to connect with them and teach them how to thrive. 

So yeah, needless to say the group is stumped on analyzing Leona’s intentions and Azul hilariously notes that Leona is just…a complicated person. 

What an understatement.

The group hatches a silly plan to have Ruggie puppet a Cheka hologram and yeah obviously it didn’t work.

This is where it started to get interesting again.

Dream!Kifaji said he’s been “waiting for the day Leona would wake up from his bad dream” and joins the fight against him to wake him. It’s like Leona telling himself that it's time to let his original dream go.

Ortho is surprised Kifaji is on their side, that he should be the darkness pulling Leona back in, but like I mentioned I think Kifaji is actually a “fail safe” Leona created to stay lucid or...maybe the little bit of hope he has fostered now that he has grown from Chapters 2’s events.

Since Kifaji is the one to normally call him out, maybe he's Leona’s way of processing his relationship with him. And that maybe…sometimes as annoying as Kifaji is, he has a point. Kifaji is the one who is implied to have raised him after all, so it's no surprise Leona sees him in a father-like role more than his own father.

“No one understands me, it's not my fault.”  Leona laments running away, running away from himself.

Reminds me a lot of Chapter 2 Leona where he began to feel sorry for himself instead of actually trying to fix things. It's clear that no matter how smart and mature Leona is…is that he still has a lot of growing to do. And that his relationship with his family and country are complex. There is not a black and white or good and bad with this situation and I feel like this is important when talking about him and his relationships with his family.

He was very much ostracized and probably neglected to some extent by his real parents but at a certain point, Leona decided to give up on improving himself just because he didn't achieve the results he wanted to. It's one of his biggest flaw.

His complacency is what drags him further into the darkness. Not Kifaji.

Sitting and stewing in his despair and how unfair his life has been instead of reaching out. Rehashing all thise chess strategies alone on his chess board until his brain hurts. Making grandiose plans instead of actually working hard toward a realistic goal. 

The idle king. A king with naught. (Nothing.)

I am now realizing that in a way (because Ruggie and Leona are so similar) Jack is Leona’s foil; he is the determined and earnest one who admires Leona at his best. He still holds the innocence and the idealism of working hard.

The group jumped through the darkness with Leona and we are replaying the events of Chapter 2 once again.

Ruggie and Jack watch it go down in dismay. Ruggie addresses that he once did think Leona’s way of thinking/plan was good and it’s cool to see he clearly regrets it now too.

They watch the drama play out as if Leona’s plan in Chapter 2 actually succeeded and see that he craves more. More ways for Savanaclaw to get ahead by unsavory means.

Jack says even if Leona becomes king there will be no end to his dissatisfaction. BOOM, there it is.

That is why Chapter 2 is so mind boggling.  Leona’s whole speech was about being king and second. But it’s clear now, it's not what he truly wants. I think Leona is afraid to admit what he really wants. Because that takes vulnerability and then comes the possibility of being rejected.

Jack also notes that, despite Leona getting “everything he wanted” he seems more grumpier and dissatisfied than usual.

“Leona is not your King, hes’ our Dorm Leader,” Jack growls. They fight and we get a nice callback to Lion King here. “Remember who you are.”

As Leona wakes up from his dreams he straight up says, yeah the scheme from Chapter 2 was…stupid. (Nice.)

Oh and we finally get some acknowledgement that Ruggie feels like Leona abandoned him in Chapter 2 which SHEEEEEEEESH. This is a deep cut for me, considering Ruggie’s real dad abandoned him. And it really confirms the fact he sees Leona as a father/big brother figure.

But, Leona doesn't, he sacrifices himself for Ruggie as the whole group tries to escape the crumbling dream. And while Ruggie cries out for Leona, Leona goes down smirking not knowing what will happen to him.

It’s time for him to face himself, his blot monster.

Blot!Leona wants them dead, all of them. Cheka, Falena, everyone. The real Leona finds it kind of pathetic. Because, in reality, I don't think Leona hates Cheka or Falena and he doesn't want to be alone anymore.

Leona admits to his blot that yeah, no he can’t do the job. He can’t be king. And instead of it being a negative it’s more a relief? Maybe he is incompetent too. He is addressing himself and his previous grandiose illusions. He hasn’t done anything worthy of being king.

However, he will not give up. He’s finally living up to Savanaclaw’s motto of perseverance (which he sorta laughed off in Chapter 2?)

This next part is what struck me the most because. He just lays it out so simply, finally saying it out loud.

Self awareness!! Like he finally said it!! (And I felt very vindicated in this moment, NGL) 

What he desires most is the approval of others.

Ah, and Blot!Leona responds with the fact he can't earnestly try, it's too painful to think of failing. Props for Leona acknowledging his flaws! Just like with the other overblotters. But I'm especially floored here because of how PRIDEFUL he is all the time.

In order to have better relationships with people, he has to leave that whole “they all hated me” shit behind. Because in reality, there are people who care for him despite his flaws. There are those who look up to him and admire him, for him.

But, the idea of that I think is so…crazy to him that he tends to deny its very existence. Then when he is genuinely complimented on his leadership or whatever skills he brushes it off.

He calls himself disgusting which feels kinda sad but it’s proof he has moved on from his previous way of things. What did I say earlier? Leona is afraid of failure. 

Giving being a king a earnest optimistic go is too painful for him because ultimately he is afraid of failing. Like he was happier to play the role of tyrannical king than to bother to build relations with the citizens of his kingdom.

As his blot self withers away it’s almost…sad compared to the previous blot monster showdowns we’ve seen. It mentions something about “his friends” (A reference to Scar’s final words.) like he’s reaching out for Leona so it's not alone anymore. And Leona almost embraces his monster? It’s clear he feels pity for this thing…him. His pain, his depression, his loneliness. Maybe a step in the way of self-love? He acknowledges (almost as to soothe it) that it will always be with him, clawing from inside. Except now, he won’t give up.

He vows that he will get what he wants one day, for both of them. He’ll have his “own throne and pride” instead of wanting for someone else’s. He’ll find his place to belong through his own merit.

It reminds me of that expression “find your own tribe” which is an expression that those who are not close to heirt families understand all too well.  He wants to find satisfaction outside his desire to rule and maybe because we know he prefers NRC to home, this confirms his fondness for his dorm life. (Savanaclaw found a family dorm.)

When he returns to his original dream of being king Kifaji is there as they look on at Pride Rock. The fact that it is raining is telling that hope has returned. (Just like at the end of Lion King) and that by accepting that “being king” is not what he really wants now “all things are balanced again”.

They have a nice moment here. Leona acknowledging that he has been given the tools to do good things by Kifaji’s training is a big mature moment for him. (Especially how they acted toward one another in the Tamashina Mina event)  And Kifaji praising him, since this a dream, could be a testament to what he wishes would happen between them.

AKA Leona finally feels more, “at peace” with himself.

As Leona destroys this false kingdom with his sand he seems reserved, it’s almost bittersweet as it all settles over him, his new found aspirations, letting the old ones go. He's letting the past go. A big theme in Lion King. (I really feel the writers must be fans of the movies.) 

Kifaji says: “Go to the place you really belong.”

This line kinda got me. Because the implication is that Night Raven College and his dorm is where he really belongs. Leona is confirming that his experiences at NRC have shaped who he is SO MUCH. 

For years he accepted his life as it was, a cage, and now he is acknowledging that he has the power to break that cage and do whatever he wants. It’s a great callback to the advice he gave Jamil in Chapter 6.

This is quite refreshing as he mentioned before that it was too “late for him”. Now, he realizes it isn’t.

Back with the gang, Ruggie admits his fear that Leona will abandon him again. Leona denies it, and says somewhat casually that he is in fact a true friend of his. This feels like a clever inversion of the line that Scar says to the hyenas about being his “friends.” 

But, we know now that Leona does mean it now. And this shows Leona’s desire to finally stray from the “path”  of his Great Seven counterpart and actually like…have friends?

The reunion of the Savanaclaw trio is actually really sweet. For a dorm full of cocky jocks with strong personalities they seem to be so genuinely happy to be reunited.

Jack bursting out into tears and crying got me tearing up. Like Ruggie and Leona clearly are bit more reserved in their emotions but we see Savanaclaw really are close, despite their disagreements. They care for one another as a dysfunctional little family. 

As a dorm that doesn't get much mainstream attention compared to others it was so nice to have this little moment. It's hard to tell, but I’m 99% sure there was a group hug based on how the sprites moved and the sound effects. At least a nice back pat from Leona. (Thanks, dad.) 

All in all, I really...enjoyed his dream section. As someone who is pretty hyper-critical, for the most part, it satisfied most of the things I wanted to feel. I even got emotional at a few points! Yes, it would have been nicer to spend more time with “king” Leona and dive into it more. Or get more lore about his family. But, he admitted it FINALLY, everything I have clocked about him all those years ago. It’s very satisfying to see his growth in a tangible straightforward way, instead of just me reading between the lines.

I hope we will continue to see even more growth with his character (Like we did in the Halloween event)  and I’m excited to see the role he will play in the rest of Chapter 7, even if it’s just him being a cranky old man. (What do you expect he was raised by one?)

I'd like to end this with some positivity. As someone who deep dives into character stuff a lot I know it's really comforting to see part of yourself reflected back in your favorite characters.

To anyone reading who feels they have things in common with Leona or his despair, the truth is that you should keep going, even if it's just to spite the world itself.

Your vision and presence in this world are valid all on their own and that failing is not indicative of your value as a person. It never will be.

Keep fighting to find your place, your pack and never forget who you are.💚

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Thanks for reading!! This one took quite a bit to edit and think through so if you like my Leona analyses, I’d appreciate a reblog or even just if you wanna share it with your friends! Shoutout to the youtuber ガスマスクゲーマー whose video I pulled these screenshots from. Thank you!

[s-soulwriter]

Creative misfortunes for characters

Identity Crisis: Have your character lose their memory, forcing them to rediscover their true self and past.

Betrayal by a Loved One: A close friend or family member betrays the character's trust, leading to emotional turmoil and inner conflict.

Physical Transformation: Give your character a physical ailment or transformation that they must come to terms with, such as sudden blindness, a debilitating illness, or turning into a different species.

Unrequited Love: Make your character fall deeply in love with someone who doesn't reciprocate their feelings, causing heartache and a quest for self-discovery.

Financial Ruin: Strip your character of their wealth and privilege, forcing them to adapt to a life of poverty and face the harsh realities of the world.

False Accusation: Have your character falsely accused of a crime they didn't commit, leading to a desperate quest to clear their name.

Natural Disaster: Place your character in the path of a devastating natural disaster, such as a hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami, and force them to survive and rebuild.

Loss of a Sense: Take away one of your character's senses (e.g., sight, hearing, taste) and explore how they adapt and cope with this profound change.

Forced Isolation: Trap your character in a remote location, like a deserted island, and make them confront their inner demons while struggling to survive.

Haunted Past: Reveal a dark secret from your character's past that comes back to haunt them, threatening their relationships and well-being.

Time Travel Consequences: Send your character back in time, but make them inadvertently change a crucial event in history, leading to unintended consequences in the present.

Psychological Breakdown: Push your character to the brink of a mental breakdown, exploring the complexities of their psyche and their journey towards recovery.

Unwanted Prophecy: Have your character be the subject of a prophecy they want no part of, as it places them in grave danger or disrupts their life.

Loss of a Loved One: Kill off a beloved character or make your protagonist witness the death of someone close to them, igniting a quest for revenge or justice.

Incurable Curse or Disease: Curse your character with an incurable ailment or supernatural curse, and follow their journey to find a cure or accept their fate.

Sudden Disappearance: Make a character disappear mysteriously, leaving the others to search for them and uncover the truth.

Betrayal of Morals: Force your character into a situation where they must compromise their ethical values for a greater cause, leading to moral dilemmas and internal conflict.

Loss of a Precious Object: Have your character lose a cherished possession or artifact that holds sentimental or magical significance, setting them on a quest to recover it.

Political Intrigue: Place your character in a position of power or influence, then subject them to political intrigue, manipulation, and power struggles.

Existential Crisis: Make your character question the meaning of life, their purpose, and their place in the universe, leading to a philosophical journey of self-discovery.

Remember that misfortunes should serve a purpose in your story, driving character growth, plot development, and thematic exploration.

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART THREE !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!jinx, obsessive!jinx, yandere!viktor, g/n reader, kidnapping, blood/violence, death, nonconsensual affection, & displays of schizophrenia.

jinx's yandere traits are . . .

jealous, smothering, & territorial

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Jinx always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself sauntering through the world with bare feet; to exist with no inner turmoil wreaking havoc on her happiness. It is an embarrassing, pathetic fantasy, as her life has tested her strength and vitality time after time again. Yet alas, her heart will always ensnare itself around the jagged edges of this reverie. 

To bring an end to the parasitic chaos in her mind — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

Even as a child, Powder would innocently fantasize of a life devoid of smoke and tears. Maybe even a prosperous life in Topside, where she’ll forge a living off her groundbreaking inventions and spend the earned revenue on lavish dresses and the tallest houses. Or, maybe she’ll stay in the Under-City, but forge it into a land of sheer luxury, where Topsiders will beg for a life in the city they abandoned.

That is not exactly what the universe had in store for young Powder, however. There is no room left to daydream with her and her family's current circumstances.

Wind turbines have now been halted after their power supply had been cut off by Piltover. To escape the perfusion of gas and polluted air, citizens of the Under-City have been desperately trying to cross the bridge to Topside. Powder and her family are some of those citizens. 

In their attempts to cross, however, tall figures in blue and gold suits use violent force against them. Caught in the crossfire is her parents, who sacrifice themselves to protect the lives of their children. 

Powder races after them, but trips over some rubble and twists her ankle in the process. Her hand is then grasped by Violet, who sprints away from the scene with her. One glance over her shoulder and Powder finds them stomach-down on the bridge surface. Empty, dead eyes staring past her.

In their rushed journey back to the Under-City, a sandstorm intensifies around the grief-stricken girls. Violet now carries a wounded Powder in her arms as she struggles to find shelter. The route home is impossible to discern, now overwhelmed with suffocating dust and thick brume.

With this weight in her grasp, Violet feels herself becoming more and more lethargic. She winces with every step taken, before she inevitably collapses to the sand-ridden ground from exhaustion. Powder lands harshly in the process, a pained cry leaping from her throat when the rough ground greets her sprained ankle.

“Vi? Violet!” Her weak voice is a whisper against the thrashing force of the surrounding storm. 

She crawls to her sister and presses her shoulders with her tiny palms, begging for her sister to awaken from her unconscious state.

“Violet, please-!” 

A figure stands in the distance. 

She squints, trying to discern the identity. Her efforts fall short, however, when all she can distinguish is a dust-ridden haze. The figure then begins stepping forward, approaching them. Powder, to her shock, is not afraid at all. Instead, she is the exact opposite, covered in a canopy of peace like a warm blanket. 

Halting just several paces away from them, Powder finds the figure to be adorned in a dark cloak; all features of their physicality hidden away in polished fabrics. She swears she can almost see jewels, of some sort, peeking out from beneath their coat. 

The figure then lends their hand out towards the two sisters. Powder’s confusion is promptly replaced with sheer amazement with a bright cloud of blue and purple perfuses from their palm. A flurry of incomprehensible letters surround the cloud, of which she assumes she cannot read due to her young age. With that being said, she’s never truly seen a language that looks like that.

A few swift flicks of the stranger's hand and Powder’s vision is engulfed in a white light. She shields her vision to no avail, but the bright intensity is only temporary. When the light swiftly fades, she finds herself astonished, once again. 

The rampant storms have been entirely replaced with lush, vibrant fields. She now sits upon fluffy grass nestled against arrays of colorful flowers and vibrant greenery. From above, sprinkles of blue and purple orbs drift through the wind. The moon is clearer than it ever has been in the Under-City, basking her in its gentle glow. Her lungs are now clear of thick pollution and gleefully welcome the perfusion of healthy air.

Too busy engrossed with her surroundings, Powder nearly fails to notice the mysterious stranger as they begin to walk in the opposite direction, flowers with blue and purple petals blooming with every step they tread. 

The young girl attempts to garner their attention, once again, but these efforts are halted with a few groggy coughs from her sister. She scrutinizes her surroundings with confusion, but with a perceptible relief upon finding Powder. Violet then gestures to her ankle with intentions of inspecting the injury further. When the two of them look, however, they find that the wound has seemingly vanished. As though Powder had never twisted her ankle in the first place.

She then stands to her feet with her freshly-healed ankle and begins frolicking through the fresh land. 

“Magic! Magic!” She exclaims, excitement burning inside of her. 

Violet does not share this excitement, however, and sets out on finding shelter, once more. Powder joins her with a newfound pep in her step, as though nothing bad had ever happened before. As though nothing bad could ever happen…

Then, it did happen. 

Each chapter of her life ended in blood and destruction. With every final sentence jotted down, she found herself uttering the same sentiment. The stranger will protect me, just the same as they did all those years ago. 

A heist in Topside gone wrong? The stranger will protect me. 

Underestimating the powers of a certain blue crystal, resulting in the death and abandonment of the people most important to her? The stranger will protect me. 

Collapsing into the arms of a new parental figure who leads her to question every moral she’s ever known? The stranger will protect me. 

The same man telling her she is not ready for larger missions alongside his strongest soldiers? The stranger will protect me. Just the same as they did all those years ago… 

Right?

Then, why aren’t you here? Where did you go? What more do I have to do to bring you back to me?

These thoughts plague the mind of Jinx in the midst of a quiet night. 

Through the foggy air swifting through the bridge to Piltover, she sits on one of the grand pillars.  Summer of 2021 has arrived and she still has not seen you in the years leading up to this moment. Stalking the bored guards inhaling dry conversations and cigar smoke, Jinx fiddles with Pow-Pow and fights against the truth: the severity of your loss is impacting her more than she is willing to admit. 

Another argument results in Silco telling her for the zillionth time of how she is not ready to stand by his side and fight for Zaun. Too overwhelmed by her “past demons”, he always remarks. The one thing restraining her from becoming the killing-machine he raised her to be is you, but she will never inform him of your existence. No one can know of this sacred memory of hers. 

This leaves Jinx where she currently remains, plans of invading Piltover and capturing a taste of the rich side clouding her mind. Yanking a few of their valuables will earn the recognition of Silco, no doubt. And maybe, just maybe, if she garners enough of these riches, you’ll be attracted to the sight. Maybe you’ll come back…

With that, she descends from the pillar and scurries past the oblivious guards, excited to set her plan into successful motion. Jinx rushes into the sleeping city and strives for the largest building their prosperous land has to offer, right in the very center and towering over the others. 

The interior is most definitely more opulent than the outside. Far more extravagant than any insect-ridden estate the Under-City has to offer. However, none of them have anything interesting to offer her. Every door is slammed open by her aggressive hand, azure-blue eyes scrutinizing the contents for anything appealing.

“Boring. Boring. Ugh, super boring!” She exclaims, no regard for any lurking guards.

Reaching the highest floor, however, she finds stark differences in this expanse than the others. Finally, something that piques her interest! A grand window looks over the entire city, shielded in a haze of soft moonlight. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes, watching every step she takes. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and tools scattered on the surfaces. 

Jinx, the eccentric engineer she is, immediately strives toward the dispersed gadgetry. She finds the usual array of hammers and screwdrivers (which she swiftly stuffs into her satchel). She also discovers inventions she does not recognize, even during the times she has snuck past the investors and scientists in the heat of Progress Day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A thick accent pervades. 

A smirk, one that has claimed Jinx’s lips as home, grows on her face. When she turns over her shoulder, she finds a man standing in the threshold of the office. A mess of brown hair, a lanky body, and thin hands grasping a wooden crane (of which he does not use at this moment, for some odd reason) — an easy kill, that’s for sure! 

Jinx utilizes this perceived weakness and is on the man in mere seconds. The cane he holds is swiftly stolen from his grasp and ensnared around his ankles. A quick yank and he is on the ground with a violent grunt. She pulls several loops of rope from her satchel and ensnares them around his limbs in record speed. The polished works of a skilled villain, if you will.

“Don’t you-!” 

A sharp kick to his gut and he is silenced, only interrupted by his sputtering coughs against the force of her boot. 

“Nice try, bones-y! That’s not how this game is gonna go.” 

With an exasperated huff, she throws his feeble body onto a nearby office chair. Patting her hands of imaginary dust, she sits down on the adjacent office desk. Dangling a pocket knife before his brown eyes as though it were shimmering jewelry, Jinx then explains herself. 

“Ground rules! You answer my questions truthfully, and I’ll let ‘ya keep all your toothpicks.” 

The tip of her knife breathes over his restrained limbs as she speaks. She fails to restrain her laughter at the pathetic way his chest rises and falls with rapid trepidation. 

“Are we on the same page, bones-y? Or should I read your diary?” 

Without a glance away, her long nail presses into the leather corner of his journal and drags it her way. She begins scouring through the written contents, expecting some juicy, Topsider gossip. Her excited disposition is replaced with a dramatic roll of her eyes when all she finds is boring, scientific jibber-jabber. Just scribbled equations adhering to this “Hextech” nonsense, or whatever the Topsiders call it. 

Jinx flips through the remaining pages with aggressive impatience, leaving irreparable tears in the paper in her careless effort. 

And then, for the first time in years, the world halts on its axis. 

She blinks, gaping at this discovery. Sketched onto the lined paper is no other than you. Drawn in exquisite perfection, just as she remembered you. Same cloak, same jewels, same everything! Something within her flutters; as if those wrangling insects gnawing on the grooves of her brain have finally bloomed into tickling butterflies. 

“Get your filthy hands off my-!” 

“Shut it, creep!” 

Her shaky hands flip page after page as she scours through the remaining contents, desperate for another hit of this drug. She then shoves the pages into the man's face.

“Who is this!? How did you find them?” 

The ropes holding him hostage churn and hum as he fights against the restraint. 

“I will never let you near them.” He growls through clenched teeth. 

Jinx eases her grasp on the journal, which lands lazily in the man's lap. She punctures the knife into the chair, mere centimeters away from his shoulder. 

“And I will rip you into itty, bitty pieces if you don’t tell me who they are!” She threatens, forehead nearly touching his as she leans in closer. 

“They’re mine! You degenerate!” 

Splotches of his spit land on her cheeks in his outburst. Their foreheads buck as he lunges forward, desperate to escape his restraints and strangle this stranger for even uttering mention of his beloved.

His attempts to shield the pages of his journal are only now brought to Jinx’s attention. She does not let this effort pass by unnoticed. 

“Hmm…” She muses teasingly. 

Bringing the journal back into her possession, the man fights against the ragged ropes with more violent intent, tiny mumbles of “no!” filling the new silence. Scouring through the notes more intently, Jinx finds information regarding a “sanctuary”, of some sort. Then, in bold ink… 

“Y/N…?” 

“NO! Don’t you dare!”

The journal is swiftly shoved into her satchel with the other stolen borrowed goods. A haunting laugh pervades through the grand expanse. As an infuriating farewell, Jinx hops off the desk and skips out of the office, leaving behind a screaming, thrashing, enraged man to fend for himself.

Jinx now saunters through a forest on the outskirts of the Under-City, exactly where the scribbled notes of that scientist stated she should. Here, she is sure she’ll find you. Maybe a pretty penny or two to impress Silco back home, as well.

The sun is blinding, just as it was all those years ago. Without the busy city-life in the way, the weather of Runeterra is granted the opportunity to persevere here. It is blissfully and heartbreakingly nostalgic, and Jinx is swift to swipe away the evidence of tears brimming in her eyes. 

“Anyway, Y/N…!” 

She tuts three times as she searches for the right information in the journal held in her grasp. 

““The only way to subdue Hextech is through the consumption of human blood. It will strengthen the power of the Hexcore, but will temporarily weaken it as said powers charge.” Blah, blah, blah! Okie-dokie, little vampire, let’s find something actually useful for you, yeah?” 

Further scrutinization reveals standing on specific coordinates is the only correct way to summon a portal, the scientist claims. And just as she finishes reading, her satchel then begins to strangely vibrate. It soon accelerates into a violent thrashing, as though a rabid animal were trying to claw its way out of the encasing. 

The force sends Jinx to her feet, the skin of her knees splitting upon the unwelcome intrusion of rocks and rubble beneath her. As she studies the wound, one of the inventions she snagged from Piltover falls from her bag. From the invention is a crystal, swarming hues of blue and purple permeating around the sphere. It rolls away as though it were a marble a child had tossed. The inhuman force continues onward before it begins to skip into the air. One last skip and it hits an invisible wall just several paces ahead of Jinx. 

A sudden tornado then springs from the crystal, forming a whirlwind of dirt and wind around her. It hastens and spreads, engulfing Jinx in its entire wrath. Visions of her parents and the thick sand that perfused through the Under-City overwhelm her thoughts. She cowers into herself, palms clenched tightly around her ears and nails digging into her scalp. 

“Stop! Stop! Make it stop!”

Like a record scratch, the force of the tornado abruptly halts. Sheer silence prevails, as though there were no deafening calamities to begin with. 

Hesitantly, Jinx lifts her head. The gentle fog blanketing the forest floor leads to two newly-grown trees, whose trunks rise and intertwine with one another. The descending leaves frame the oval-shape between the trees, which is filled with a glistening gray haze and reflects her tiny form scrunched-up in the dirt. From the haze is a soft squelching, a gentle pitter-patter, as something behind fights against the surface. It twists and turns like stretched glue, before a crack finally forms. 

Jinx watches in mesmerized trepidation as a boot steps from the entrance. Then, a full figure. And like the crescendo of a vibrant, aggressive song, the revelation settles and her entire world comes crashing to her feet. 

The cloak, the jewels, the flesh — this is no other than you, the one who has haunted her every thought for years. Colorful clouds perfusing from your form and everything. 

As you step closer, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a friend she knows all too well, swiftly becomes a stranger. It is abruptly replaced by satiating tranquility; the kind of peace only an infant would be enveloped in. As though she’s been nestled in a crib, her only worries being the gentle sway of the mobile above her small head and how many fluffy sheep have hopped over the fence. 

Her heart, for once, has been lulled to a soft rhythm. All of the tight muscles in her body have been reduced to slick jelly as you kneel down beside her, your face still a mystery behind the dark cloak you adorn. 

A force within her thrashes and fights within her, desperate for the violence her hands are familiar with to persevere beyond such petty matters like this. But alas, the force of this wizard overpowers all. It’s almost as though every power the universe possesses has been utilized to force her to give into this new feeling, to fall into the depths of your magic spell. As if the trauma and hurt of her past has simply slipped away like sand between her fingertips. 

When the jagged flesh of your palm meets her cheek, her body has a natural reaction to reject your advances. Despite the desire to cling to that cloak and never let go, her legs act on their own and she scrambles to her feet. 

Jinx rushes to the Last Drop in and does not look back once.

“It wasn’t them! I know! J-Just some wannabe street trash!” 

The blade of the large extractor fan (of which she has claimed as her bedroom) juts uncomfortably into her thin back as she drapes herself across the surface. The neon doodles of her past scattered around the expanse all mock her, messily etched eyes glaring daggers into her. 

“They would have saved me by now…” 

Jinx abruptly stands to her feet, treading over to her makeshift desk. Returning to the gadgetry left languidly on the surface, she grasps a few of the tools and begins patching the screws and nails of her newest project. 

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?” 

She points the screwdriver in her hand behind her. Following her gaze there, there is a dilapidated teddy bear hanging from a shredded shoelace, a torn page from the journal with your face sketched on it taped to its cotton head. It sways in silence.

“Knew you’d agree with me!”

When she turns back to the task at hand, her elbow nudges a microscope and knocks the tool over. With a “whoopsie-daisy!” bridging on her tongue, the instrument reaches an encasing she snagged from Piltover, causing the metal strap to loosen and open. From the enclosure is another blue sphere, which rolls out and falls from the desk. It meets the ground  and explodes with life, painting the room in effervescent splotches of sheer blue. 

Jinx’s vision becomes overwhelmed in a sudden darkness, scrambled with ink etchings. Words of her past slither through the gloom and paint themselves into reality. She finds Milo, decaying lips twitching into a sneer at the sight of her. She finds Claggor, peering at her with disgust through his cracked goggles.

“Mistake! Mistake! It was a mistake!” Jinx rasps, digging her long nails into her hair at a desperate attempt of protection. 

Her scrawny knees meet the unforgiving tile and she curls into her own body like a dying cockroach. She finds Vi in this effort, her violent words screeching through the rain. The toy monkey holding the gemstone claps and with every bludgeon to the crystal, a new memory resurfaces – rough hands on her face, the blood painting her chin, the term “JINX!” practically stamped behind her eyelids.

A wrench is clasped from the desk and Jinx chucks it at the vision of her sister standing several feet away from. Then, with utmost clarity, she reveals the truth. 

“I wish I’d let you die in that storm! I wish I’d gone with Y/N and left you to rot like you fucking deserve!” 

The fan blades shiver beneath the force of her animalistic volume. The rage is soon overwhelmed with devastation when the fantasy of what her life could have been flashes through her mind. Claiming you as hers and leaving her joke of a sister to fend for herself — what more could Jinx ever want?

Through the chaos, she finds an inspiring conclusion. She is not afraid anymore. You are what she deserves and nothing less. And she’ll bend worlds to clasp this desire in her calloused palms.

Nostalgia was something you claimed was painful many years ago. Now, you’ve befriended the feeling and welcome it with open arms. That is certainly the case today, as you’re reminded of yourself long ago with a wicker basket overwhelmed with Moonflowers and Dusk-Petals held in your strong arms.

Strolling through the garden of your palace, indulging in idle chatter with a few village residents in your path, you think of the child you were lifetimes ago. No matter what dangers may encounter your path again, you'll protect that baby. While others have failed that child, you will devote yourself to your promises to them. After all, no child deserves the pain you once endured.

A gaggle of children then skitter from the corner of the garden’s fountain, abruptly colliding with your legs in their effort. A few wobble from the impact, while the others fail to keep themselves standing. Their stuttering snivels lead you to abandon your intentions of gifting flowers to anyone you can find; your inner turmoils had faded as quickly as those little legs rounded that corner. You can’t help it, those teary eyes are like blades puncturing your heart. 

From here, you take notice of the scrap metal they’ve somehow found and strapped to their chests. Without missing a beat, you play along with their antics. 

“Oh, no! Our beloved knights have fallen!” 

Bending down to their level, you guide them to their feet and dust off their clothes. 

“Back on your feet, soldier! The state of our empire is in your hands.” 

The audience of smiles you receive fills your heart with fluff and their playful giggles work wonders in softening your disposition further. One of the children then brandishes a twig they attempted to carve into something reminiscent of a sword. Once again, you play along. 

“My, what lethal weapons you wield! The enemy will stand no chance against our strongest knights!” 

All children then flaunt their best fighting poses, where their stern scowls are soon overcome by amused grins and giggles. 

One points a tiny finger towards you. “You’re our emperor!” 

“Oh, am I?” 

Their laughter increases in volume as the others repeat the sentiment. 

“Goodness, how could I have forgotten?” 

You reach into your basket beside you, plucking a few flowers from the wicker-encasing. 

“As your loyal emperor, I must ensure my best defenders receive my protection out on the field.” 

A few swift twists and turns of your fingers and you’ve woven several flowers into a makeshift crown. The children all brighten with excitement, crowding around you to scrutinize your efforts further. You bow down and gently place the crown atop the head of one of the children, who proceeds to leap with irrepressible excitement with their new adorning.

Before the others can deliver an onslaught of demands for a crown alike, a screech of your name permeates through the air like glass shattering. 

When you turn to identify the sound, a force strikes against your back abruptly and sends you to the pavement. A thin pair of arms are clasped around your waist like a lifeline, bony hands clinging tightly to the jewels and harp strings aligning your arms. You try to escape their grasp with normal effort, but the figure still refuses to relent. A simple flick of your hand and his grasp on you is eased, purple and blue perfusing from your palm. 

You soon find that familiar pair of honey-colored eyes and head of messy brown hair. Said eyes are blown wide in a nervous flurry, with strands of dark hair latched to his sweat-painted forehead.

Viktor. What a surprise. 

You had given him a mere task. Just one. Travel back to Piltover, gather his belongings, then return here to discuss what being “your messenger” will entail. The man didn’t hesitate in the slightest before he was rushing to fulfill your command. When the sun had risen and fallen with no trace of his return, you rightfully suspected something in his intended efforts had gone awry. 

Viktor attempts to explain what exactly went wrong through hyperventilated breaths and relieved expressions of your safety. How concerned he was for your well-being and the like. However, all that is discernible from his relentless rambling is his snarl of a “blue-haired street-rat”. 

His incoherent babbling is getting you nowhere, so you are quick to halt his word-vomit and help him to his feet. Your touch shuts him up immediately, to a degree where upon your further inquisitions, Viktor had forgotten what he was speaking of in the first place. He attempts to clasp your face in his palms, practically threatening the prospect of trying to kiss you again.

“‘Blue hair’? Viktor, what is the meaning of this?” 

You should’ve known how much of a weapon your voice is, as the man positively melts beneath the embrace of your cadence.

Once again, unsurprisingly, he tries to kiss you again, but his efforts are halted short when a sharp explosion pierces through the air. 

Viktor nearly trips to his feet again when he instinctively shields you from the sudden force. You ignore this effort in favor of the late-night sky, which is now overwhelmed with swarming fireworks. Through the vibrant calamity, you find a message. 

“JINX + Y/N” is written in colorful particles, pink hearts and sparkles surrounding the bright words.

Several other villagers crowd around you in fear, but before you can scrutinize the threat further, the harsh bludgeon of smoke bombs permeates from all corners around you. Clouds of purple, pink, and blue surround your palace and rid you of the ability to see your surroundings. It certainly does not help when Viktor tackles you to the ground, yet again, in an attempt at preserving your precious life. 

None of this hinders your effort, however, and you continue to fight against the threat to your sanctuary. The challenge is almost impossible when you cannot see anything through the pandemonium of vibrant fog and dancing glitter (and of course, the lanky man atop of you). 

You call out to the residents of your sanctuary, but are only met with heart-hammering fear when you receive no response. No shouts, no running children, not even the flowers you forged into crowns can be seen through the chaos. 

As you attempt to wrangle yourself out of the grasp of this parasite latched to you, something sprints toward you from the haze. All you see is a flash of a gun, which is used to pistol-whip Viktor and send him into complete unconsciousness.

“Purple goes better with blue, I’d say!” A rich, raspy tone calls out. 

Puffs of vibrant hues then beam from your palms — a warning against this monster stood before you. 

“Please. I do not wish to hurt you…” 

She, who you now assume as “Jinx,” laughs hysterically in response. She then shoves Viktor’s dead weight off of you, replacing his stance of towering over your form. 

“I know that, silly goose!” 

Her blue eyes, wide and crazed, peer into yours. Blue hair pools into ropes beside your shoulders.

“I know everything about you! The whole Y/N-cyclopedia!” 

Beneath her blue-and-purple painted fingernails is a leather-worn journal, where you find notes written from scientists working on Hextech.

You do not wish to do this, but alas, you have been given no choice. This threat knows of your powers, how they function, and has now proven to be a danger to your people. With that, you latch your palms around her wrists that are pinning your body to the ground. Harnessing your powers, your colorful palms brighten in their hues and the uncomfortable sound of flesh sizzling fills the air. 

Her teeth bare like a rabid wolf when she groans in pain. This effort of yours only results in her pinning you harder onto the ground. 

“Naughty birdie!” Jinx growls through heaving breaths. “Maybe this will calm some of those heebie-jeebies, yeah?”

Before you can enact your next course of defense, the monster above you swiftly gathers some of the blood seeping from Viktor’s open skull. The terror in your chest of having your weakness utilized against you is temporary, as her two blood-adorned digits are promptly shoved into your mouth. 

Your vision sways like calm waves as your body weakens. With a final echo of “sweet dreams, chickadee”, you fall into the arms of peaceful unconsciousness.

You awake softly, without the terrified aggression your body had forced out of you shortly before. As though you had simply laid down in your morning room for an afternoon nap. Reality is now strikingly different from the tranquility of your sanctuary, however.

Attempting to discern your new surroundings, you find yourself within the interior of a large extractor fan, built long ago to clean the gasses perfusing through the Under-City. It has evidently been abandoned and decorated to the likes of a wild, eccentric somebody, with not a single surface untouched by neon graffiti. The scattering of spray paint cans, jagged-edged chalk, and other art supplies explains such.

These details are accentuated by the flamboyant lights adorned throughout the expanse, specifically the pink candles waxed into the ground surface. Romantic, in a personal attempt, you think. 

Scrutinizing further, you find stuffed animals and chopped mannequin heads strung from descending ropes, some with ripped pages taped to the faces. You also find robes that are strangely familiar, which are dangling from old, fractured wires. Almost like a deranged closet, of some sort.

When you shift your gaze down, you look to your body and find yourself in an old clawfoot bathtub that has been dragged onto one of the fan blades. You’ve been laid upon several blankets with your limbs restrained to an impossible, uncomfortable degree with ragged rope. 

The bathtub itself is beneath a canopy of several ragged, yet colorful drapes staples over you. Almost like a child’s fort, you note. Your cloak has vanished, as well as the adornments of trinkets and jewels you’ve strapped to your form, which leaves you in almost complete nudity.

Thundering music surrounds the expanse and abuses your eardrums. Some mushy-gushy old-timey tunes, from what you can tell. They burst out from a rusty gramophone just several feet away from you. 

And with these tunes is the undeniable sound of someone humming along.

Before this realization can settle, a distorted figure hops into the bathtub with ease and situates herself on your lap. The long locks of blue braids are unmistakable. So is that cheshire grin plastered on her painted lips.

Sharp nails, like the claws of a purple-striped cat, dig into your cheeks and pinch them as though you were a chubby baby. Any effort to yank away from her aggressive affection is met with an authoritative tut, doing nothing to mend your feelings of being an adorable child facing the whorls of ‘stranger-danger’ for the first time.

“Aww, shucks, tweety! Can’t help it when you’ve dolled yourself up for me!” 

From seemingly nowhere, Jinx draws a cracked hand mirror and presents you with the horrors of your reflection. Your mouth has been shielded by a thick wad of duct tape. Doodled on the surface is the humiliating sight of a red kissy-face. The artist did not halt there, either, and scribbled a bold “KISS ME, JINX!” across your forehead. 

“Didn’t think you’d be so forward on our first date, but hey! Who said I was complaining?” 

Her lips are on yours without a second to process, the duct tape serving as your only form of protection against her violent adoration. Your eyes are wide and crazed as they stare into her closed ones, all while she mindlessly loses herself within the affection. God, how long has she been wanting to do this?

You try to fight against her force, but any attempt to harness your powers is futile. Even with the taste of iron still heavy on your tongue, you still found it within you to try with your best effort. Must be that “naivety” your parents spoke of, you suppose. 

You don’t have a mere moment to theorize how she (or anyone, for that matter) had learned about how your supernatural body is weak to human blood, however. Not when Jinx finally satiates her hunger and pulls away with an obnoxious “mwah!”, a nauseating string of saliva connecting the two of you together. A few more peppered kisses and you’re finally free from the lips of this lunatic.

“Hoo! Ten-outta-ten, toots!” She exhales, as though your mere kiss was reminiscent of inhaling a line of the most lethal drug.

Her gaunt elbows dig into your chest as she rests her chin on her palms, gaze burning into yours.

“Didn’t expect anything less from you, of all people…” Her voice, which has been stagnantly animated and fiery, has now shifted to something wistful and soft. “All that I’ve been through… After all you’ve done for me…” 

Her finger drags down your features, ignoring every fearful shiver of yours in favor of scrutinizing the beauty beneath her.

Every bruising hardship, every bludgeon of trauma, every drop of thick blood — all of the world’s most torturous fates has been forced upon Jinx from the very second she was born. All of which you could have halted with the mere snap of your fingers, but for whatever reason, chose not to. 

She should be angry; she should burst into a blood-hungry rage. One look to that face, though, and all that ache just melts into candied goop. Just sheer perfection, you are. Smoothing out all those tight nerves and stitching up her loose, awkward threads. You bring forward serenity she didn't know existed, as though nothing bad had ever happened to her… 

You’ve done so much for her without even blinking. Only makes sense she’d give you something in return, right?

“Gotcha somethin’, birdie.” Jinx’s voice is still breathless as she reaches for something beneath the bathtub, eye contact still strictly maintained. 

You stare in trepidation as she then presents to you a dilapidated box, painted in blue and black stripes with a grand purple bow glued on top. It lands with a quiet plop on your chest as the blue-haired maniac above you watches in expectation. She gestures for you to open the gift, and the glance of confusion smeared on your expression reminds her of a doe-eyed puppy-dog. Too cute! 

You nearly jump out of your skin when she abruptly bursts out in manic laughter. Her jagged nail points to the ropes around your limbs, as though her deranged actions were pure comedy gold. 

“Sorry about that, baby-bird.” She wipes a stray tear from her eye. “Had to clip your wings for a minute. No biggie, though! Jinx will give ‘ya a hand.” 

The box is opened swiftly, like an excited kid on Christmas morning who can’t bother to waste anymore time waiting for their exhausted parents. Upon looking at the contents, she lets out an obnoxious, animated gasp. Hand covered over her mouth and all. The box is then abandoned in favor of the gift inside. 

Much to your horror, held in Jinx’s lanky fingers is a black, leather collar. Imprinted in copper calligraphy is “Property of”, with a vibrant and messy “JINX!” doodled beneath in neon paint. How fitting. 

The collar is then promptly ensnared around your throat, the master lock swung upon the metal latch frigid against your neck. Before you can even attempt to conceal your perceptible disdain, the key is shoved into the lock and latched shut; claiming you as permanent property. Her personal marked territory, if you will. 

The key gleams beneath the colorful lights as she dangles it in the air. With a swift flick, the key is tossed from her grasp and down the expanse of the extractor fan. Never to be seen again. 

“Oopsie!” She teases with a forced, dramatic gasp.

You’re then ensnared into a tight embrace, despite your efforts to resist the act of affection. All the playful nuzzles into your new dog-collar and sloppy kisses to your flesh — you’d surely vomit if it were within your supernatural capabilities.

And if any word could be used to describe the affection of Jinx, you would abuse the term ‘suffocating’.

This fact reminds you of its violent existence as a week passes.

The hours of the day move at a snail’s pace as you remain pliant in the bathtub. The torn duct tape still remains latched to your mouth, only torn off to feed you more heaps of blood. You don’t have the strength to question where exactly the blood is derived from. Not that you have the ability to ask anything, for that matter. 

Nonetheless, the only stagnant thought in your mind is the state of your sanctuary and your people. Your abduction was so abrupt, it is impossible for you to properly discern exactly what occurred. Just a blurry mess of colorful smoke and blue hair — that is all you can properly recall. 

While these inner turmoils reign havoc in your head, you’re stuck in a constant sway between the fine line of consciousness with Jinx subduing you with blood. In the rare bursts of clarity, you normally find her tinkering with new inventions at her desk, a plan of “revenge” against all the “topside trash”, as she commonly restates.

In the process, she has also claimed you as a new invention, as well. Guinea pig, to be more accurate. Always poking and prodding and testing your unnatural abilities. You’ve lost count of the amount of times she’s held pots of soil to your feet to marvel at the Dusk-Petals that bloom in response. Much to your dismay, “Petal-Toes” is a nickname that has been added to the mountain of others she has stored for you. 

The cherry on top to this mess-of-a-milkshake is, undoubtedly, Jinx and her infamous jealousy streak. 

You’ve learned it can burst from something as minor as an inanimate object. Nestling that teddy bear in your restrained embrace, she’ll force you through a deranged photoshoot (with an expensive camera she snagged from Topside, indubitably). Within the clap of a second, she’ll become overwhelmed with jealousy over the stuffed furry-friend in your arms before snagging it away from you, chucking it off the edge of the fan blade. 

Promptly, and without surprise, she then replaces poor teddy’s spot in your arms with her scrawny self. Even without another soul near, this possessive disposition always perseveres through the sickening sweetness.

This treatment stretches into the night, as well. With another dosage of blood (dinner for two, she jokes), Jinx curls up against your chest like a clingy cat, quiet snores drifting past her parted lips. How she finds such comfort in this cramped, unbearable bathtub remains a mystery to you. You swear, clawfoots will haunt your nightmares for the rest of your eternal life.

Today, however, is different. 

Jinx drags on with another rambling fit, something that has now become a daily habit. Currently, she boasts about “protecting precious cargo”. Why is a madman like her concerned with the transportation of goods? Something in relation to the influx of shimmer, perhaps? 

She then grasps Pow-Pow, shoving it into its holster, before rushing over and planting a hard kiss to your tape-covered mouth. Quick, as Jinx always is, she is gone before you can even blink. 

The consideration behind her intent is left to float around in your head as the rare silence settles. They permeate to such a degree, in fact, you almost do not note how she had forgotten your morning dose of blood. “Breakfast for Birdie,” as she infamously titled it, which she has seemingly abandoned in favor of this task. Or, possibly, she has made the mistake of trusting you. 

Nonetheless, for the first time in several agonizing days, a flicker of hope glimmers on the horizon. And you do not let this hope snuff itself out. 

Easily enough, you clench your fists and puffs of blue and purple spurt out like an old engine. You did not realize how badly you missed the hum of magic concentration until you felt the vibration rumble in your palms. A few jabs at the rusted skill and your abilities have finally returned. 

With ease you have longed dearly for, a mere tap of your finger and the ragged ropes latched around you finally loosen their grasp. They lay in lazy loops beneath you, granting your limbs the opportunity to finally sigh with relief. You do not let a second pass before you rip that damn tape from your mouth, either.

When you try to stand, however, you find your body to still be weakened by the strain this week has forced upon you. In this attempt, you also overestimate the efforts of your newly-charged powers. With a swing of your arm, a lightning bolt of light springs from your palm and strikes the golden clawfoot. The effort knocks the entire bathtub on its side, sending you tumbling onto the decaying fan blade.

The collision is loud, enough for you to anticipate Jinx’s return in record speed, despite her departure from minutes ago. The silence that follows is frozen, but with no blue-haired sicko there to slap-you-silly for your attempts, you waste no time in chasing after your escape.

With no remaining strength in your feeble body, the only action you can resort to is slithering across the premises like a drunken snake. Soon enough, with your stomach covered in cat-scratches (and smeared lipstick stains from a certain somebody), you find yourself at Jinx’s desk. You use the surface to lift yourself and finally reach a place of reliable stability. The heavy doses of blood still swaying in your stomach make this task almost impossible, but you find your way to your feet, nonetheless. 

Even though you are almost nude, you rid the need to conceal yourself and your identity in favor of the door across one of the fan blades. The effort is pathetic, but with several limping paces, you open the door and are met with the pitter-patter of rain caressing your naked skin. It is a feeling you have not touched in centuries; always blanketed in your beloved cloaks. 

Nostalgia is now painful as you rush down the stairs of the fire escape. Soon, the night life of the Under-City soon welcomes you and your lethargic self. A major juxtaposition to the tranquil stillness of your sanctuary. When the neon lights and grand buildings begin to double in your vision, you realize time is not on your side tonight.

Staggering into an alleyway, it is not long before your body finally gives out on you. When you collapse on top of a pile of rain-soaked cardboard scraps, piles of crushed beer cans and shattered shimmer bottles there to cushion your descent, your final fighting act is praying Jinx does not find you. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Honey, I’m home!” 

The door to the interior of the extractor fan bursts open; a dramatic entrance aligning with the nature of no other than Jinx.

“I have an idea for another photoshoot with my smoking-hot supermodel! Clothing optional, of course!” 

In her grasp is a gift of a ragged bird plushie. Once cradled by a baby in a stroller, but was swiftly yanked by a stranger's sticky paws. You can’t blame her, though! The beady, doe-eyes reminded her of the special someone she has waiting patiently for her back home.

Except, you aren’t there. 

Blankets and ropes left in a languid mess, bathtub left on its side — the evidence is laid out perfectly like a cheesy detective film.

“Y/N…?” 

The call is quiet and gentle; a warning, almost. 

“Y/N…” 

Now, a demand.

“O-Okay, okay! Hide-n-seek! We can play a little, but when I find you-” She huffs out angrily. “I call the shots in round two. Y’hear me?” 

The decor surrounding the expanse is left in a sloppy mess in the matter of minutes, gadgetry and plushies thrown about in a desperate, childish fit. Every failed attempt at finding your face hidden away in some secret nook, candy-sweet smile there to congratulate her on her win, breaks away at her sanity piece by piece. 

There’s sounds of squealing scratches, like skittering bugs, that fill her ears. Colors gleam in her periphery like a film strip burning under heat, mending with the blurred, distorted pictures her mind forces her to watch. Neon outlines of the ghosts from her past spring to life, lashing out in blinding animation and barking out incomprehensible, echoing insults. 

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! I need to think!” 

A bullet pierces through the gramophone, distorting the upbeat tunes to stuttering nonsense. This effort does not cease the abuse of Mylo, Claggor, Vi, and even that stupid scientist! 

Tears seep down her face as she desperately searches for you through the calamity. Even a puny figment will be enough to ease this chaos. When your abandonment proves itself in acute clarity, she is left with the distorted sounds of her cracked wails, her rough nails scratching her skin, and the fated return of all her demons.

The door is shoved open, once again, and Jinx, for just a mere moment, allows herself to hope. Your face will fill her vision and she’ll watch in glee as her demons are yanked back to hell. Exactly where they belong. Then, you’ll stumble over and sink into her arms, drowning her in affection and apologies. Exactly where you belong. 

And, of course, she’ll forgive you for this little hiccup. Just a lost birdie who finally flew their way home — that’s what has happened. Just a little mishap, which you’ll both poke fun at after another good clawfoot-nap. 

When she finds blue suits trimmed with gold, long barrels pointed her way, that hope is snatched from her grasp as quick as she claimed it. The faces behind the thick gas-masks and goggles shout out demands at her. Their voices are warped, however, bending beneath the force of her prevailing hallucinations. 

Another step closer, another voice louder and she latches onto her gun and swings it their way. She is swift, but so are they. The rear of a shotgun is rammed into her temple. In a flash, she is out like a light.

Jinx now stands at one of the highest points in Zaun. 

Sneaky as she is, the carriage ride back to Piltover needed a few well-placed bullets and she slipped out of their hands in easy effort.

Scratching itches still whisper to her, threaded together with the words of her past. 

“You’re a jinx!” 

“Please. I do not wish to hurt you…” 

“They’re mine! You degenerate!” 

Through the roaring mayhem, one fact prevails: the fault is in the arms of no other than those filthy topsiders. From the murder of her parents to the betrayal of her sister, every wrong she has ever endured has been caused at their hand. And the robbery of the only thing she has ever loved has now completely pushed her over that edge. 

Jinx currently stands at the roof of the warehouse where the people she thought she loved left her behind. In her grasp is her latest, most grandest project. Metal wings adorned in blue and purple splotches, with a sharp beak clutched around the Hextech-powered rocket – the weight of the rocket launcher is heavy. “Bird-Brain” is the name she gave it, inspired by the birdie that was stolen from her.

Cursed images begin to flood her mind, a hallucination stronger than ever before. Jinx sees her beloved Y/N and that scientist, locked away together in a laboratory. She is haunted by sights of needles and tubes, forcing you to live as a lifeless lab rat. She is prey to the ideas of that annoying, thick accent telling you of what a monster she is, with you latching onto every syllable. She is nauseated by painted pictures of romantic endeavors, where you and the scientist lay together with matching golden rings. 

And it pains Jinx in ways no other torture could.

With a thundering roar, her finger plunges the trigger and the rocket soars through the sky. Wings flap as it finds Piltover, beak poking right at the council’s headquarters. Just as she should have done long ago. 

Like the dejection of a curtain call, Jinx’s dreams were once true: to bring an end to the parasitic chaos in her mind. After an entire lifetime, she was finally free. There, beneath the light of you, everything thawed. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Jinx will kill these demons, whether material or make-believe. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU ARE MY MEDICINE

WHEN YOU'RE CLOSE TO ME . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[bushwskq]

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW X WITCH!READER

Part 1 🕯️

cw: smut, 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back! I just want to say that I'm really happy for the likes of part 1 💜 I hope you like this one too

There you were again, smoking a cigarette outside the church. Your leather boot making noise with every stomp you made on the anxious sidewalk. It was Wednesday, as Father Charlie had said, the day of confession in which the faithful came to the house of God to confess their sins and their souls were absorbed from the fires of hell until the next week like a vicious cycle. You reached out your hand grabbing the coffee cup on the floor, making sure no one had witnessed the little display of magic. Waiting a few more minutes you entered the church as soon as the last person left. Unlike your first visit, the place was now dark with few candles lighting the space. His eyes wandered around the place before finding the confessional, this time the pentagram on his chest was completely exposed.

“I see you took my offer seriously,” Father Charlie Mayhew began in surprise as you sat in the confessional. When he made the proposal, he didn't believe you would actually accept it. You noticed him shift position on the other side by the creaking of wood. “I’m all ears, start whenever you want.” Again you felt his cologne, oh my god, how it gave you a good and restless feeling at the same time.

An exciting agony His eyes caught your movements through the small holes, imagining the contours of your body, the way your curves would press against him. His grip on the wooden cross in front of him tightened, the need to touch it overwhelming.

“You really believe in God. Father?” You asked suddenly, looking at the holes in the confessional that gave access to it. Charlie paused for a moment, composing himself before speaking “I have many reasons to believe in him, he saved me and he can save you if you let him.” he said in a low voice. You smiled awkwardly, without any effort a flame lit up on your index finger. It didn’t burn you, just a tingling on the tip that you were already used to. “There are things… things that many are not yet ready to understand, Father.” seconds later the flame disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Father Charlie's heart raced as he watched the flame dance on his fingertip, a flicker of light in the dark confines of the confessional. Mixture of fascination and fear coursing through his veins as the fabric of his robe strained against his arousal, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that both thrilled and disturbed him. As a man of God, he knows he should denounce her abilities, expel her from this sacred place. And yet... a part of him longs to understand, to unravel the mystery you present.

You can't react when he opens the confessional door abruptly grabbing your body with ease, his beautiful eyes darting to the pentagram like the first time. You don't react when he pulls you hard, breaking it, leaving only the cross on your chest.

"What...what are you?" he sighs, his voice rough with barely contained lust. “Some demon sent to disturb the peace, surely.” But even as he speaks, his hands are roaming your body, gliding over your curves with a hunger that belies his words.

The heat of his touch burns your skin, even through the fabric of your clothes. He leans in, his lips colliding against yours in a bruising kiss. It's a dance of passion and danger, the forbidden fruit he knows he should resist but can't. A witch and a priest, an impossible combination, and yet…

You can see the lust burning inside Charlie. It's intoxicating because you still feel his grip. His features are like a fallen angel, he was in the wrong vocation. His hands slid lower, pushing up the skirt of your black dress. The smell of your arousal mixes with his, an intoxicating scent that clouds his mind and weakens his resolve. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me,” he says harshly, “are you real, or am I losing my mind?”

He knows he should stop, he should push you away and run away from this temptation. But he can't. He is lost, drowning in a sea of forbidden desire, and he is powerless to resist. “I can be real for you tonight.” You say boldly, you had nothing to lose. It would be another night of fun.

You see the realization flash through Charlie's eyes. Slowly, he releases you, allowing you to take a step back. He looks at you, desire and fear tangled in his gaze. His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair, an attempt to regain some semblance of control. And then, as if he had made a decision, his resolve breaks. He walks towards you, closing the gap between you, and whispers huskily, “Show me… let me know the truth of your words.” The rational part of his mind screams at him to stop, to push you away and escape this temptation.

But his primal, carnal side longs to surrender, to lose himself in the forbidden pleasures you offer. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But all he sees is a mirror of his own desire, a reflection of the hunger that burns within him. Father Charlie's heart races as he unbuttons the buttons on her dress, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He pulls the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, supple skin of your collarbone. Leaning down, he presses a searing kiss to your flesh, claiming you as his. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with desperate hunger. He can’t get enough of you, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the taste of your flesh on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice rough with desire. "More than any mortal man could deserve." He reaches out, his hand gliding over the curve of your breast, tracing the delicate curve of your waist. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine and lighting a fire deep within your core. Father Charlie's own clothes appear tight, a reminder of the vows he made and the life he chose. With a growl of frustration, he hurriedly begins to remove the fabric, exposing his chest to your gaze.

With that, he pulls you close once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both desperate and possessive. He pours all his longing, all his desire, into that one moment, and you can feel the intensity of his passion coursing through your veins. A low growl resonates in his chest, and he grabs you roughly, his hands gripping your hips with blunt force.

He pushes you against the wall, pinning you in place with his body. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss is fierce and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. His hands roam your body, groping and squeezing, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

He tears at his underwear, tearing it off with wild desperation, not caring about the damage he causes. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, strong and insistent, a physical manifestation of his desire. He grinds against you, the friction delicious and maddening at the same time.

With a final growl, Father Charlie lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance. He stops for a moment, his eyes boring into yours, a silent question in their depths.

And then, with one thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that borders on the sublime.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that steals your breath. Each thrust is deeper, stronger than the last, bringing you both closer to the edge of oblivion. Father Charlie buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he loses himself in the rhythm of your copulation. He is a man possessed, driven by a hunger that cannot be satisfied, a need that consumes him completely.

Father Charlie's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts become more erratic as the line between pleasure and pain blurs. You can feel the desperation in every move, the need to claim and be claimed in return. The sound of their copulation fills the air, skin against skin, the wooden structure rhythmically echoing the charged atmosphere. Father Charlie's breathing is ragged, his body shaking as he approaches the edge of release.

He grinds against you, his cock pulsing inside you, the heat of his release building. With a final, guttural groan, he spills himself inside you, the profanity of his actions washing over him like a tidal wave.

As his orgasm subsides, he collapses against you, his body slick with sweat. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, a testament to the forbidden pleasure you've just shared.

For a moment, there is only the sound of their heavy, labored breaths as they cling to each other in the aftermath. Father Charlie's fingers run gently through his hair, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. Slowly, he pulls away from you, his gaze never leaving yours. In that moment, there is a newfound vulnerability in his eyes, an admission that this transgression has changed him forever.

@mlt2000

[rainydayathogwarts]

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone - Sirius Black

"Hey I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone."

warnings: smut, age gap 1.2k wc

Sirius hadn't been the one to make the first move. That was his excuse for all the disapproving glances Remus shot his way. Young, and high enough of authority to encourage Fred and George's antics in a way that was discouraged by the other adults in the house, everyone saw you as a trouble maker seductress who would only cause turmoil in Sirius's life. But despite this, Sirius was a goner the instant you sent him a flirtatious smile, cornering him in the kitchen of his own house.

Being one of the youngest high ranking aurors at the ministry of magic, your name had quickly been brought up in a meeting at the order of the phoenix, the team desperately needing an inside link. Chasing you down wasn't difficult, and nor was recruiting you. You'd shared all the beliefs order members had, and were attending meetings from the very start, providing the others with information that was impressive for an agent in her early 20's.

The first time you'd spoken to Sirius alone, you were inevitably nervous, accidentally hitting your hip against the corner of the table as you went to put your mug in the sink. He had amusedly asked if you were okay, a hand coming up to rest on the small of your back. That made you panic even more, eyes scanning the close proximity between you, and you nodded, scratching the nape of your neck shyly. "I'm Sirius, by the way." You'd shaken the hand he offered, introducing yourself to the man. And apparently, after that interaction you hadn't found him nearly as scary, waiting for meetings to be over so you could speak to the older man, catching up with him about life.

You realised after a while that you always had so much more to say about your day, having come straight to the manor from work, still wearing your heels and uncomfortably tight blouse that always had the top button open, but made you look absolutely incredible. Meanwhile, Sirius will have been at the manor all day, only interacting with people who came in and out of the house, otherwise spending his days alone. He knew he should have turned down your offer. The chance of him getting caught was just too high, but you insisted. "It's not a far walk from here, and your animagus form can disguise you perfectly."

It was the first breath of fresh air Sirius had gotten since he escaped, and he felt himself look at you in admiration the whole way to your apartment. He wondered how you walked in those heels. Marvelled at how you weren't cold in those thin tights and skirt that was just a tad bit too short to wear to work but long enough for you to get away with. When you finally turned the key into the entrance door of your building, letting Sirius into the apartment complex, he was able to see the mischievous smile on your face. He didn't what what overtook him, but he was aimlessly following you up to your apartment, and accepting the glass of wine you offered him.

"To your first adventure as a free man, Sirius Black." His gaze stuck to you, staring as you took a sip from your glass. Time slowed as a drop of wine slipped between your lips and the glass, landing on your crisp white blouse. His jaw went slack when you gasped, fingers immediately flying to unbutton your blouse, revealing your chest to him for a quick second before you were rushing to your kitchen sink and ridding your top from its red stain. Sirius downed his glass of wine before putting it down, taking three long strides to stand by you at the sink. You sighed, spinning around to face him, a wild glint in your eyes when you saw him struggle to keep his eyes levelled with yours. You pulled him closer to you by his sweater, letting him stumble closer to you. Leaning forward, your lips found his in a kiss, which was quickly sped up by Sirius, hands finding your hips to press your body against his. His beard scratched your chin lightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue battling with yours over dominance which he effortlessly won over.

Almost fourteen years without kissing someone does something to a man, you thought, when he had you pressed tightly against your mattress, thrusting into you from the back so harshly that you were sure the bed would break. Your moans serenaded him, encouraging him to quicken his pace until he physically couldn't hold himself back anymore. His orgasm hitting him faster than he would have liked, Sirius laid back on the bed next to you, apologising profusely. "It's been so long." He cried, accepting the kisses you pressed onto his jaw, an arm wrapped around your waist, as though to keep you from leaving him. But with the way you threw a leg over his thighs, pulling your body on top of his, it was clear you weren't done with him yet.

Sirius groped your tits, nipples grazing his chest while you continued to suck hickeys onto his neck, one hand stroking his cock for him to get hard again. When you felt him hardening, you were quick to sink down onto him, bouncing on top of him whilst he cursed, eyes glued to your figure. You put your hands on his chest to support you, caressing his tatted skin while he began regaining his senses, a hand coming up to touch your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. You moaned, thighs beginning to burn as you resorted to grinding down onto Sirius's cock instead of bouncing. "I got you, sweetheart." He mumbled, bucking his hips up to help roll you over, making your cry out at the sudden pain from his harsh thrust.

Sirius began thrusting into you again with a steady pace, one hand playing with your clit as he leaned over you, catching your lips in another kiss. His chains dangled over your chest, jingling with each thrust Sirius pushed into you, panting into the kiss. He switched to press kisses to your neck instead, his pace slowing when you wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing his cock deeper into you. You whined, pushing your chest up into his as you threw your head back, nails dragging down his back in pleasure. "Please" You muttered, making Sirius press harder against your clit as his thrusts slowed down, not wanting to disappoint you again. He felt your cunt clamp down around his cock as you came, moaning loudly.

Sirius's thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of you, not wanting to overstimulate you. "Shit!" He cried when your hand chased his cock, wrapping around it to jerk him off, making him cum for the second time that night. He slumped against the bed, inhaling your scent mixed with the smell of sex, and shut his eyes for the night. Next time, you're not even going to have to invite him over before he'll be pouncing on you, fingers crossing to not get caught bending you over in the living room at Grimmauld pace.

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 2/2 (Astarion/F!Reader)

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk),

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read Part 1: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Wow. I'll try to make this brief. First of all, I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued support. I know this took me forever to write, but I've been going through a lot of emotional turmoil with school and some health issues with my animals. Your patience means so much to me, and I can only hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! This is my first time writing smut, and ngl I feel a bit like Icarus, so let me know if y'all liked it. Last, but not least, thanks again to my bestie/beta @imaginarydromedary for holding my hand through the shame.

Astarion sits quietly beside the fire, absently picking the dirt from beneath his manicured nails. The night had unfolded like countless others before it: boring, mundane. Uneventful.

Perhaps he should retire early. The Realm According to Bumpo sits patiently atop the desk in his tent, and if he heads to bed now, he could potentially finish a chapter before his watch begins.

He stands, patting the dust off his trousers, just as Shadowheart emerges from your tent. He initially doesn’t pay her any mind - fails to notice the concern etched across her face. 

“Astarion.” 

He snaps to attention, recognizing the fear in her voice.

Astarion’s stomach sinks when their eyes meet. Shadowheart isn’t normally one to succumb to panic, but she looks as though she’s just stumbled out of a wolf’s den.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. She - I’ve never seen…” Shadowheart pauses, taking a steadying breath. “She’s feverish. She was fine only hours ago. I heard a cry from her tent and feared something was amiss. When I found her, she…” The cleric hesitates, eyes contemplative - as if weighing exactly how much she wants to reveal. 

“Out with it, damn it!”

“Is there any chance she’s been poisoned? You two stayed behind, back in the village. Did she come into contact with anything that might have pierced her skin?”

“Poisoned? No, she -” Astarion retraces the events, turning over your brief conversations in his head before landing on the only noteworthy detail he can think of.

He taps a finger on his chin, a thoughtful smile creasing his face. “Unless, of course, the Infernal chocolates didn’t agree with her.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” 

“The chocolate she found at the apothecary. I assumed she hid it away so she could enjoy her little treat, unbothered. There was Infernal text on the wrapper.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw slack with disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Astarion shrugs, unfazed.

“Where’s Wyll?”

He rolls his eyes. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Astarion!” 

“Oh, come on. That chocolate must have been at least a decade old. Are you certain this isn’t just some sort of stomach bug?”

The cleric shoves past him, groaning in exasperation. She shoots him a glare and mutters, “I’m certain,” before jogging in the direction of Wyll’s tent. 

“Infused with succubus spittle. Just one bite will have you and that special someone rolling around for hours. Consume responsibly." 

Astarion giggles boyishly. “An aphrodisiac? How fun.”

Wyll squints as he silently reads the next bit to himself, fingers tracing the text. He turns to Shadowheart, jaw tightening, "How much of this did you say she ingested?"

"I only found half the bar."

Wyll’s expression grows more serious. "This says the recommended serving size is one square… How many squares were left?"

“Oh, gods…” she breathes, "Six."

The three exchange silent, worried glances.

“Could she die from this?” Shadowheart asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Wyll’s lips press into a thin line. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer. He could ask Mizora for guidance, but the devil’s been awfully silent after his recent failures. He isn’t sure she'd be willing to answer him, let alone grant any favors. Still, it may be worth a call.

Just as Wyll’s about to suggest it, Astarion heaves a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, I know what we’re all thinking. I’ll take care of this.”

The other two regard each other, thoroughly confused.

“Look," Astarion explains, I may not be well-versed in magic, or magical remedies, for that matter, but now that we know what’s causing this… I think it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“You’re joking.” Shadowheart laughs, incredulously.  

“No,” he continues, “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best. We need to act quickly, and let's just say, this fits into my... skill set.”

“So, you’re going to, what? Have sex with her? You think she’ll be capable of saying anything but yes, given the state she’s in?”

Astarion shoots her a glare. The mere thought that he’d ever so much as suggest doing something like that - bedding you when you’re too weak to reject him - the very idea of it makes him sick. 

He isn’t that evil. 

“Watch your tongue,” he spits at her, “before I do us all the favor of removing it.”

“Hang on, you two,” Wyll interjects, “Astarion, I think you might have a point. You would know better than anyone whether she’s in a right enough state of mind to… consent to this. You’re closest to her. She trusts you.” 

He turns to Shadowheart, “It’s worth a try.”

Astarion notices two things as he pulls back the flap of your tent.

The first is that it is unseasonably warm. Scorching hot, like summer. A stark contrast from the welcoming cool of the early spring night behind him. 

And second, that the air in the tent is heavy - heady with the scent of sweat and something else he can’t quite identify. It's clouding his senses, making his head swim. The taste of it settles on his tongue, like salt on the rim of an otherwise very sweet drink.

The moonlight at his back casts a dark shadow over your sleeping form. Astarion hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of you, vulnerable and oblivious to his presence, feeling too much like a wolf looming over a snared rabbit.

You twitch, grimacing in pain. 

He frowns. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go about seducing you. His plan was much more sophisticated: a carafe of wine, a few honeyed words leading to a night of passion, your endless thanks, all culminating in some well-earned release and his assured protection.

A mutual exchange.

But, this?

He’s roused from his thoughts by another grunt, escaping from between your clenched teeth.

Whatever you’re going through, it looks like hell.

Ugh. You know what? Fine. Maybe this isn’t the way he envisioned it, but when has life ever blessed him with a perfect scenario? He’ll offer his… services, and respect whatever answer you give him. If you refuse him now, he can always try again later. Under less perilous circumstances, provided you survive the night.

And if not, well, he's never been one to play the hero, but at least he tried. 

He steps further inside, closing the entrance behind him. The moment he seals the tent shut, there is a palpable shift. The space feels infinitely heavier, laden with unnatural energy, reminiscent of anticipation, but just slightly… off.

He breathes, trying to focus on anything but that intoxicating scent. The haze of it is maddening.

The elf sits on his knees beside you, hands resting in his lap. 

He clears his throat, hoping the sound would be enough to wake you.

There’s no response. 

He whispers your name.

Nothing.

No choice, then.

He drums a finger against your bare arm.

The cleric was right. Your skin is so hot, it borders on scalding.

Finally, you begin to stir.

-

Again. It happened again. 

As soon as you closed your eyes to rest, you saw him - That thing that wore his skin. You felt his hands and mouth as he ravaged you until you fell apart beneath him, above him, wrapped around him, like he was everywhere all at once. 

He was demanding as he took pleasure from you. Ravenous. Mocking your cries, your begging.

The hours stretched into what felt like lifetimes, and you’d nearly given up hope, resigning yourself to the idea that this was your new, endless reality. 

Until suddenly, you hear a voice that pulls you from the dark recesses of your subconscious-- the very voice being used to torture you

Your name, uttered quietly by Astarion. Just Astarion. No second, more sinister layer beneath it.

Your eyelids flutter, then widen as a chilling realization washes over you. 

He’s touching you. The pads of his fingers are both a balm and an irritant, soothing and igniting the flames licking at the corners of your mind.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” He teases. 

You recoil from his touch, sitting upwards and crawling back away from him. 

He can’t be here. He, of all people, can’t be here.

And yet, something within you is screeching in delight.

'That’s him, isn’t it? The object of your desires? How fun!’

You swallow. Hard. 

“Astarion, I -” 

He holds up a hand, silencing you. “I’m aware.”

“Shadowheart informed us of your… predicament,” he continues, “I can’t help but feel partly responsible, seeing as I was there when you found the chocolate -”

“The chocolate? Is that - wait, what?” 

Shit. Your head is pounding. 

You press your palms against your eyes and groan. 

“I’ll spare you the details, but that chocolate was laced with succubus spittle - a highly potent aphrodisiac - and you, my dear, have consumed enough to bring an entire brothel to its knees.”

Your eyes snap open, meeting his own. There isn’t an ounce of humor in his tone. No sign of his usual mischief.

Gods, he’s being fucking serious.

“Now, as amusing as this might be if it were anyone else, I’d prefer it if our party’s leader made it out of this alive, and that leaves us with a choice."

You gaze at him silently, waiting as the candlelight paints his sharp features in warm hues of amber and honey. 

'He’s quite handsome. I see why you like him.’

“You can ride this out alone,” Astarion explains, “Shadowheart will return with her best salves and more potions for the fever. We’ll hope this passes quickly, but Wyll’s translation suggests the amount you consumed could leave you in this state for up to a week.”

Your stomach churns. You’re going to be sick.

“And the alternative?” you manage to ask.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your skin prickles at the contact.

“The alternative is that you let me help you through this. Consider it a repayment, of sorts, for gifting me your blood. I’m somewhat of an expert on… well,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

Maybe it's the blood roaring in your ears, or maybe you’re still dreaming, but it sounds like Astarion is offering to… fuck you?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He groans, visibly frustrated. “Sex, my dear. If the magic is compelling you to have it, I think we should listen.”

‘Handsome and smart.’ 

You hiss, “Would you please shut up?”

Astarion squints. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Listen, I - I get what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it, really, but -” 

Pain lances through your abdomen, a sharp, icy shard that interrupts your words. You clutch at your side, releasing Astarion’s hand before falling helplessly on your back, twisting in agony.

He inches closer, voice tinged with urgency. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging for me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to this while you’ve still got your wits about you.” 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can endure this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right.  

You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to alleviate your suffering.  

There’s just one part of his offer that you can’t quite come to terms with.

“I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles, wet and stressed, “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.” 

His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness.  

“My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” He lets his words trail off, shaking his head. You two can revisit this conversation later, when time isn’t of the essence. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.” 

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

It’s clear he means this.

He means every word. 

You nod. “Okay.”

Astarion clears his throat, rolling the tension off his shoulders. 

“Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he says as he throws one of his legs over your waist, straddling you, “Why don’t you lie back and let me take care of this, hm?” 

His posture is relaxed. Confident. He regards you with hooded eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. It’s quite the sight, one you’d enjoy significantly more if your body wasn’t busy screaming for his attention. 

His deft hands make quick work of the laces of your shirt, and with every string that loosens, your composure unravels further. You squirm, unable to resist the heat that teases your skin and the growing itch beneath it. 

As if Astarion can sense your rising panic, he places a cool palm against your burning cheek, his touch both gentle and practiced as he rubs smooth circles at the dip of your temple. 

“Relax, dear,” he whispers, both a request and a command. The gentle lilt in his voice masks the underlying authority, but your body obeys all the same, tension releasing from your muscles. “I’ve got you.”

Astarion quickly rids you of the offending fabric, chest and stomach now bared to him. His eyes scan over your form with focused intensity, lips pinched between his teeth, like an artist deciding what to make of their blank canvas.

“Normally, I’d take my time with this,” he admits, “but given the circumstances…” He swiftly undoes the buttons of your trousers before yanking them off along with your smallclothes. One single, fluid motion. 

He can’t hide the mild shock that follows when he sees the state of you - dripping wet, red and pulsing with need. 

He dips the tip of his finger between your folds. It glides over velvet skin, coating the digit in warm, wet slick. A strangled, pitiful noise escapes from your throat.

For a moment, Astarion’s calculated expression falters, surprised by the rate at which your body opens itself up to him. A glint of hunger lurks beneath the surface.

“This may be easier than I thought.” He says with a smirk, more to himself than to you. 

He presses two digits in, slow and intentional. There’s no resistance; A knife through warm butter. You’re dripping down his knuckles, gripping around him like a vice. He slides all the way in until the heel of his palm meets your clit. 

“Breathe.” 

Not even realizing you’d been holding your breath, you release it with a shutter.

“Very good.” He punctuates his words with the slow drag of his fingers. Long, languid movements. He’s taking his sweet time with you, pulling scandalous little cries from your lips. It’s like he’s toying with you - seeing how long you can hold out before breaking. 

It doesn’t take much time at all.

“Astarion -”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please, what? What do you need, darling?” His eyes are fixed on your own, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. A cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“More. Anything.” 

He hums in approval, then wets the pad of his thumb on his tongue before drawing circles exactly where you need. Heat coils at the base of your spine, forming a ball of tension that threatens to snap. 

The sheer intensity of it is enough to scare you, caught between the urge to chase the sensation or flee from it. “Astarion, I -” 

He ignores your warning as if he hadn’t heard it, plunging his fingers into your heat and curling them - expertly caressing a spot that threatens to shatter you. Your hands fly out, gripping the fabric of his shirt, the sheets beneath you, anything in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Go on, love. Let it out. I’ve got you.” 

Your body seizes as your orgasm tears through you, igniting every one of your oversensitive nerves. Back arching off the bedroll, several strangled sounds - almost pained - rip from your throat. The pleasure threatens to tear you apart, but the thick fog of lust occupying your mind begins to subside, offering the slightest bit of clarity as you twitch beneath him. 

Astarion grabs you by the jaw, tilting your head this way and that, admiring his handiwork. He's quite pleased with himself, with the mess he's made of you - jaw slack and brows pinched. He coaxes out the aftershocks, watching you squeeze around his fingers.

"There,” he gives you a playful pat on the cheek, "You're looking better already." 

"You're - agh - enjoying this too much."

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it." 

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as he allows you to catch your breath. For a moment, you think the coast is clear - that maybe, this was as far as things had to go. This was what the magic was compelling you to do, or at the very least - it was close enough. You fulfilled its wishes. Surely.

But then he pulls out of you, and the second you feel the vacuum of emptiness where his fingers once were, that voice in your head is screeching like some sort of petulant child. It pouts, waggling its non-existent finger in your direction. The demanding bitch. 

Part of you, instinctually, realizes that this is just the beginning - that you’re simply at the edge of the shore watching the tides recede while a devastating wave builds somewhere in the distance. 

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” Astarion asks, breaking the silence, and you realize that no, it doesn’t. Not like before, at least. 

You shake your head.

“Good. I’d wager that means this is working.” He smiles triumphantly, working the laces of his own clothes, and ridding himself of the final layers between you, revealing an intricate network of muscle beneath. For a man who’d supposedly been starved for the last two centuries, he certainly doesn’t look the part.

Astarion nudges your legs apart with his thigh, then settles between your knees, dragging the head of his cock between your folds. He hums in approval, admiring the sight as he coats himself in your slick. It practically drools out of you.

There’s no resistance when he dips himself into your entrance. 

His eyes scan over your face, searching for any discomfort, but all he finds is need. 

So, he presses in further. 

“Shit, you -” 

He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath as he bottoms out, then takes a moment, eyes pinched shut, collecting himself. 

He slides out, just an inch or so, before plunging back in, buried as deeply as he can reach. It’s so damn easy, the sinfully wet mess you’ve left all over his cock allowing him to glide in and out, tilting his hips with each thrust.

The stretch of him is perfect, like you were made for this - made to take him. His length rubbing and dragging against your walls acts like a balm, relaxing your body as you swallow and grip him in scorching heat. 

He grabs one of your thighs, pressing it into your chest - the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into your core.

It isn’t long before you’re begging him for more, digging your heels into the curve of his back.

Astarion starts pounding into you - a new, brutal pace spurred on by your encouragement and the wet, filthy slap of his skin against yours. The sounds reverberate off the canvas of your tent, blending with your choked sobs. You just know your companions are going to have something to say about this in the morning, but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care. 

The only thing that matters now is the man above you - his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, whispering how good you feel. How well you’re taking him, “Like you were made for this - for me.” His grunts are like music to your ears, drowning out all other thoughts as his chest vibrates against your own.

It’s all too much. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you before you have a chance to warn him, but he feels the way you flutter around his cock and acts on instinct - snaking his fingers between your bodies and rubbing your clit in quick circles. 

You throw your head back with a cry, shaking beneath him, and grip him like a vice as you come. The force of it slams into you, hot and devastating, tightening every muscle within its wake. You wind your limbs tightly around the hard planes of Astarion’s body as he rolls his hips into you, slow and deep. 

You can feel him twitching inside you, his rhythm suddenly stuttering with each thrust. Something tells you he’d come now, if you’d allow him.

But where?

'Where else?'

The very idea of him not spilling every drop he has inside of you disturbs you nearly to the point of panic, and with that, you finally understand what this damned succubus has been demanding of you this entire time.

“Astarion, please. I need you.” 

“Where?” he asks, voice muffled, panting hot and open-mouthed against the swell of your shoulder.

“Inside,” you beg, “Please. Please -  It’s alright.” 

He shudders, surging up into you one last time with a strangled grunt. Holding onto your hips, he pulses within you, the warmth of his release filling you to the brim, until a thick white ring of come forms at the base of his length. You can’t help but clench around him, moving to match his previous pace and trying desperately to wring as much out of him as you can, until it begins to seep out onto the sheets beneath you.

It isn’t until he stills inside of you that you release your hold on him. The two of you take a minute to collect yourselves, waiting for your heart to settle and listening to Astarion’s ragged breaths. 

He lifts his weight off of you with a grunt, settling back on his knees. 

“That was - agh,” he shivers as he pulls out of you. You don’t even want to look at the mess.

“I’m going to have to burn these sheets, aren’t I?” you ask, sitting up on your shoulders.

He throws his head back with a genuine, hearty laugh, and cards his fingers through his dampened hair. 

This is the most relaxed you think you’ve ever seen him - not a scowl line in sight. He rolls his shoulders, and sighs at the subsequent pop before turning his focus back on you.

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion muses, “I’ve done this more times than I can count— but this, my dear,” he chuckles, “This was one for the books.”

“So, was sleeping with me everything you could have possibly imagined?” It’s an obvious joke, given your tone. An offer to squash any chance of this happening again, should he wish to. An exit. 

He hums playfully. “Well, next time I think I’d prefer the subtle influence of wine over a mind-altering aphrodisiac, if it's all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Did he just offer to do this again? Well, not exactly, but -

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asks. 

Better, is the honest answer. Slightly confused and deeply embarrassed, but better. 

The apologies you’ll have to make after the night’s over seem endless, both to him and to Shadowheart for all the trouble you caused. Not to mention the others, who’ve probably had the sound of your squealing burned into their memories forever. The idea of it is daunting.

“Because if you’re still reeling from any nasty, lingering effects,” he continues, “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to help again.”

Oh.

Hm.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

-

Tag List (sorry if I missed anyone! I only added you if you explicitly asked to be tagged): @daedriclys @captain039 @sushiumex @sugasweettea @marauders-moon @starlightelegy @ablxssm @the-lake-is-calling

[thegoldencontracts]

The Housewardens Vs. Grim

Riddle is going to have that cat's head someday. Why does the fool keep attempting to claim he's testing to see if Riddle is worthy of you? He's clearly just attempting to con Riddle into giving him tuna! Grim just copied a line from a movie, right after the two of you finished watching it. Not the best sign of protectiveness there...

Leona needs Grim to stop deflecting all the cat comparisons onto him. He isn't a cat, either. You jokingly scratched Grim's ears? He tells you to do that to your boyfriend, the "real cat". And worse, you actually do it. He didn't like it or anything, that's stupid, and he definitely didn't accidentally purr. Still, he isn't a cat, and Grim needs to get the memo.

Azul has just- had it up to here with Grim bringing up that mortifying photo of him as a child! How many times of hastily slapping his hand over that foolish kitten's mouth before the talk of how "he was so round and cute as a kid" ceases for good? And every time, without fail, you go on a spiel about how adorable he looked! Can't you see the utter turmoil you're throwing his mind into? He's much too unused to any conversation about his childhood self at all, let alone positivity!

Kalim thinks Grim is cute and awesome and all, but he can't stand the talk about Jamil being untrustworthy. He's entirely- wait no, Grim's right. He's right about Jamil, and that just makes it even harder to stand. Jamil's improving, right? He's- improving... Right? He's practically begging Grim to stop ruining his cuddle sessions with you by bringing that up!

Vil cannot stand those foolish critiques of his diet, especially when you agree. His food is not bland, and a lack of spices barring salt and pepper at most is entirely normal. Of course, your ensuing agreements are worse. Really, "How come your country colonized the world for spices but didn't use any?" Is no way to speak. Yes, The Shaftlands' has a history of colonialism. Yes, the food happens to not utilize an excess of spices. Is that so terrible?

Idia is jealous... of you. How come you get to pet the cute widdle kitty but he doesn't? It's not fair! And why are you rolling your eyes at you sending him the among us 'everyone is so mean 2 me' meme? Can't you feel his devastation through the cracks? Shame on you! He just wants to pet Grim, but Grim just thinks he's scary. Come on Grim, one chance.

Malleus did not start this battle. Unfortunately for him, however, Grim is incredibly jealous of his magic. The cat keeps requesting that you perform reconnaissance on his behalf. He seems to be under the entirely false impression that, with enough work, the Great Grim can best even Malleus Draconia himself. Malleus... Doesn't quite take him seriously, in all honesty. Grim is a rather amusing creature in his eyes.

[dorksiii]

It's 3am, Im not sure if tumblr will bless this post in reaching the SMC fans but fuck it. We ballin. I have not stopped thinking about this tragic and toxic shadow milk cookie x reader idea in which SMC turned the reader, a student or teacher of some kind, to stone before he got banished but after he turned from hero to beast, all because he wanted to have her "romantically" wait eternity for him until his return from the witch's prison.

After the fall of the heroes and their kingdoms, the statue of the reader was set as a relic and was moved to Blueberry Academy, in which she stayed there as some sort of symbol of further pursuing knowledge. But I'm also thinking what if the statue reader has lingering magic of SMC and was instead kept as a safeguard to the mooncrystal prisoning dark enchantress cookie.

Either way, while the reader is unconscious about what happens outside her statue prison, she is instead conscious inside her mind. I wanna say like a coma sort of state. But in this mind of hers, she is re-living the time she had spent before SMC's fall and the fall of the milk kingdom and believes that nothing is wrong.

Yet, as her statue's lingering beast magic is being set off by outer forces in hopes of breaking the mooncrystal, the reader begins to see the truth in her situation by having "nightmares" of SMC's upbringing and the events that led to her eternal prison... or maybe just SMC's upbringing? Eventually, after the reader wakes up from a nightmare of SMC's official upbringing in taking over his kingdom and the world through deceit, she either hastily gets up in the middle of the night and takes a walk around town or she wakes up, head back to sleep after a glass of water and an unevent talk with PMC, but later in the day decides to take a walk to clear her head. In either scenarios she then encounters the light of truth disguised as none other than Pure Vanilla cookie dressed as a humble shepherd, with no soul jam in sight. So by bumping into this "shepherd" the light of truth leaves the reader with a hint.. "If you so desire to seek the truth behind your nightmares, head to the top of the spire where all forbidden knowledge lies"

Reader, confused but determined to see an end to her turmoil, heads to the top of the spire in secret. After successfully breaking and entering the spire of all knowledge, she begins to look around and soon finds the book of her answers. A book that tells the history of the fallen heroes, the first soul jam holders. While the reader flips through the pages, rapidly taking note of her situation and finding out the truth of her lover, once Pure Milk Cookie now Shadow Milk Cookie. She then goes into a sort of short spiral of horror until Pure Milk Cookie makes an appearance in front of her. I'm thinking they either have a confrontation in which reader reveals the truth and the sky shatters and falls all around her, freeing her, OR she confronts PMC, they fight it out, reader deals a heavy blow to PMC which goes all the way to the sky and shattering it which also frees her. Some sort of scenerio that gives "boss fight:final level" vibes

Reader soon wakes up fighting for breath and gaining mobility with pieces of stone all around her. And as she is finally relaxing and taking her new but real surroundings, she notices the real pure vanilla cookie in his regal attire with the soul jam of now truth holding his hand out to her with wizard, strawberry, and gingerbrave cookie beside him. And end scene! For now...

Keep in mind that while I am writing and mapping all of this out, I have NEVER, EVER wrote or even mapped out a fanfic in my entire LIFE. But the CRK fixation is on a whole nother level, and so I am walking forward with this fanfic idea with a blindfold and no direction of where to go. But I am bearing my heart to you all who took the time to read this idea of a crazy person and hopefully give me tips or pointer as to what works best and flows better for a more personal and heavy sense of connection and angst in reader cookies and Shadow Milk Cookies relationship in this AU, or to simply let me know if you'd like to read it! 💙🤍💙

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

🖊️ jan 2025 manga updates~! 🦁

No Episode of Octavinelle update this month!

If you were hoping for me to scream (positively) about [REDACTED]’s OB… 💀 Well. You’re not getting it here 🤓

***Episode of Savanaclaw and 4koma spoilers under the cut!!***

dhvasfovavaqeyo OH MY GOD???? He looks so pathetic like that... just look at his face...

The tail on the ground is bothering me but. 💀 Just a me thing, I am always grossed out by tails and the thought of them getting filthy…

He’s manspreading too/j (Side note: this is very Rollo of me, but BLESS that fucking pose actually covering up the skin that's exposed because of the weirdly skewed angle of his shirt.)

The way I thought this was Deuce at first-- Like Yuuken, Yuuka joins in the action. She charges in to take Leona head-on! It makes me wonder how Yuuta will contribute to the OB Azul battle, if at all?? Unlike Yuuka and Yuuken, Yuuta isn't athletic or able to handle conflict with combat. I don’t recall seeing him doing any kind of fighting against OB Azul.

Well. Nice to know that Leona doesn't discriminate in who he decides to sand 💀 What a true feminist king...

Jack to the rescue! djscsjsjkwkw Him claiming to be a lone wolf and not caring about you or anything 💀 then proceeds to save Yuuka’s ass when she’s reckless in the fight… Yeah, okay TSUNDERE

I like that the manga continues to show more detailed interpretations of the OB battle, which grants the characters more time to interact with each other and build their bonds. You can see Ace, Sebek, and Silver helping out the Savanaclaw dorm members, and even Yuuka tries to help Ruggie. Does this count as trauma bonding…

The sand at Jack’s feet reminds me of bone marrow… which makes me hungry… Probably not the intended effect 😂

Wolf form Jack feels so much more expressive in the Episode of Savanaclaw! He has several very determined faces in this chapter.

Again, the Savanaclaw mangaka ALWAYS pops off when drawing long, flowing hair.

DSBIHLADFVIYOADGYAFEYFAI nNOT GRANDPAPPY BEING EXTRA SaasSSYY...

Leona's devastation though, pretty tasty content 😋

It's really interesting seeing how the earth seems to respond to Leona's emotional turmoil. It starts shaking... particles floating in the air... I wonder if that's something his magic is doing unconsciously. The scale of this two-page spread is so cool! You can tell from the blast radius and how the other characters are bracing against it that it's a really powerful sandstorm and blot explosion.

Aaaaand here is Leona's long-awaited evil magical girl transformation! ahlavuovfafe a I'M REALLY FREAKED OUT BY THE bALLERINA-ASS FOOT SHOT, Im’ StILL REVovrrinG FROM tHE FLOYD pAjAMA gROIVY 💀

(Also???? His fingers and nails look super dainty??? Not sure if that's just me.)

Wow, what an eventful update :DD

The next chapter for Savanaclaw will be in April~

This month's 4koma involves Trein going to Board Game Club. He wants Idia's help to convert a magical book's text into an electronic form, since Lucius sits on his keyboard when Trein attempts to do the conversion himself. Unfortunately, Idia's nowhere to be found! Azul offers to help instead, thinking he will get something out of it + schemes about how he could profit from books, perhaps by writing one of his own. The twins and Ortho also appear and join in on Azul's scheming.