#magnolias and whiskey

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi, I have a (maybe silly) question

We know that Lestat's blood tastes like "vermouth and annihilation" and Armand's is "honey and pineapple" (if I remember correctly)

But what about Louis'? Is it established anywhere? And if not, what do you think the taste is?

No, that's not established^^. These descriptions are definitely show-only^^.

I could imagine he tastes like "smokey whiskey and blooming magnolias".

Smokey whiskey (think Ardbeg or Laphroaig) because of Louis' little pyromaniac tendencies and the scent of magnolias because New Orleans is in his blood. Maybe.

Since they have given us Armand's through Louis, and Lestat's through Armand... I guess we'll get Louis' through Lestat^^ - so likely in s3.

[eugenesisland]

[badolmen]

like black people are present in every single fucking genre and scene and popularized and straight up created several but people are so fucking hell bent on finding every possible excuse to not engage with their music because its easier than trying to confront their own racism. like okay well if its truly just a disinterest in most rap music then surely you listen to black artists in other genres right? who am i fucking kidding. of course you dont.

[dawneternal]

What I think the acotar characters smell like

Emerie - woodsmoke, herbal tea

Gwyn - honeysuckle, warm rain

Clotho - sweet mint, parchment

Tarquin - sea salt, lime, coconut

Eris - brown sugar, whiskey, smoke

Helion - vetiver, saffron, magnolia

Thesan - apricot, sage

Kallias - vanilla, cedar, snowdrop

Vivianne - violets, sugar plum, fresh snow

Tamlin - moss, lily of the valley, blackberry

Lucien - Leather, bergamot

Lady of Autumn - clementine, clove, amber

Beron - tobacco, cider, oak

Nuala and Cerridwen - moonflower, peach, sandalwood

Rhysand's mom - cardamom, moonflower

[aheathen-conceivably]

The sounds of the desert kept pulling Antoine back toward them, away from the loud lull of the bar that was pouring out onto the porch beside them. There was one reason he wasn’t giving into their comforting call, and it was standing in front of him waiting for him to speak. When he did it was exactly what she expected him to say, “You know she only hired me because of Jo, right?”

Her response came soft and kind, as though it wasn’t the fifth time she has allayed the same fear since Jo had approached them with the offer. “I know no such thing, because it isn’t true. She hired you because you can play.”

He almost said exactly the same thing as the last time he had voiced this concern. They had been alone in their bedroom, far away from the roar of a bar, which was coincidentally where he would have preferred to be at that very moment. But she wants me to sing, Zelda. I can’t sing. I’ve never sung. But he didn’t have to, because she already knew. “Are you sure you don’t want to sing it?”

Zelda looked down briefly at her feet, hesitant to say no to him at all. She didn’t want him to be afraid, to have to get up in front of a crowd and perhaps be even more vulnerable than he had ever been on the piano. Only she couldn’t. Not again. Her time away from the stage had only convinced her that it had never really happened at all. It had become even more powerful than a dream, because now, it was just a memory. A memory so laced with magnolias and champagne that it could only be revisited through hazy eyes and swaying limbs when you were alone on the edge of sleep or fully immersed in a book. It couldn’t have once been her life. 

But still, she would have said yes for him, taken the stage in some Western bar and swallowed her fears alongside a shot of whiskey for him. But that wasn’t the point. 

“It isn’t my song, Antoine. Or anyone else’s. It’s yours and only yours to play.” Then she brought her hand to his cheek, “Just play. See how it feels, if it comes to you. If you don’t sing it no one but us will know the difference because it will be great either way.”

Zelda settled into her chair once he was already crooked over his own, cigarette dangling from his fingers and hands busied on the lighter he always kept in his pocket. Jo swung around her shoulder, placing three beers in front of her before whispering some barely heard reassurances in her ear. 

Zelda left her eyes on Antoine while she tried to ignore the tense glances between the couple next to her, or those Gio was throwing over Jo's shoulder to the bar beyond. Antoine’s hand returned the lighter to his pocket and then rose to the tabs that decorated the top of the guitar. She waited with bated breath for him to look back up at her, to need her again before his hand left the cigarette and found the strings. 

When he didn’t even glance at her or the crowd before he started playing, she couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed; but then he slipped into a trance where neither she nor anyone else seemed to exist.

The song should have sounded exactly the same as it had the other dozen times she had heard it. In truth, she knew the notes and the words just as well as any of her own performance pieces. But now, even though she recognized every one, they were all different. Like the crowd in front of him had somehow added life to the way his hands moved, even if they were in exactly the same places as every other time he had played it.

She knew that it was because underneath his dented guitar and plain white shirt, he was the same jazz musician he had been in the club ten years before. Only now he was on an instrument that added more honesty and rawness to the notes he had composed, even as his skill and improvisation stayed the same. For a moment Zelda forgot to be upset that he seemed to have forgotten her, because it was like watching a transformation through time. He was the same, only somehow, even better than he had ever played before.

The crowd magnetized on him without even a single word sung, and the consistent playing of the notes and the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke hung over the bar like electricity.

Gio turned to Jo, raising an impressed eyebrow as she smiled back at him with pride, forgetting to lace it with superiority or malice for the first time in months. Zelda caught the look between them and didn’t even have time to feel guilty like she usually did when she saw Jo now, because a moment later the words she hadn't really expected began to float down to them from the stage. With them, Jo’s face transformed from simple pride into something much more intimate, like an overwhelming emotion that she had been trying to forget.

As the song went on it was like all three of them were back there in the House of the Rising Sun together, just like they had once been when they were twenty-something and without the weight of worries they wore now. Not an ounce of the betrayal or open wounds still simmering between them were left for those few minutes. Only memories of over a decade together, of shared joy and pain that bound them together like nothing else could. 

On stage, Antoine remained oblivious to them. His eyes were closed and not a trace of his fear from outside remained, because he may as well have been back at the piano he had left behind. They didn't exist, because part of him was back home…🎶

[pandoraspurgatory]

Ghosts of Hanahaki

Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader. Implied established relationship. HANAHAKI disease AU

Graphic themes ahead, Minors DNI. TW below

TW: Su1c1de in graphic detail, death, vomit, blood, major angst/whump. No happy endings here! You’ve been warned

Tomura wheezed, he couldn’t yet decipher what was sweeter, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth or the hint of magnolias on his tongue.

His lungs burned, what left of his shallow body paced around the leagues home, his footsteps accompanied by the sound of retching and laboured coughs. He grimaced in pain as the petals fluttered out of his mouth with each hack, chrysanthemums weren’t so beautiful when covered in mucus and blood

The league had little to no fight left, not for Tomura, he was long gone. The house was a filthy mess, what was once a home filled with laughter and enticing schemes, was now a cesspit of despair and utter loneliness.

The bath was still stained with blood even months later, what left of you settled in the grout of the bathroom tiles. Scrubbing the remnants of you felt like a final farewell nobody was yet ready to confront.

Mouldy bumpers and half smoked cigarettes lay littered in the dining room, a memoir of Dabis attempt to ignore the situation. Toga had left weeks ago, hopefully to someplace better, you always wanted her to do bigger things anyway.

Hanahaki disease wasn’t near as much of a threat as it used to be, not with the quirks and technology possessed by people in this day and age. It was painful of course, but easily treatable with specialised medication and a hint of shame walking out of the doctors office.

Not Tomura though, the moment this started and a small pink petal escaped his lips, he made his decision to rot in the shame of his fatal mistake. Atoning for his ignorance in a slow form of suicide.

Tomura knew of the cures, with how rotten, heinous and sex obsessed society was, most of the population was bound to develop Hanahaki at least once in their lives. In some cultures it was almost a right of passage, a fucked up version of loosing one’s virginity.

2 months ago the unthinkable, though painstakingly unsurprising finally emerged through the cracks of your well played facade.

Instead of going out in a blaze of glory, surrounded by your comrades as you fought to save society and liberate the slums of the streets… You died convulsing and choking on rancid tasting vomit in a battered porcelain bathtub, wrists slit and eyes dull.

It was hours before you were stumbled upon, taking effort to end yourself while the league were out of the house, it seemed like the most polite thing to do.

It’s what you attempted to convince yourself, in truth you didn’t want your mind to be swayed, or to risk any chance of survival. Truely believing it was better this way, and maybe it was in the long run, it’s not like finding out is an option after the actions you imposed on yourself.

_________________

Tomura walked through the half broken in entryway, Spinner tailing close behind him. After slumping down on the couch, Spinner poured two glasses of whiskey into the fanciest cups they had, handing one to Tomura as he loaded up his league of legends disc.

Solo mode did have its perks of course, though Tomura found it much more stimulating fighting against his best friend. It was often crudely competitive of course, though a quick dose of dopamine before whatever mission was forced on them next.

Through laughter and slowly sipping at their drinks, as well as yelling at painfully long loading screens, the distant sound of dripping slithered its way into Tomuras ears.

He was easily overstimulated in the best of situations, however with the clearly unpaid wifi bill disrupting the game paired with the cheap whiskey dancing on his tongue, he felt himself slowly slip into frustration.

“Fucking Toga, left the tap on again, just another water bill on my ass”

Spinner smirked, taking a quick swig before responding “Relax it Shig, your Master will pay for it, you know that… your girl home?”

He ran his hands through his greasy hair, groaning in frustration, muttering something under his breath about how Toga should know better “yeah, probably having a nap, she’s sleepy”.

Minutes went by quickly as the game finally loaded after Spinner blew the grocery money on the wifi bill. The quickening dripping sound only drilling into Tomuras ears more each second. With a unsatisfied groan Tomura forced his way off the couch, kicking over a Mountain Dew can as he trudged his way into the bathroom. Spinners rapid clicks of the controller didn’t drown out the sound that came from the other end of the house moments later.

The shrill cry pierced his ears. He didnt need to think twice about who it came from. Spinner had heard Tomura in all his moods, whether it was a raspy laugh at a shitty joke, or a grating shout at the wifi failing. Spinner consistently recognised the voice of his closest companion.

He hadn’t heard Tomura like this before, Spinners legs moved faster than his thoughts as he sprinted towards the bathroom, he didn’t know what to expect. For all he knew it could be the second time Tomura encountered a spider in the toilet, though something was amiss.

The scene was gruesome, scalding bile threatened to force its way out of his throat as he looked at the situation before him. The League of course was no stranger to murder and death, but to those who deserved it, those who single handedly carved their own macabre demises.

You laid in the bathroom, in an old t shirt of Tomuras. Your eyes wide open and face covered in vomit and half digested pills. Spinner had never bothered to notice how strong blood smelt prior to this moment, it was sharp and metallic, enough to make him want to collapse. Your wrists dripped onto the tiled floor, mimicking a tap not screwed tight enough.

Blood pooled on the ground below, slit wrists coagulated with dark sticky clots that melted to the floor. How long had you sat here? 2 hours? 3?

The silence was broken by Tomura, his voice shaky on the brink of a mental break, he hissed through clenched teeth.

“She’s sick Spinner, get a glass of water and I’ll put her into bed”

He was taken aback, he knew Tomura wasn’t the most mentally stable man out there, though this had snapped something in him.

“Hurry up Spinner!” He begged, taking long dragged breaths as he rocked back and forth, holding your face in his hands. “She needs to go rest!”

Spinners heart raced. The empty look in your eyes, the purple marks indicating blood pooling under your skin, the way your joints cracked as Tomura attempted to move you.

People would have to be blind to miss the fact that rigor mortis had embraced you before Tomura did.

Dabi and Compress arrived soon after, it took hours of pleading, convincing and restraint to pry your cold and stiff body from Tomuras desperate grasp.

__________

Dabi knew

Spinner knew

Compress knew

Twice knew

They all knew that Tomura didn’t have long left, it was no use fighting the inevitable. The only good parts of him rotted into the tiles, just like you.

What was the point of curing his disease when he wasn’t rejected, but cruelty abandoned by the one who claimed to love him to most?

Only a matter of days later flowers sprouted from Tomuras body. The final stage pastel petals brought much needed comfort to him, much like the hands of his family he dawned on his body when you first met.

The reminders of the lives he took worn on his body as he took his last breath in the bathtub, a last ditch effort to be closer to you.

As much as the league tried to convince him it wasn’t his fault, it was his antidepressants clasped in your hand when he let go of your body.

[stalkerofthegods]

Ares Deep dive

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, so don’t judge so quick, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here.

Herbs • Garlic, basil, buttercup, yarrow, ginger, anything with tiny yellow flowers, spicy stuff (ex- peppers, paprika), Water hemlock, Snapdragon, Poppy, Nettle, Magnolia, Ginger

Animals• Vulture, Colchian Dragon, serpents, barn owls, woodpeckers, dogs, horses, Stymphalian birds, boars

Zodiac • Aries

Colors • Red, black, and dark purple

Crystal• garnets, rubies, bloodstone, obsidian, red scoria, smoky quartz, red jasper, carnelian

Symbols• a helm, a shield, a spear and sometimes a sheathed sword, flaming torch, armor, palace, four fire-breathing horses 

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• Iron, armor

Diety of• masculinity, civil order, Battle lust, courage, City guards/police, Rage, Violent deeds, Fights, Murder, Manslaughter, Quarrels, cheese, dancing, rebellion 

Patron of• the Amazons, City defenses, City defenders

Offerings• Dragons, Dragon imagery, Dragon art, Strong dark red wine, Strong whiskey, Pure water, Black coffee, Black tea, Olive oil, Beef, Red meats in general, Cooked fat from meats, Blood from cut meats, Heavy spices, Spicy foods, Garlic, Red, black, and dark purple candles, Art or statues of Him, Statues of horses or dogs, Weapons, armor, and shields (ex- art, statues, toys, handmade.), Trophies, Spicy jerky, Sport drinks / protein shakes, Hand drawn or printed art of HimArt or images of dogs, horses, and vultures, Feathers from vultures, woodpeckers, or barn owls, Iron or steel jewelry, Red flowers (ex- roses), Thorns, Miniature or toy weapons and armor (especially helmets), Snake skin, Animal teeth, Write down your fears or successes and give them to Him, Medals and ribbons you’ve earned, Antiques, Photos of riots or past wars, hot sauce, Pork ribs, homemade meals, poultry, hare, venison, wolf hearts, chili peppers, lemons, green bananas, unripe peaches, batons, bullets, kendo swords, shields, military helmets, bullet-proof vests, military boots, military belts, dynamite sticks, grenades, lion pelts, shark teeth, ram skulls, explosives (handle carefully), Medals or Certificates, dog fur or dog teeth (ethically sourced), horseshoes, bull horns, war memorabilia, broken glass, spicy jerky or twiggy sticks, Carmel, sushi, stormwater, spicy salsa, Mexican food, chocolate or chia pudding, burnt matches, cigarette butts

Devotional• Create a playlist and listen to music that makes you feel brave/empowered, Donate to the Rape Crisis Center or other similar programs, Donate and support victims of war, Cook with garlic or heavy spices that you haven’t tried before, Try new things and don’t feel ashamed about doing so, Tell Him about your accomplishments, Tell Him about your fears, Learn about shadow work and try it for yourself, Learn about history, past wars, and past riots, Learn what they accomplished or failed to accomplish, Learn and educate yourself about the downsides of war and what can happen to the people affected by wars, Partake in combat sports (ex- martial arts, fencing), Exercise, Play some strategy games like chess, Risk, and Civilization, Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, write to your governor/mayor for things you want to see changed, attend riots, Pray to Him (ex-strength, ability to fight and defeat enemies, courage, to keep others safe, and help in a battle), go to a protest, learn first aid, educate yourself on PTSD, do unharmful things that give you adrenaline rushes (ex- amusement park rides, bungee jumping), watch action movies with him, pet a dog, Playing Strategy Games, Work on managing your anger, bones, go do axe throwing, a playlist that makes you feel, brave, energized and confident, keep track of your successes (this can be daily tasks, when you conquer them cross them off, and then offer the list to Ares), write down or draw art of your fears, go to a rage room, pray or meditate during thunderstorms, watch war movies and documentaries and play war/combat and strategy video games

Ephithets•Adámastos/adamastus/ἀδάμαστος/ΑΔΑΜΑΣΤΟΣ/ἀδάμας -unconquerable & indestructible, Ænyálios/enyalius/ἐνυάλιος/ΕΝΥΑΛΙΟΣ -war-God, Alcimus, Álkimos/alcimus/ἄλκιμος/ΑΛΚΙΜΟΣ/Adj - valiant, brave, Alloprósallos/alloprosallus/ἀλλοπρόσαλλος/ΑΛΛΟΠΡΟΣΑΛΛΟΣ- loyal to the struggle and to the souls who are engaged in it, Ánax/ἄναξ/ΑΝΑΞ -lord, king, Aphneiós/aphneius/ἀφνειός/ΑΦΝΕΙΟΣ -rich, wealthy, Arrectus, Árriktos/arrectus/ἄρρηκτος, ΑΡΡΗΚΤΟΣ -unbreakable, Brotoctonus, Enyalius, Hippius, Hoplochares/Hoplodupus/Hoplophorus,  Íppios/hippius/ἵππιος/ÍΠΠΙΟΣ -horseman,  Mægasthænís/megasthenes/μεγασθενής/ΜΕΓΑΣΘΕΝΗΣ/μεγασθενές -very strong,  Megasthenes/Mægasthænís., Ombrimothymus:See Omvrimóthymos/Omvrimóthymos/ombrimo hymus/ὀμβριμόθυμος/ΟΜΒΡΙΜΟΘΥΜΟΣ/ὀβρῐμόθῡμος -doughty, indomitable, Oplódoupos/hoplodupus/ὁπλόδουπος/ΟΠΛΟΔΟΥΠΟΣ -clattering in his armor, Oplokharís/hoplochares/ὁπλοχαρής, ΟΠΛΟΧΑΡΗΣ -rejoicing in arms, Oplophóros/hoplophorus/ὁπλοφόρος/ΟΠΛΟΦΟΡΟΣ - he who bears arms, Phrictus/Phriktós/phrictus/φρικτός/ΦΡΙΚΤΟΣ - horrifying, Polæmóklonos/polemoklonus/πολεμόκλονος/ΠΟΛΕΜΟΚΛΟΝΟΣ -he raises the clamor of combat, Polemoklonus/Polæmóklonos, Sceptuchus/ Skiptoukhos/Skiptoukho/sceptuchus/σκηπτοῦχος/ΣΚΗΠΤΟΥΧΟΣ -he who bears a scepter, Teichesipletes/Teikhæsiplítis/Teikhæsiplítis/teichesipletes/τειχεσιπλήτης/ΤΕΙΧΕΣΙΠΛΗΤΗΣ—he who storms the cities in battle, Vrotoktónos/brotoctonus/βροτοκτόνος, ΒΡΟΤΟΚΤΟΝΟΣ -the slayer of men.

Equivalents• Mars (Roman), Onuris-Anhur (Egyptian god), Tiu-Tyr (Germanic god),  unnamed war-god (Scythian god).

Courting• unmarried, but courting Aphrodite. 

Past lovers/crushes/hookups• Aerope, Agraulos, Harmonia, Otrere, Astyokhe, Demonike or Sterope, Kyrene or Asterie, Astyokhe

Personality• He’s a great father, and a great lover, I talk to a godspouse of his and they talk about how he calmed them and was always there. He’s a great father because I’ve talked to a person who their father is ares and he’s always there for them, he’s also generous.

Home• Mount Olympus 

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Ares was the only male greek god that never raped or sexually assaulted any woman

Curses• Routing armies, Cowardice, Death on the battlefield, Military invasion, Sacking of cities, Rebellion, Uprisings, Sedition

Blessings•Driving armies, Bravery, fighting strength & endurance,  Averting war (peace), Repelling invading armies, Maintaining civil order, Crushing rebellions, Restraint violent instinct,

Roots• Thrake, Ancient Greece.

Parentage• Zues and Hera

Siblings• Enyo (twin sister), Eris (sister), Apollo (half-brother), Artemis (half-sister), Athena (half-sister), Hephaestus (brother), Hermes (half-brother), Dionysus (half-brother), Hebe (sister), Heracles (half-brother), Aphrodite (half-sister).

Pet• four fire-breathing horses (Aithon (Red-Fire), Phlogios (Flame), Konabos (Tumult) and Phobos (Fear))

Children •ANTEROS (God of reciprocated love, son of Ares and Aphrodite), DEIMOS (God of fear, a son of Ares and Aphrodite.), ENYALIOS/Enyalius (A war-god son of Ares and Eris), EROS (God of love, a son of Ares and Aphrodite),  HARMONIA (Goddess of harmony, daughter of Ares and Aphrodite.), NIKE(The goddess of victory, a daughter of Ares), PHOBOS (God of panic, son of Ares and Aphrodite),AEROPOS/Aeropus (son of Ares and Aerope.), ALKIPPE/Alcippe (daughter of Ares and Agraulos), AMAZONES/Amazons (Warrior women of Assyria, daughters of Ares and Harmonia), ANTIOPE(daughter of Ares and Otrere), ASKALAPHOS/Ascalaphus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), DIOMEDES (son of Ares and Kyrene or Asterie), DRYAS (son of Ares), EUENOS/Evenus (son of Ares and Demonike, and sometimes the son of Ares and Sterope), HIPPOLYTE (daughter of Ares and Otrere.),IALMENOS/Ialmenus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), KYKNOS/Cycnus) (son of Ares and Pelopia or Pyrene), LIKYMNIOS/Licymnius (son of Ares most say his father was King Elektryon), LYKASTOS/Lycastus) (son of Ares and Phylonome.), LYKOS/Lycus (son of Ares who used to sacrifice strangers to his father), MELANIPPOS/Melanippus (son of Ares and Triteia.), MELEAGROS/Meleager (son of Ares and Queen Althaia, but most call him a son of King Oineus), MOLOS/Molus (son of Ares and Demonike), NISOS/Nisus (son of Ares, but most accounts say he was a son of the Athenian prince Pandion), OIAGROS/Oeagrus (a son of Ares but some say his father was King Kharops),OINOMAUS/Oenomaus (son of Ares and the Pleaid Sterope or Princess Harpinna), OXYLOS/Oxylus (son of Ares and Protogeneia), PARRHASIOS/Parrhasius(son of Ares and Phylonome.),PARTHENOPAIOS/Parthenopaeus (son of Ares and Atalanta, many say his father was Melanion or Meleagros), PENTHESILEIA (daughter of Ares and Otrere), PHLEGYAS (He was a son of Ares and Dotis or Khryse.), PORTHAON (son of Ares or according to others of Agenor), PYLOS/Pylus (son of Ares and Demonike.), REMUS (son of Ares and Ilia), ROMULUS (son of Ares and Ilia), TEREUS (a son of Ares.), THESTIOS/Thesius (son of Ares and Demonike or Agenor and Epikaste), THRASSA (daughter of Ares and Tereine.), DRAKON ISMENIAN (A monstrous dragon-serpent, it was a son of Ares and the Erinys Telphousia.)

attendees• DEIMOS & PHOBOS (The twin gods of terror and fear), ERIS & ENYO (goddess of strife, hatred and war), KYDOIMOS/Cydoemus (The god of the din of war), NIKE (goddess of victory), OTHER ABSTRACTIONS(spirits described such as Rage, Anger, Threats, Death and Valour)

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient Greek art, he was depicted as either a mature, bearded warrior armed for battle, or as a nude, beardless youth with a helm and spear.

Festivals • Artemis Agrotera/Kharisteria , and Genesios, maybe.

Day • Tuesday 

Scared places• Odrysia in Bistonia, Thrake (his birth-place)

Planet• Mars

Tarot cards• Chariot & Emperor card

Scents/Inscene • Frankensince, Sandalwood incense, resin, burning wood (especially if Himalayan salt in thrown in since it reminds him of blood), and red sandalwood incense

Prayers• 

Prayer to Ares for the Safety of a Soldier

Bold-hearted Ares, bright-helmed son of thundering Zeus and noble Hera, well-honored god of war, any battle will you face, any foe will you fight, without fear and without hestitation. Ares, god of warriors, ally of those who risk their lives on the field, to you do soldiers offer their prayers. You know each one’s name, O Ares, you know their lives, you know their worth. Great Ares, I pray to you, watch over ____________ who heeded your call, who practices your art, whose name you know well, for s/he is one of your own who does you honor with each day s/he serves. Ares, I pray to you.

In general 

Bright-helmed Ares, strong of arm and stern of visage, firm of stance, unyielding of will, ever ready to face any foe, to hold the line against all who may come, to battle until the end. Ares, son of noble Zeus and wise Hera, cherished by golden Aphrodite, honored by those who call on you for strength and courage, in the north were you much honored in times of old, in Thrace and Thessaly were you held in esteem by those whose lives were harsh, whose world was stony, whose comforts were hard-won. Ares who answers the prayers of the despairing, I honor you

For Courage

Ares, fierce-hearted son of Zeus and noble Hera, full-famed you are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way. Ares, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Ares, friend to those in direst need, I pray to you, grant me the nerve to face what must be faced, grant me the will to do what must be done, grant me the heart to forge ahead.

Links/websites/sources •https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/gods/ares/

https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/624476009567289344/ares-offerings/amphttps://aspisofares.wordpress.com/tag/offerings/https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://scarletarosa.tumblr.com/post/187742800571/ares-greek-god-ofhttps://www.tumblr.com/diana-thyme/722942201197363200/greek-gods-101-ares @enyalios-shrinehttps://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/ares/

BIG HELP TO

https://www.tumblr.com/tarotbee

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here.

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[rosewaterandivy]

sugar & mint

masterlist - steve  

Summary: Lazy summer evening with your ol’ man Steve.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem reader

WC: ~2K

Warnings: NSFW 18+, drinking, cursing, fingering (Steve performing & reader receiving), kissing, & cumming quick (!!!)

A/N: Inspired by “Julep” by the Punch Brothers; some domestic summer!steve. Likes, reblogs, & feedback are appreciated - reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

🎵🎵 Heaven's a julep on the porch, you and me rocking, a grandfather clock is tick, tick, tocking to time 🎵🎵

A warm breeze blew through the early summer evening, the light scent of magnolia trees in bloom wafting to his nose as he sat on the swing of the wraparound porch. The sun continued its slow crawl toward the western horizon, painting the sky in hues of candy pink bleeding into blues and lilacs. 

Soft music played from the kitchen, sailing through the open window accompanied by bare feet padding on the worn wood floor. The water turned off, plates going in the dishwasher interrupted by giggles. Childish laughter recedes and replaced by the creak of someone going upstairs. A muttered, “Gotta fix that step,” and then nothing, save for the cicadas in the yard. 

Steve sighs content, but tired, back resting against the porch swing as it sways lazily to and fro. His skin prickles with beads of sweat in the heat, idly wonders if it isn’t worth it to just head back in for the night.

A brief stumble down the stairs, “Damn it,” and the whine of the screen door as it’s pushed open. Your beaming face behind the mesh screen, stepping onto the porch with an ice bucket and cocktail shaker. “Hey you.” Your voice is soft in its greeting, accompanied by that sweet smile you save just for him.

Setting the bucket and shaker on the table, you join him on the swing. His hand finds your legs to drag them to his lap, allowing you to recline against the bench. “Hey baby,” Steve says, thumb working in circles against your knee. “How’s that trick step treatin’ you?”

Your laugh is glorious and bright, head thrown back to expose the column of your neck damp in perspiration. He eyes the pulse of your throat, would like nothing more than to get his mouth on it and suck until you make those pretty high-pitched noises he loves. 

Instead, he pulls you closer on the swing so that you’re sitting in his lap. Your arm drapes casually around his neck, hand threading through his hair, ends curling up in the heat. “S’fine,” you say, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

Steve laugh as that. “Babe,” his eyes cut to yours mischievously, “You’ve been saying that for years.”

“And I’ve meant it,” you tease back, “For years.” 

It’s an old argument between you now, the consistent creak of the step serving as both burden and reminder of that never-ending ‘to-do’ list. Twisting in his grasp, you begin to mix the drinks. “D’you bring the whiskey?” Muddling the mint, you add some ice and measure the simple syrup.

“Depends,” he muses, “Did you bring the sugar and the mint?”

A snort. “Uh, obviously.” 

Fingers brushing against his when you take the bottle from his grasp, deft and warm. A healthy pour of Kentucky's finest followed by two handfuls of ice and you’re off to the races. Capping the mixture, you shake it vigorously, condensation building on the silver cup in beads and cascading down your wrist.

Two glasses hooked in a hand, ice and mint slosh against one another as you pour. Steve observes intently, still marveling after all these years at your finesse and ease. Though, he supposes tending bar would do that to a person. Regardless, he adores it.

Another stretch to set the shaker back on the table with the ice. A cool glass thrust into his hand, the clink of glasses as your tip yours to his. “Sláinte.” 

Silence settles between you, comfortable and welcome. His arm around your hip, yours draped over his shoulders, a couple of sweethearts enjoying a summer’s evening. He sets his drink to the side in favor of palming your thigh. Rucks up the hem of your shirt, overly large and hiding summer hued skin. 

A small noise of surprise before you toss back the rest of your drink. Setting it down on the porch, you pull yourself back up to straddle him—thighs settling on either side. Half-lidded eyes fix him on the spot, “See something you like Steve?”

He huffs, mildly perturbed and wholly impatient. Grips the hem of your shirt and gives it a tug, “I would be, if it weren’t for this monstrosity you’re wearing.”

Mouth dropping open in offense, you push back against his chest playfully. “What are you talking about? This shirt is a collector’s item!” Pulling at the fabric to display the faded Corroded Coffin logo and Munson’s dumb mug. 

“Well, it’s blocking my view. So.” His hands grasp the swell of your hips, thumbs circling the jut of bone there. 

Laughter rings out once more, spilling from your mouth in a cheerful crescendo. He continues to sip from his drink, ice all but melted in the glass. Prompted by the push of his heel, the swing rocks slowly in the fading light. His glass joins yours on the porch as your lips work up and down his throat. 

Steve drags you closer, hips flush against his, the scratch of worn-in denim against the silk smooth of your legs. He grunts lowly as you press against the bulge in his jeans. His fingers find your chin, pulling you from an extended perusal of his neck to face him. Lips glistening and full, pupils blown wide. 

Breath coming in puffs and pants from your sweet mouth, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Hand cradling the base of your skull, Steve draws you in for a kiss—honeyed and filthy. You groan, lips slotting against his, tongue caressing him, hips bucking impatiently. 

“Gonna give it to you good, baby.” He promises, fingers meandering to leg of your shorts and making quick work of your current state. 

Slick and inviting, your heat welcomes the intrusion, finger sliding in easily while the pad of his thumb presses against your clit. With a groan, your lips part from his, foreheads resting against each other as your eyes fall to where you’re joined. “S’good,” you breathe, watching when he quickly adds a second and plunges back in.

His lips chase you down as he works you open in his lap. Shorts and panties shoved to the side, shirt rucked up and falling against your tummy. Steve encourages the punishing pace of your hips, soft murmurs echoing around you as you chase your peak. 

Already wound tight and near breaking when he, impossibly, works in a thick third finger. Rasps, “Such a good girl,” and bites the hollow of your throat. Shuddering as his tongue lovingly laves at the bruised skin, you moan.

Wet sounds of his fingers fucking in and out of you join the soft music from the house and chorus of cicadas and crickets. Frantically, you work your hand in an attempt to find and pop the button of his Levis. 

“Later.” He says placating you, thumb circling your clit just as he brushes against that one spot just right. Suddenly, your hurtled headlong to your climax, vision nearly whiting out as the taut chord behind your belly button snaps.

Mouth dropping open in a breathy whine of “Fuck,” Steve works you through it and plays you for all you’re worth. Knows which buttons to press and when to render you near boneless in pleasure. You shiver in his hold and gush into the cup of his hand. 

Fuck indeed.

He lathers you in praises of how well you did for him, how pretty you look in his lap, how sweet you taste. Once he’s satisfied that you’re alright, he reluctantly draws his fingers out of you and brings one to your lips. 

With a suck, you bring it to your mouth and glide your tongue against it, savoring the familiar musk. Steve groans at the sensation of it, eyes drinking in the image of you—perfectly sated and sunk into his lap, eyes heavy-lidded while your wicked mouth sucks your slick from his fingers.

How did he get so lucky?

Reverie broken by the telltale sound of the trick step, his fingers drop from your mouth while you quickly move your shorts back into place. A brief kiss to his lips before you’re up and off his lap to investigate.

“Hey munchkin,” you coo. Your gaze softens as the screen door is slowly pushed open, a sleepy girl toddling onto the porch. Crouching down from the swing, you scoop her into your arms as she rubs her eyes. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Head nuzzling against your throat she nods, letting out the cutest yawn you’d ever seen. Blanket clasped in one fist, she grabs at your hair with the other, settling against your shoulder. 

Steve smiles as you absentmindedly rock her on your way back inside, second nature at this point. Warm fondness washes over him as you whisper sweet nothings into her hair. He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, surveying the glasses and bottle on the porch as the door clatters closed. 

He picks up and sets it down in the kitchen, leaving the rest for tomorrow. Pushes the window shut and locks the door. Treads carefully on the stairs, expertly avoiding the trick step to see you slowly close her bedroom door—leaving it open just slightly.

You tip-toe back to him, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. Hooking your fingers through his belt loops, you pull him into your shared bedroom and nudge the door closed with your hip. He presses you closer, arm winding around your back, to drop a kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum contently and push him back onto the bed. “So,” you whisper, voice raspy and worn. “Later, is what I believe you said.” Your fingers deftly pop the button of his jeans, tighter now from earlier activities.

“Is that right?”

“Mmhm.” You slowly unzip his fly, fingers trailing on the fabric of his boxers. 

He bites back a groan. “No,” he drawls, voice low. “Think I’d remember something like that.”

“Pfft.” You settle on his lap once more, hands resting on his chest. “We both know you can’t remember shit Harrington.”

He laughs, fingers tangling in the hem of your shirt. “Touché.” Sits up on his elbows and pulls you close, “What did I say about this shirt, hmm?”

“That it’s a collector’s item?” You squirm on his lap purposefully.

Shakes his head and scrunches up his nose, “Nah, pretty sure that was you.”

“Huh, lemme try again.” You kiss his nose. “Was it that this shirt would look better on the floor?”

He arches a brow in interest. “Y’know, that sounds like me.” His hands cup your hips, securing you in place as you peel the Corroded shirt off and toss it behind you. “One of these days,” Steve says, fingers caressing your skin, “You’re gonna misplace that shirt and I’ll have a new rag for the windows.”

A gasp, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I though?”

His mouth tugs at the corner, eyes light in jest. Steve smiles up at you, bright and wonderful. You fall into him with a fit of laughter and teasing, fingers snaking up and around his chest to find that spot that makes him lose his breath under your relentless assault of tickles. 

Down the flight of stairs, dodging the trick step (“Gonna fix that!”), the night birds sing their tune. Summertime cicadas screech, crickets hum along in the yard cluttered with toys and a tricycle. Front door pulled tight against the wood trim, magnolia blossoms decorating the roof of the veranda. A dull golden glow shines from the upstairs window, a pair shadowed silhouettes disappear from view.

It’s a midsummer’s night, and he’s just getting started.

[lvrhughes]

Marry Me | Q. Hughes

pairing: Quinn Hughes x f!reader

summary: Quinn's always been in love with you, but you're getting married.

warnings: angst, marriage?, drinking

word count: 0.6k

italics are flashbacks:)

not my gif!

You’ve been invited to Y/n Y/l/n and…

The name blurred in his eyes, irrelevant. He knew the day would come but he wasn’t ready, knocking the wind out of him as he read it. 

They’d been friends for forever, they were always seen together, it was always Quinn and Y/n. Ellen always knew they’d end up together, yet Quinn never quite got the nerve to ask. 

So they never were, letting her slip through his fingers. Falling in love with someone else while he followed her. 

“Quinn,” Her voice was breathy, sounding of excitement and fear. “You made it.” she grinned, reaching her arms out to tug around his shoulders.

Dragging him down in the process, his arms slipping around her waist, just like it used to be. It was a feeling of peace over Quinn for the moment, before she pulled away back to greeting other guests. 

She had it planned out since they were five. She’d have her granddad preaching the service, she’d have magnolias all over, never too many people. Always thinking to save her dad money, keep everything small, just her and her man. Ellen used to swear how it’d be her and quinn on the isle one day and how he wished that were true now. 

He wore his black suit, standing in the back corner. Tucked away in one of his pockets, his only flask he was given as a joke once. He never planned on using it but it seemed needed today, the strongest whiskey he had filled the flask. 

The music starting, everyone turning to see the groom enter, his tux the perfect shade of bue. Just like she’d always dreamed of.

“Quinn! Come, we’re playing wedding!” 

“What if I don’t want to play?” he teased, holding his ground as the young girl tugged on his wrist. 

“Please? Quinn, you make the best groom!” He never stood a chance, agreeing to her every ask, following her out there to be her pretend groom. 

“Would you ever marry me?” He asked, standing at the fake altar with her. 

“No! I’ve gotta marry my prince charming and you're not him!” The child grinned, imagining her perfect prince waiting for her like the movies. She wouldn’t see how it hurt Quinn, she wouldn’t see that he’d never move on. 

She looked like a princess in person, her dress was exactly the same as the one she dreamed of as a girl, her hair tied just as she wanted. The tears filled Quinn’s eyes quickly, taking a shot of whiskey to cover it up. 

“Love?” He asked, looking at the girl staring out the window. They were sixteen, he’d just gotten his license. What better than a road trip?

“Hmm?” She hummed back, turning to look at him. 

“What's on your mind?”  He asked, pulling into the parking spot of the motel for the night, leaning onto the console when he parked the car.

“I don’t know, just thinkin’”

He knew he shouldn’t, the leaning in was subconscious. Almost kissing her. He freaked out, pulling away the minute he realized what he was doing, shaking his head and the thought away. 

“Let’s get in, huh?” He asked, trying to move on. 

Even from the back row he could see the tears glistening on her father’s cheeks, the tears slipping down her grooms too. 

He was there early, he could go find her. He could get it off of his chest, tell her he still loved her, how he’s always been in love with her. But he won’t.

“Tell her! You know she loved you!” His brother's pleas fall to deaf ears, Quinn mumbling out a reply. 

“I’m not gonna mess it up.” 

He could feel the tears get closer and closer to falling with every step she took, taking more shots of whiskey, try to make it through without crying. 

Yeah she wanna get married, yeah she’s gonna get married, but she ain’t gonna marry me.

[creamecream]

“Whiskey on ice,

Sunset and vine,

You’ve ruined my life by not being mine,

You’re so gorgeous, I can’t say anything to your face, ‘cause look at your face,

And I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way,

But what can I say?

You’re gorgeous,”

Magnolia May belongs to @abyssnighthawk

[atombombkaytee]

My Echo, My Shadow and Me

Summary: Hancock and I retire to The Third Rail after a long day to find that it’s particularly busy. Still, we manage to find a quiet spot to indulge in heavy flirting, booze and chems. However, I notice a shadowy figure across the room - somehow, neither Hancock or I recognise the stranger (another ghoul). Hancock is keen to introduce himself but the sheer amount of intoxicants we’ve consumed could have the potential to lead to a very interesting evening.

Pairings: Hancock x Female OC/Reader, Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Female OC/Reader

Warnings: (This first part is largely PG but we will see - in future parts - all of the following) Heavy alcohol/drug use, public groping, smut, MMF threesome, anal.

Part 1.

Occasionally, The Third Rail became so lively that you could easily delude yourself into believing that the bombs had never plummeted from the skies all those years ago. It is only when you're completely sober that you can discern that virtually every person in the vicinity disfigured by the enduring effects of radiation.

Nevertheless, the bustling crowds of sweaty bodies (dancing, laughing, and clinking their glasses without a care in the world) were surely reminiscent of what it was like pre-war. I couldn’t be sure. I was born into this shithole of a world. What would I know about living pre-bombs?  

I grunt a sarcastic chuckle into my pint glass, fogging the edges with my breath. I'm sure it was warmer in pre-war bars than it is here. Being underground in an old railway tunnel helps retain some heat, but there's a subtle yet constant breeze coming from somewhere.

Still, the alcohol helps. As do the masses of bodies. Alcohol helps with a lot of things. Even now, many still use it as a respite from the horrors of daily life. A beautiful dissociative escape, where the only thing that matters is the moment.

Unfortunately, I'm the only sober one tonight. Well, almost. I’ve managed to get one mixer deep, tucked in tight against the bar, waiting for Hancock to join me for a celebration. Today ended much later than we anticipated when a large group of Supermutants seeking revolution entered Boston Common. We dealt with them, of course, but it significantly cut into our relaxation time - something both Hancock and I equally hated. 

The dancing crowd swells behind me, swaying in time to Magnolia’s silky voice. Occasionally, someone brushes against my back. I'm desperate to feel more drunk. I tend to get irritable far more quickly when I'm sober, much like Hancock... maybe that's one of the reasons we've always gotten along. Feeling overstimulated, I swill back the ends of my glass and signal Charlie for another.

Lucky for me, no human could possibly serve booze as fast as that robot. It’s mere seconds before another full pint glass is in my hand and I greedily neck it back. I smile to myself, sensing the warmth in my belly spread into a pleasant haziness behind my eyes. These quadruple shots are certainly doing the trick.

An immense wave of gratitude washes over me as I perceive a hand between my shoulder blades. It unmistakably belongs to someone familiar, amidst the numerous inebriated strangers who have been using me as a prop for the last thirty minutes.

“Hey, dollface… how you holding up?”

He angles his head downwards, drawing himself nearer to me, enabling me to still take in his words amongst the competing sounds of music. In response, I offer a smile, albeit tinged with irony, and he promptly detects the subtle distress reflected in my eyes.

“Oh… well, why the hell are you sitting up here then?”  

With a light-hearted chuckle, he shifts his focus from me to locate Charlie. His hand instinctively wraps around the nape of my neck and delivers a playful squeeze, firm enough to hurt, yet, ultimately, conveying a sense of comfort and protection.

“Charlie - do this ol’ ghoul a favor and hand me that great, big bottle of whiskey - oh - and two glasses, if you’d be so kind?”

I can't help but watch him adoringly as he swoops in to solve all of my problems, like always. I've only spent a little over four months working alongside him, but I'm pretty sure that I'm falling for him. He's courageous yet gentle, sweet yet just, violent yet empathetic. I've come to realize that he's a very intricate person... well, ghoul. And, boy, does he know how to make me feel good.

Ignoring our rather large age gap - human/ghoul relationships aren’t uncommon in the wasteland, although they are generally disapproved of in most settlements. Except here. Here, in Goodneighbor, things are different. Here, Hancock and I can openly celebrate our relationship and relax in public without any judgment. As the Mayor, Hancock receives special privileges that he graciously extends to me. Moreover, the majority of the residents in Goodneighbor are ghouls themselves, and those who are human are generally open-minded outcasts who have found a welcoming home here. It's an ideal situation.

“Follow me…” He murmurs intimately next to my ear. With his palm placed reassuringly on the small of my back, he guides me smoothly through the mass of people - most of whom acknowledge their mayor with a rowdy toast of their glasses.

Once we’re out of the thickest part of the crowd, he grabs hold of my hand and leads me to a dimly lit table for two at the very back of the room. Both the noise level and the number of people are much more bearable here. I plonk myself down on the torn couch - enjoying the coolness of the leather seat against the back of my tired thighs.

“Jesus… thanks for rescuing me, yet again…” I snigger, holding my glass in place while Hancock pours a generous serving of whiskey. The liquid fills the vessel with a rich, golden hue.

“Why the hell is it so busy in here tonight!?”

Hancock puts the whiskey bottle back on the metal table between us with a thud, causing several small white flecks of paint to flutter to the ground. He leans back comfortably against the sofa, draping his spare arm around my shoulder while he surveys the room.

“You tell me, sunshine! Could be since we cleared up those raider gangs last week? Could just be a few more people traveling through.”  

His black eyes glisten and gleam like polished onyx under the sporadic beams of the spotlights that intermittently flash across his face. The aura of pride he exudes is palpable, adding even more charm to his demeanor. Seeking refuge in his presence, I nuzzle closer to the comforting warmth emanating from his body, finding solace as I press my cheek against his faded scarlet duster coat. Meanwhile, I continue to take measured sips from my glass of whiskey, relishing its smooth taste.

The mist brought on by alcohol is steadily encroaching upon my senses. I have firm intentions of becoming extremely drunk, and with Hancock already pouring himself another drink, it seems obvious that he shares that inclination.

(Part 2)

(Part 3)

(Part 4)

[brownsugarwrites]

Magnolia.

❥ pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

❥ warnings: none, fluff, suggestive (if u squint).\

❥ wc: 1.5k

It was the hottest day of the summer, and of course, your mother planned for your family’s BBQ to be hosted today. 

Sitting at the vanity, you applied blush to your cheeks, sighing as you gazed at your reflection in the mirror. Setting the makeup down, you put the white bow your mother made for you in your braids before raking a hand through them.

“Honey, the guests are arriving! Come down ‘ere and help me take the food out,” your mother called. 

Telling her you were coming down to help, you slipped on some white heels before leaving your bedroom. 

The sounds of your shoes could be heard as you descended the steps into the kitchen to help bring out the small finger food outside to the garden. 

“You look beautiful sweetheart,” your mother praised, eyes brightening at your attire.

Giving a thank you, you picked up the platter to bring outside.

He watched as you brought the platters full of food out to the garden as everyone congregated. The sky blue dress clinging onto your hips with the white bow holding a bunch of your braids together. 

He knew exactly who you were. One of the sweetest girls in this little town the two of you live in. Watching as you bring out the magnolia bouquet to your mother to show her gardening club friends her newest accomplishment. He would think you’re as sweet as those flowers you're holding. 

Drinking from his glass of whiskey he listened as your father boasted about his oil company and how business was booming as the sweat dripped from his forehead.

“Here's some water, Daddy,” you said coming up to the group of men intruding into the conversation

“How sweet of you, sweetheart, thank you. I'm sure everyone knows my daughter. Just turned 21 not that long ago,” he beamed as he introduced you to all the men. 

Waving shyly, Arthur watched as the sun beamed onto you and a slight orange glow radiated off you. Eyes trailing down to where your pearls sat right above your breasts that were enunciated by your strapless dress.

My, were you a doll to him…Your pink glossed lips with the red blush adorning your cheeks. 

“--and this is Mr. Morgan, sweetheart,” your dad said introducing you formally to him.

“Pleasure to meet you, beautiful,” he said flirtatiously, bringing your dainty manicured hand to his lips as you blushed at his gesture. 

Hearing your dad scoff under his breath, he smirked in response. 

“I'll be back gentlemen. Have to tend to the wife real quick,” your father said to the group of men before leading you away to take you inside 

Watching as you looked back at him as you were being dragged away, he sent you a wink. Feeling your cheeks warm in response you turned back around before walking into the house 

Finishing his whisky, he sat his glass down before going to talk to the other partygoers. 

As the night went on he watched as you sat close to your mother as she mingled with the other wives. You sat idle checking your nails occasionally as you listened to the mothers talk about their sons and how they would love to meet someone as gorgeous as you. 

You looked uninterested and very bored with the conversation at hand. Scanning the garden full of partygoers you locked eyes with Arthur as he drank from his glass.

Looking away shyly you excused yourself abruptly from the group of women before walking away to make your way to the front of your estate. You walked to the front where all the carriages were parked as you walked over to the fountain. 

“‘Cuse me, miss,” you heard a deep voice ring

“Oh, well, good evening,” you greeted shyly, turning around to see Mr Morgan descending the porch steps.

Making long strides to get to you, he stopped right in front of you before tipping his hat at you 

“It's pretty dark out ‘ere, doncha think, sunshine,” he asked, looking into your chocolate eyes.

His voice was so alluring you had to fight to keep the conversation alive 

“Well yes, I suppose. I just needed to escape all the gossiping mothers,” you said before giggling. 

As the two of you made small talk he got a generous whiff of the gentle scent of the vanilla perfume oil that adorned your body. The rushing of the wind aids in your perfume filling his nose. 

“What do you do for your work Mr.Morgan,” you asked curiously. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he thought of a good enough answer to tell you. Knowing your father probably told you something different than what he does to scare you away from him.

“I do a little bit of everything, sweetheart,” he said with a smile.

Giving a ‘hm’ you let it go for now. 

“You mind if we sit down by the fountain,” you asked wanting to take the pressure off your feet that heels gave 

Inviting you to lead the way the sound of the heels clacking on the pavement as you walked to sit on the marbled edge of the fountain before swinging your legs to the side and crossing them. 

Locking eyes with the handsome man in front of you with the scruff facial hair and dark, mysterious eyes you began to grow the slightest bit of nervous. Your father instructed you not to speak to him but here you were in your family's courtyard talking to the man you weren't supposed to be conversing with. 

It was thrilling.

All the men your mother brought around weren't as mysterious as the man sitting in front of you. You wanted to learn more about who he was. 

“Might I say, you’re gorgeous.” he complimented breaking you from your thoughts 

“Why thank you, Mr.Morgan,” you said shyly before playing with your loose braid looking down as your cheeks heated in embarrassment

“You can just call me Arthur, sugar.” he corrected you before putting his hand under your chin so that your eyes could meet again

Gulping in nervousness, you avoided his gaze not wanting to get under whatever spell he was trying to put on you. He was a gorgeous man, and he knew it. You were captivated by him.

“No need to be nervous sweetheart I won't hurt ya” he laughed noticing your wandering eyes before scooting closer to you 

Hearing your breath hitch under your breath he smirked. You were adorable, seeing how you got shy under his gaze made him want to test the waters with you. Not caring what your father had to say 

“Hey, look at me,” he said gently but with some bass in his voice 

Eyes flickering up quickly at him your eyelashes fluttered and you peered into his dark eyes. Bringing his head closer to your neck he laid gentle kisses on your supple skin hearing the low mewls you gave of satisfaction. 

“M’daddy said ‘m not supposed to be talking to you, Mr.Morgan.” you hiccuped.

“I told you to call me Arthur sweetheart and aren't you old enough to make decisions for yourself?” he responded as you felt his breath fan over your neck 

“Well yes, but I dont wanna get in trouble, sir,” you explained before clearing your throat

Grunting softly at you calling him ‘sir’ he asked if you would like him to stop his teasing ministrations 

The thoughts about your father flew out of the window. To hell with him. 

Whispering a no you felt him attack your neck before kissing down to get to your collarbone. Leaving light kisses along it, you sighed in pleasure feeling his soft lips upon your skin. 

Pulling away he looked into your shimmering eyes that captured the moon before bringing your face towards his to kiss you

“Sweetheart are you out here-?” you heard your father's strong voice ring out 

Eyes shooting open you quickly came back to reality before standing up and fixing your dress

“‘M right here Daddy what's wrong,” you asked curiously 

“Your mother told me you’d been gone for a moment. Just was checking on ya.” 

Seeing Arthur still sitting along the edge of the fountain he looked back at you in confusion

“He’s not messing with ya is he sweetheart?” your father asked becoming protective over you

“No, Daddy he's not. He came out to check up on me” You reassured your father 

Giving him a side eye he left it alone before telling you that you needed to come in soon as the party was dying down for the night. Telling him ok you quickly waved him off before going back to Arthur 

“‘M sorry bout that Arthur-” you apologized

“‘'s fine, I should get going, sweetheart,” he said while fixing his hat on top of his head 

Swiftly giving you a kiss on your lips your eyes fluttering in response you kissed him back before throwing your arms over his neck and propping a foot up as you felt his rough hands go down to your hips to keep you steady 

Pulling away, you gave a shy giggle before bidding him goodnight.

“Write me some time, ya hear?” he chuckled before letting you go and kissing you on the cheek 

“I-I will!” you exclaimed with a big grin on your pretty face. “Good night, Arthur!” 

He watched as you scurried as fast as your heels took you back into your estate before looking back sending a shy wave and closing the front door.

[yeyinde]

omg i just saw a tag on one of your recent posts saying you could talk all day about how the cod boys smell and i’m begging you PLEASE do!! i’m a huge fan of perfumes and one of my favorite things to do for characters is to compile scents that i think would fit them the best. i’m super curious what your thoughts are and i would love to hear more!

thank you so much for this!! i had a lot of fun with it! 🖤

Ghost: dead leaves, pine, cedar, fall air, laurel, balsam, smoke, clove bud, black patchouli, mushroom caps, dampened black soil. he smells like a thick, dense Pacific Northwest forest after a heavy rainfall or a piece of driftwood washed up on the shore — Roja Parfums APEX or Tom Ford Costa Azzurra

Soap: amber, violet, magnolia, guaiac wood, pink pepper, earl grey tea, steamed milk, vanilla, grass, clover, sun-warmed cornfields, muguet, honeysuckle, acacia, ozone, meadow air, tree moss, oakmoss, fir balsam, lavender, and cumarin (which smells like freshly harvested hay). he smells like a field in the zenith of summer, maybe freshly cut grass; something sweet and rich — Dolce&Gabbana Intenso or Viktor & Rolf Spice Bomb

Price: tobacco, agarwood, whiskey, resins, white musk, leather, vetiver, sandalwood, amber, suede, mysore sandalwood, vanilla husk, chamois accord, Alaskan cedarwood, tobacco leaf, black oak, cardamom, saffron threads, miel blanc. he smells like a pub that's always empty or an antique store; thick with smoke, and heavy with leather and tobacco — Tobacco Oud, Ombrè, or Tobacco Vanile by Tom Ford

Gaz: orange, Italian lemon zest, green apple, tonka beans, amber, woody vanilla, tuberose, iris, tiaré, paperwhite narcissus, night-blooming jasmine. he smells like the coast in the spring; sage and sea salt — Versace Eros or Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur

Alejandro: spicy (almost cola-clove-y), resinous, premium myrrh accord, frankincense, oud, myrrh, bergamot, neroli, patchouli. he smells a little bit like being on the balcony of a nightclub: fresh air cut with the thick tang of spice and smoke wafting through the open doors or the ocean on a humid summer night after a rainshower soaked the sand — Giorgio Armani Acqua di Gio or Ralph Lauren Polo Earth

Rodolfo: strong coffee, streusel coffee cake, nutmeg, brown sugar, toasted almonds, cardamom, ambergris, cashmere wood, vanilla, saffron. he smells like a cafe in the morning, sweet and robust; or a bookstore —Byredo Vanille Antique or Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540

[klaus-littlestwolf]

I have put together a list of all of the Smells that I think each designation would possess, mostly good, natural smells but some bad as well that come from negative feelings like Fear and Anxiety

Alphas Good Smells:

Pine Trees

Fireplace

Aftershave

Whiskey

Leather

Old Spice

Burning Wood

Brown Sugar

Apple Pie

Peppermint

Coconut

Toffee

New Car Smell

BBQ

Tequila

Matches

Fresh Money

Dark Chocolate

Bacon

Freshly Brewed Coffee

Maple Syrup

Sandalwood

Gasoline

Patchouli

Seawater

Ginger

Hay

Mahogany

Gunpowder

Pears

Cedar Wood

Amber

Pesto

Sautéed Onions

Funnel Cake

Cigarettes

Blackberry

Fresh Cut Grass

Ink

Snap Fire Crackers

Bad Alpha Smells:

Wet Dog

Rancid Meat

Blue Cheese

Blood

Sweaty Feet

Tar

Betas Good Smells:

Lilies

Bamboo

Champagne

Apricots

Pumpkin

Shortbread

Almonds

Tulips

Pina Colada

Mochi

Raspberry

Macaroons

Sharpies

Baby Powder

Butterscotch

Mangos

Sautéed Garlic

Key Lime Pie

Dove Soap

Peanut Butter

Coal

Black Tea

Wet Forest

Marigolds

Fresh Basil

Lilacs

Vanilla

Soda Flavored Lip Smackers

Bad Beta Smells:

Rotting Fish

Oil

Burnt Popcorn

Tuna

Dog Food

Vinegar

Omega Good Smells:

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

Chamomile Tea

Jasmine

Spearmint

Roses

Old Books

Crème Brûlée

Honeysuckle

Eucalyptus

Marijuana

Citrus

Caramel

Cherry Blossom

Cinnamon Bun

Lavender

Whipped Cream

Apples

Dryer Sheets

Fresh Bread

Aloe Vera

Sea Breeze

Peaches

Magnolia Trees

Thunderstorms

Honeycomb

Cherries

S’mores

Cookies Fresh from the Oven

Blanket Fresh out of the Dryer

Sky After it Rains

Smell of Baskin Robins

Bad Omega Smells:

Burnt Rubber

Rotten Eggs

Bleach

Nail Polish Remover

[vanhelsingapologist]

I am requesting goth country music recs!

You got it! Now, obviously goth is its own thing. Has its own sound. In my post, I meant more than there are gothic themes in country music, so you won’t find like, Sisters of Mercy wearing cowboy hats. Some of this is Southern Gothic, some of this is simply alt-country music with dark themes. You’ll also get bluegrass and Americana (which is sort of where rock and country meet). I tried to keep this mostly country since that’s what you asked, but I overlapped a lot and I tried to keep the sound diverse!

• Old Number Seven by The Devil Makes Three. The Devil Makes Three is a band based out of California but Bluegrass and Country make up a majority of their discography. They also have I Am The Man Thomas.

• Decoration Day by The Drive By Truckers. They’ve also got a great one called Where The Devil Don’t Stay. This is alt-country and rock. This particular one is sung by Jason Isbell, who’s my favorite country/americana artist. He’s from Muscle Shoals, Alabama and has a song that got pretty popular called If We Were Vampires.

• Hypothermic by Goodnight, Texas. I wasn’t sure if I should put this on because they verge on folk, but I’ll be real, there’s so much stylistic overlap that folk, Americana, and country are like triplet sisters by this point. A better example would be Jesse Got Trapped In The Coal Mine, and Tucumcari on account of their twang. They’re from North Carolina.

• E. Watson by the Decemberists. The Decemberists are from Portland, Oregon and are pretty well-known for their indie folk. That being said, E. Watson is a murder ballad and is sort of undeniably a country song.

• Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars. They’re a group out of Nashville, famously collaborated with Taylor Swift. Nice balance of male and female vocals.

• Appalachian Witch by Gallows Bound. Virginia band known for using punk influence to play bluegrass. It’s pretty sick.

• Highwomen by the Highwomen. They’re supergroup of country music singers, all of which have some kickass discography, but this one is darker. My personal favorite in the group is Amanda Shires, who has a great song called Hawk for the Dove. She and Jason Isbell also did a cover of the song I Follow Rivers and made it pretty country!

• Ain’t No Grave by anyone. I like the Johnny Cash version, but I also like Crooked Still. I think it works best with female vocals, I don’t know! It’s an OLD gospel-blues folk song.

• While we’re on the topic of old folk songs, House of the Rising Sun and all its covers. Gothic as bats. Wayfaring Stranger by Rhiannon Giddens is also fantastic.

• Graves by Whiskey Shivers. They call themselves a ‘trashgrass’ band and they’re based out of Texas. One of the best country bands out there in my opinion. Real dark material, sometimes, too.

• Magnolia Blues by Adia Victoria. Honestly, her entire discography fits that dark gothic country style. She’s one of the more talented artists I’ve heard in a while. You Was Born To Die is great too.

• Up The Devil’s Pay by the Old 97’s. This is an alt-country song by an alt-country band from Texas. They also have a song called Am I Too Late? which is a song about being in love with a corpse. I Don’t Wanna Die In This Town and I’m Good With God is a great contender for this list too.

• Bury Me In Georgia by Kane Brown. Some people miiight categorize this as bro country. I disagree, but it’s definitely more in line with what you’ll hear on the radio. Kane Brown is from Tennessee and he honestly kicks the hell out of any song he’s in.

• Alabama by Bishop Gunn. I think they’re from Natchez, Mississippi. More death, more problems, more religion, more rotting in the South.

I hope this is helpful! It’s mostly modern stuff, but if you want older, I have that too.

[vonsvarietyblog]

Lost in Translation: When You Get a Midlife Crisis at 25 pt.1

Let me admit one thing: I love Lost in Translation. There, half of the readers are gone! Rarely ever a movie with this kind of slow burn and dream-like atmosphere will invoke a sense of indifference where people watch this for nearly two hours and think "Meh, it's okay but nothing to write home about." when I can observe most people being in two camps after watching this. One that loved the movie and affected them greatly enough to claim it a cinematic masterpiece and another that watched it and was grateful that they found a cure for insomnia.

This seems true when a friend and I got together for our usual movie night/morning online (we live in two different parts across the world) and we put on Lost in Translation for it. The movie left me smiling and feeling comfy after it ended while it left my friend feeling like he was Bill Murray at the start of this film. It's a kind of extra slow burning movie that you have to vibe with in order to enjoy it or else it'll leave you bored out of your wits.

Which is why it's hard to recommend to people when it's a 50/50 chance they'll just turn it off and watch something more exciting. And t's hard to define it in a single genre because it's the script is a little complicated than that. Basically this movie is about two people: Bill Murray playing himself as another actor, Bob Harris (because if you cast Bill Murray, you get Bill Murray, not another character) having a midlife crisis where his life isn't as exciting as it used to be and flown to Tokyo to endorse a Suntory whiskey; and ScarJo as Charlotte, a young woman where she feels like an empty shell desperately trying to find some levity and purpose for her life while travelling to Japan with her husband. Eventually they both meet up, get acquianted and then share some whacky experiences together that makes them a little less dead inside, finally having some fun together in a dark, depressing city in good company. All of this while not understanding a lick of Japanese and experiencing culture shock.

Seems a simple enough premise but like I said, it's a bit more complicated than that. It's a Drama but it never gets to a point where it's like ScarJo losing her temper to Kylo Ren like in Marriage Story. It's a Romance but the romance never get to the point where they take it to the next level. It's a Comedy but the humour is so subtle and so contextual and so satirical, it'll definitely get Lost in Translation itself unless you watch it the second time at least. Dad joke but you get what I mean. Individually, these may seem like it makes the film weak but they blend in together enough to make the script work to what it intends to do.

The quirky awkwardness of the situations Bill Murray was in and combined with ScarJo's desperate attempts to find happiness in all the stuff (ikebana, spiritual enlightenment, new age self help audiobooks) that other people claimed to find their inner Zen in Japan gives off the feeling of that crushing depression in the start of the 21st century that felt more real than a lot of other films or media that tried. That might sound a lot like films around that time, like Magnolia but thankfully the characters in the film there don't whine endlessly about how society is fucking awful, how the characters actually talk it out with each other than making cries for help to the audience and it's also half the runtime (thank God!).

However at times, it does feel like a Bill Murray slice of life somewhat at times since his annoyances with the japanese production crews' indifference, not wanting to be on stage and him feeling dead inside and trying to make the best of things felt rather genuine to his past experiences. Maybe it is? He did tried to dodge Sofia Coppola wanting him to be Bob Harris behind the scenes which he eventually (read: reluctantly) joined the cast after several phone calls and letters being sent his way so, that'll explain why he looks so frustrated in a lot of scenes there! I'm joking, of course.

Not to say ScarJo's performance felt wanting in comparison for her own scenes but it felt more like it's supposed to be a stand-in for the audience who experienced and felt something similar, in and outside Japan. We all had that melancholic period in our lives where nothing we do brings us joy and we've felt a sort of crushing loneliness even with our friends and loved ones around. So the moment she hanged out with Bill running around Shibuya is where we start to notice that stark contrast between how superficial the stuff she's doing by her lonesome and together with Bill there. All the little things they did felt fun and exciting despite how otherwise mundane they appear to be. Kinda like how playing Borderlands is such a boring miserable experience until you get a friend together on the Xbox in splitscreen. Suddenly, it's now the best game ever and it's funny how being with good company fixes a lot of things, maybe depression too.

Now for all the things to praise about the movie, I think I'm not alone when I say the best part of it is how well the cinematography is done in here. It was nominated for an Oscars for it among others despite just winning Best Screenplay, which I think isn't as strong as how much the movie puts a heavy emphasis on visual storytelling and setting an atmosphere. Sofia probably picked the right time to film it around in Winter when everything looks miserable and drab for that extra sense of depression and melancholy without agonizing over filters like a David Fincher film. Sure, seems like cheating because everything looks miserable and drab in Winter (hell, you shoulda seen London then!) but it works to the film's advantage.

Though, setting the tone to the film isn't the only thing the cinematography is good at. The shots in a lot of locations whether in Tokyo in Shibuya Crossing or Kyoto in the temple where a traditional wedding ceremony is going on, they're just lovely to look at. But the real winner is the visual gags that you find throughout the movie especially for those bits you can encounter there.

One bit that even my friend who called this film too boring to watch himself laughed out loud was the part with the hooker Mr. Kazu sent to Bill, providing him "Premium Fantasies". That which is actually seems like a euphamism for giving emasculated middle aged salarymen an outlet to act like cavemen dominating their mates. So, what makes this awkward surprise encounter hilarious was how the shots were framed in that wide comedy angle as we see the hooker falling down and flailing her legs around trying her best for arouse some semblance of desire for Bill in her foreplay as he sits at the end of the bed, looking down both dumbfounded and so done with this. So, he tried to pick her up in and falling down himself, broke a lamp and it hard cuts to him having a quiet, sombre sushi breakfast by himself in the hotel restaurant.

To segue this, of course there's other less raunchy (and sometimes sad, YLYL) bits like how the director was trying to convey the mood and scene, saying Bill Murray should take a look at the camera like how he's greeting an old friend... in full japanese and his translator goes to him saying "Look at camera" *ONLY*, leaving him bewildered at the lack of details. The scene was shot so dramatically and so seriously in this case that makes the mood juxtuposition that much funnier, I find. Smaller gags like the fact that all the meat in the Sukiyaki restaurant looks the same when he's ordering with ScarJo and how Bill Murray towers over everybody in that small elevator gives me some chuckles about some similar experiences I had while travelling on Japan. And the bits of his wife bothering Bill with letters and calls (probably parallels how Bill felt when Sophia kept sending him letters and calls) were so sad it's almost guilty to laugh at the ridiculousness of the scenes he had to deal with on his trip in a near daily basis.

Not to say the framing of the shots are great only in visual gags for visual storytelling. There are some strong, poignant moments sprinkled throughout the whole movie here and there when Bill and ScarJo were together. Perhaps a couple of most favourite scenes were him and her together in some very intimate scenes. It's an overhead shot in a cool, white/grey background broken up by some closeups to them during their dialogue about their marriage respectively. Now, I'm not married yet but that line about him having his first child was something I think about from time to time and probably the one that won the Oscars for Best Screenplay. The other one needs no dialogue and while the whispers Bill told ScarJo is only technically dialogue, we don't want to ruin it by knowing too much. The closeup shot in the busy street might seem like a romance movie cliche but in this case, Sofia just managed to make it special by just showing that they might not ever meet again but always remembering the time they spent with each other on this trip. No dialogue needed.