#mythology tastes like that either

[dewwydelcra]

So, the first time I got the stardrop fruit was from Elliott (after marriage uwu) but since i'm new to the game I had NO IDEA what was going on because I was expecting coffee or something, BUT I thought this man gave me a uh “magic plant” at 6am I WAS SHOOK! 

artistic rendition, because this is exactly what happened (more or less)

AND MY NON-QUESTIONING ASS JUST ATE IT??? (for Elliott, of course without hesitation).

and i'd do it again 😎

(moments caught on camera, because i didn't know how to screenshot) 

i didn't know the favourite thing slot was supposed to be food related so, farmer knows what human lore/fanfiction tastes like

look at his kyoot aahh, calling me honey, chu❤️

[mailmango]

One-on-One

Pairing: Professor Henry Cavill x Student Male Reader

Genre: Fluffy Smut, MDNI

Kinks/Warnings/Notes: AMAB Reader; Calling the reader a slut, a whore; Calling the reader a good boy, praise; Slapping and spanking; Age gap; Professor x Student

Length: 5.1k words, Fic

Synopsis: You're one of the lucky few to have ever experienced one of Professor Cavill's lectures. And you are the lucky, singular person to have ever experienced his heart-racing one-on-one session.

A/N: oml hiiii! If you're reading this, then thank you very much! this is my first time writing something over a thousand words (of my own volition) in probably 3 years at least! It's also my first time writing serious smut GAHAHAHAH I would appreciate feedback (totally optional), but most of all, hope you enjoy :D

Credits: @/aquazero for the divider and @/starboye for helping me with formatting and tagging!! ^-^

I picked this one just for you! I hope it’s sweet and juicy…

You’ve always liked your Ancient Mythologies Studies class. It was an easy A, one that came packaged with an interesting topic to boot. Who doesn’t want to hear of the religions and myths of civilizations from thousands and thousands of years ago?

The answer is most people. It was one of the smallest classes–even with a size cap of twenty, it had barely filled out ten slots. It seemed most people simply didn’t take interest in the subject. That meant that most people were poor, unfortunate people, because they didn’t have the pleasure of knowing Professor Cavill. 

Professor Cavill had worked at the university teaching their Ancient Mythologies Studies class for the past several years. He was a graduate of this school and, after having established himself as a prominent archaeologist, he opted to take time and teach a course for two sessions weekly. In his words he, “Wanted to help inspire any young people with a passion for learning about those that came before us.” 

You had found those words so, so interesting. But it was more so about the man saying them. 

Professor Cavill–Henry–was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties. He was kind and considerate to each member of his class, treating them with a warmth and manner you’d read about in an overly unrealistic romance novel. And yet, he was very much real. You had class with him every Monday morning and Friday night. 

Classes which you would sit in, bouncing your leg and hiding a raging boner as you watched the man fiddle with and adjust his tie. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N, are you sure you’d rather not attend the festivities?” 

Ah, just your luck, wasn’t it? Your college had been holding a concert for a handful of its alumni to celebrate their band’s first national tour. The university had decided that, due to the band falling under the alternative genre, they would allow classes to continue should any students or staff be disinterested. 

It just so happened that, as much as you weren’t opposed to them, you also weren’t heavily inclined to actually attend their show. You had figured that at least one of your ten classmates would feel the same. 

Apparently not.

Hence, you now sat alone in a small lecture room, the chairs beside you empty as you stared at your beloved professor, Professor Cavill. 

“Ah, no, professor. Were you looking to attend?” 

“Myself? My personal taste doesn’t align with their music. As much as I love Clive-” 

Clive was the lead singer and, as you recall, one of Professor Cavill’s former students. 

“-we’ll be meeting for a congratulations dinner tomorrow evening. We’ve already discussed.”

He smiled, dimples forming, as he flipped open his files for the night’s lecture. 

Then he had to reach for his stupid tie. 

“Would you mind if I loosened my tie? I’ve been feeling warm as of earlier this evening.” 

His large, somewhat hairy hand was already holding the knot one either side. He did it often; you had come to suspect it was an unconscious habit at times. He would tug at his tie, calling attention to his strong chest or those bulging biceps…

Damn his stupid tie. Today, it was his blue tie, one you knew to be one of his favourites. He wore it at least thrice a month, most often during Friday sessions.

Every time he would touch it, toy with it, it sent shivers down your spine and blood straight to your cock. You almost weren’t sure if you hated or loved that he was almost never without one.

“Ah, not at all, Sir. Go ahead.” 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

God, your name sounded so good out of his mouth. He drew the syllables out, gave it this weight that you hadn’t heard your name spoken with before. You could get addicted to the way he had said it just now. You were tempted to find an excuse to have him say it again. 

That opportunity came as, for the first time, he pushed past absentminded tugs at his tie and now pulled the knot away from his chest. For the first time, you saw his neck without the tie drawing attention. It almost sounded manic to say but… the sight began to draw you in. 

And then he overshot it. The tie came off, knot still done, but it was completely removed now. He stared down at the cloth before using his free hand to undo it, leaving it nice and straight in his hand. 

“Do you mind if I forgo it?”

Eye contact. He made eye contact with those god damn near hypnotising eyes. They really were unique; the man had something called segmental heterochromia. He had mentioned it once before. It meant that his left iris, though mostly blue like his right, had a patch of brown in its upper half. 

It felt mystifying, like a siren whose song you couldn’t ignore. He continued to look at you, and without him breaking eye contact, you were hopelessly unable to do so yourself. Instead, you simply muttered a weak response. 

“Go ahead, Sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Class seemed to fly by. Your hand wrote on its own as your legs bounced, mind and senses completely and utterly hinged on the man’s every word and movement. Though he entranced you each time you sat in on his lectures, tonight was different. You had always blamed his tie. It’s the tie. The playing with the tie, his stature with it, that’s what you blamed for your constant erections. 

But it was difficult to deny it when, as the man orated with his tie discarded, you found your cock throbbing more eagerly than you can remember it having ever done before.

Sweat rolled down your forehead from the heat you were feeling. You cursed yourself, begging that the man would somehow not notice the warmth that afflicted you. But, as you let yourself look at him again, really look at him, you were both relieved and mortified to find that he was under the same circumstances. 

“Is the air conditioning broken?”

His words were breathless as he fanned himself with his papers. He was tugging at his collar now, further exposing his neck, now slick with sweat. It seemed to be bothering him more than it was you, somehow. 

“I-I think so.”

You could barely manage to let the words out. Your breathing had gotten unsteady, mind and body unable to focus as the man groaned from the discomfort. Seemingly without realising, his hand undid the two topmost buttons of his shirt. It exposed his chest–a strong chest covered in wild, dark black hair that you had been completely oblivious to the glorious existence of.

“Y/N? Are you alright? Is something-”

Of course now he notices your stares. It couldn’t have been when it was something that was easily explained away, like you were staring at him due to intent listening. No, it had to be when your gaze, which he followed, led down to his exposed chest. His exposed chest which had, mortifyingly, caused a wet spot to form in your pants. 

“Ah, my apologies. Let me redo my button-” 

“No! I mean-”

Your words came out too eager. Your brain was screaming at your mouth not to speak, to not make an utter fool of yourself. But your mouth chose to go rogue, instead opting to speak like a horned-up teen begging his boyfriend to keep making out with him. 

“Y-you don’t have to. I don’t mind.” 

An eyebrow was cocked in your direction. 

“Is that so, Y/N?” 

Your silence was used to scream, rather than actually think of anything remotely close to damage control. 

“Y-yes Sir. I don’t mind if you keep your buttons undone.”

“If that’s the case, then…” 

Was this… reality? Surely it could be. It was impossible. 

You were sitting there, cock leaking with precum like you were a virgin watching your first porno, as your handsome professor began to undo buttons, one after another. He was exposing himself further and further with each passing second, each button exposing a new section of chiselled, hairy, sweat-covered skin.

His breaths were deep and heavy, sighs and groans of relief sending more and more sensations to your cock. Every vibration of his vocal chords seemed to be felt in full force by your erection, not helping your situation in any way whatsoever. 

Then the man had the gall to take his shirt off, folding it neatly and placing it aside. 

His body truly was magnificent. Plush, thick muscles were a constant, whether you looked at his chest, his abs, his shoulders, or any of his muscles. They radiated strength, covered in that same black hair as on his chest and equally slick with sweat. His body glistened under the dim light of the lights hanging above, almost like a gladiator fresh from battle. 

How the hell were you supposed to react? What the hell were you supposed to do? 

“Y/N, it’s hot, isn’t it? Would you mind if I further… undressed?”

How the hell were you supposed to say no to that? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost pathetic how easily the man got you to fish your cock out of your strained pants. Little more than an offhanded request, actually. 

Now you sat, pants and underwear around your ankles, your own shirt unbuttoned, as you feverishly pumped your erect dick. Your hand glided up and down due to the slickness of your overflowing precum, breathing unstable and desperate. But you were helpless, the possibility of you stopping a distant memory.

Professor Cavill was now nearly nude. He had discarded his elegant brown leather shoes and well-tailored pants, also in a neat pile on his desk. It left him, his statuesque form, completely exposed to you and your horny, unabashedly feral mind. It was a wonder you hadn’t cum yet. 

“Keep pumping for me, Y/N. Be a good boy and keep going.” 

Fuck, you couldn’t stop. Not when he said your name in a gruff, demanding voice. Not when he called you the sweetest pet names. Not when he stared at you, panting and eager, with a hunger that a predator has for its prey. 

Most especially when his cock strained against dark, black fabric, as he rubbed along his clothed shaft as he took in the sight of your desperate form. 

“Prof-” 

“Henry. Call me Henry, Y/N.” 

Shit, you could feel your cum about to well up and burst. 

“Henry!” 

He gave you a curt nod of approval. Your stomach pulsed with excitement. 

“P-please, fuck me-!” 

You looked at him, eyes wide and begging, and desperately awaited a reply. With mercy, he gave you one. 

“Alright, Y/N. I’ll fuck you.” 

You let out a pathetic, strangled mewl as your cum sprayed up and onto your sweaty torso. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry–gah, you got to call him Henry–had a cock that you couldn’t fully process was actually human. It was too perfect. It was thick, nearly as thick as your wrist though thankfully just short. It was lengthy, having had to be nine or ten inches at full mast. His balls were heavy, full of cum that he was eager to let out, and the base of his shaft was buried in a wild, thick, furry bush. 

It was so close to you. It throbbed in front of you as you sat in your chair, the proximity allowing you to see the thick, pulsing vein that ran from base to near the tip. It let you watch as that fat, mushroom tip leaked a viscous, sticky precum. It lets you inhale that delicious, heady musk, intoxicating your mind and sending it reeling. 

It was almost too much to process. Almost.

You were far, far too eager to begin sucking on the fat shaft. Who could blame you? People would pay good money to get a taste of a cock this perfect. 

Fuck, the taste! A salty, somehow indescribably masculine taste, that flooded and overwhelmed your mind. It felt like you were at risk of addiction. Nothing had ever or would ever taste this damn divine. The copious amounts of thick, even saltier, precum being pumped into your throat was an excellent, equally addictive addition.

Even though it hurt and strained your jaw to stretch that wide and accommodate its length, the activity felt simply euphoric. If Henry would let you, you’d opt to do nothing more and nothing less than worship his cock, day and night. 

“That’s a good, good boy, Y/N. Lube up my cock.”

You always were one to follow Henry’s instructions. Always one to listen, to be a good, obedient puppy. Maybe that’s why you were his favourite. 

And, as he uttered praise and guided your head with a large hand’s firm grip, you certainly weren’t going to start disobeying now. With a hum of acknowledgement, you dutifully continued your task.

Once satisfied, Henry grunted and lightly tapped the back of your head. 

“That’s good, baby. That’s enough. Come, get off my cock now.” 

Part of you wanted to resist. How were you supposed to tear yourself away from his dick? It sounded impossible. But, you were eager for his praise, to hear him call you a good boy again. So, with one last deep dive down, your nose pressed into his hairy bush and your lips to the base of his shaft, you reluctantly pulled your face away and off of his delicious dick. 

“Good fucking boy. You’re a very, very good boy, Y/N.” 

Your cock throbbed with lust-filled need as you nodded with pure excitement. 

“You deserve a reward. Lay on my desk, Y/N, and let me take care of your now.” 

This was somehow the easiest instruction of the night to follow. You found yourself, now nude with your clothes having been folded just like Henry’s, laying on your back on his wooden desk. The surface felt cold and hard, but the feeling of a sturdy base comforted you. You knew that you’d need it. 

As you took deep, steady breaths. The first of the night, actually. Your mind was trained on one thing, one concern rather. 

How would you take his monstrous cock? 

The answer would come soon. Without warning, your legs were lifted by two strong hands. You looked down, seeing as Henry in all his glory set your ankles on his broad shoulders. He began pressing light kisses to your skin, beard tickling your skin, as he maintained unwavering eye contact. It caused you to let out a soft laugh, which he opted to respond to. 

“Your voice is beautiful, Y/N. Save it for me, okay?” 

You felt it then. His fat, throbbing, steaming hot cock was set beside yours, pressed between your dick and your thigh. He was slowly and subtly moving his hips back and forth, groaning at the sensational friction.

“You’ll let me hear you sing tonight, yeah? Let me hear your wonderful voice, Y/N.” 

His words were sweet like honey. It was almost enough to distract you from the prodding of his thick fingers against your tight hole. But, as you felt them push past your tight ring of muscle, your voice came out like the gates had been torn down, a moan resounding through the room. 

“There you go. Good boy… moan for me. Let me hear each and every one, okay?” 

You stared at him, eyes half-lidded, and nodded with an eager need to please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths for me now…”

How could someone so sweet cause so much pain? Henry was hunched over, his large, comforting hands on either side of your head as he hovered his face no more than four inches from yours. His heavy breaths fanned against your cheeks as he kept a steady, solid eye contact between you two. It was wondrous how much fire brewed within you from such a mundane act. 

“Are you ready? I’m going to insert the tip, alright?” 

He looked at you with such care and concern that it almost shocked you. He was a big, hulking man with a terrifyingly huge cock, but as it has come to be shown, a larger heart. It was so damn cheesy, wasn’t it? 

But that didn’t matter as you nodded once again, body unable to take the anticipation, the waiting, for him to shove his fat cock inside. 

…Except maybe it had to. His cockhead slipped inside with ease, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t fucking painful. You let out a strangled half-moan half-scream, and within seconds, those large hands were patting the side of your head.

“Y/N? Is it too much? I’ll stop, okay? Should I pull out?”

Henry was kissing your forehead, your cheeks, the sides of your lips. He muttered small praises and comforts, every other kiss targeting a tear that had fallen from the pain. He kept true to his word; his hips remained still, his cock not pushing a millimetre further inside. It was from that moment of calm that, as you adjusted to the burning stretch, you were able to speak. 

“D-don’t. Just- give me a second to-“ 

You huffed out, desperate for air. 

“-adjust!” 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. He tasted, somehow, better than his cock. It wasn’t quite something you could place, to be frank. It was a savoury taste, one with hints of candies you couldn’t identify and a tea whose flavour you couldn’t imagine. But it was entirely and wholly the delicious thing you’ve ever or will ever have. 

That was worth getting addicted to. And if Henry would let you, you’d chase that taste every single moment you can. Something told you that yeah, he would. 

“You’re doing so, so good for me, Y/N. So good, you feel so good…” 

Henry’s voice was low and comforting, just as much, if not more than his calming touches. He spoke in whispers between each kiss, and it led you to slowly, but surely, adjust to the pain. Before you had even realised, all you felt was the desire for him to push even further. 

“H-Henry, you can move now… please…” 

“Are you sure, Y/N?” 

Hearing your name roll off his tongue, so casual by this point, only cemented your enthusiasm. You nodded slowly and weakly, smiling the best you could. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful… Hold on to me, and tell me if I need to stop, okay?” 

Your cock nearly bounced at the praise. You eked out another nod as your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, leading him to return your smile with one of his own. And fuck, it was gorgeous. 

He kept his movement slow. It was torturous, but you could appreciate the time and the caution he took. His face watched yours, now scanning for any sign of pain or discomfort. At every wince or scrunch, he would stop, waiting for a nod or smile as your sign of readiness. 

“You feel excellent, Y/N. Being with you… I could get obsessed with this feeling, you know?” 

He leaned down to kiss you yet again. He kissed you, giving you yet another helping of that impossibly lovely taste: his taste. 

And then… then he brushed against your prostate, his cock like a mallet smashing into a button. Even slow, it sent a shock up your spine and a resulting heat through your nerves. Your loud, vulgar moans were taken with great joy and adoration from Henry, his smile only growing fonder. 

“You sound so good, Y/N. Let it out for me…” 

Perhaps you took it a tad too far as your cock, with the pressure to your prostate, burst with another spray of hot, sticky cum that painted both tour and Henry’s stomachs. Such a reaction was met with a warm laughter. 

“Not what I meant, but I’m not complaining. It’s good to know you feel good, baby.” 

He leaned in for yet another kiss and, in the hypnotising exchange, you just barely processed a large, encapsulating hand taking hold of your cock. Henry began to spread your cum across your own shaft, using it to pump your still-sensitive cock towards unbearable pleasure. 

“I’m gonna keep making you feel good, okay?” 

Sweat had beaded all over your skin now, streams running down your body as Henry’s own dripped down and onto your frame. He was pushing just a bit faster now—you almost couldn’t take the wait any longer. That once painful stretch had evolved into pleasure. It had evolved from a burning heat contained to your ass and spread into this resounding, unending warmth washing through you. In the process, it had devolved you into a writhing, moaning mess.

His cock was large, that was certainly clear. It was the kind of large that made your stomach bulge, the kind that you knew you wouldn’t ever be able to take with ease no matter how many times it had fucked you. And shit, you hoped that it would fuck you so, so many more times. 

But your composure only broke down further when his cock seemed to reach so impossibly deep inside, spreading your insides apart like it was trying to break you. Moan after moan fell out as your back arched involuntarily, only accentuating the bulge in your stomach. 

“Baby? Y/N?” 

You hadn’t even realised it, but Henry had stopped pushing himself deeper. Now, as he buried into what felt like the core of you and sent waves of electrifying heat with even the slightest twitch of his dick, his hips were flush against yours. He had bottomed out. 

“Henry…” 

Words other than the man’s name didn’t seem to be able to form. He, however, had so much to say. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing, Y/N. You’re taking me so damn well…” 

The hand not on your cock let go of your face and glided down your body, tracing lines down your shaking body, and stopped just over the bulging portion of your stomach. He brushed it gently, causing yet another crackle of electricity to wrack through you.

“Can… can I start to move?” 

Oh, you could’ve broken your neck with how fast you agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shit, shit! You feel so damn good, Y/N.” 

Henry’s calm demeanour had taken a backseat. It was still there, in careful touches to your face and sweet caresses of your body. You could still hear it in every little praise he threw out, and every loving glance he gave your half-lidded eyes. 

His hips, though, had practically lost any form of restraint. 

He withdrew and pushed back in with speed and force, hips slamming with a harsh and sharp slap. Your ass felt sore by this point, but it was a warm, comfortable soreness when paired with the sheer, blinding pleasure of Henry’s cock. 

By the gods, the pleasure was insane. It was driving you mad, your vision going white. His cock, no matter how many times it was thrust into you, remained impossibly large and impossibly deep-reaching. It felt as though it only went deeper and deeper with each push, a result of your fractured state. 

But how could one stay sane when their body was being overwhelmed with such unimaginable pleasure. 

As drool began to spill and your eyes rolled back, Henry was quick to grab you by the chin and lock you into yet another kiss. Unlike the times before, though it carried the same sweetness, it was now heavy with a hunger, a need. He hungered for you, and he needed to fucking ruin you. 

And Henry’s a man who accomplishes his goals, isn’t he? He began thrusting into your harder, harsher than he had before. He thrust over and over and over again, his movements without a single missed beat or second of hesitation. 

His kisses remained constant too. His thick, strong tongue had shoved its way past your pretty lips and began to gnash against your tongue. It was a strange but nonetheless mind numbingly good feeling to have him invade your body even further. 

By now, his grip had transferred to and firmed on your hips. He kept you nice and planted in place on that damn sturdy desk of his, even as each thrust threatened its integrity. His pace was relentless, the wood starting to creak with his forcefulness. 

He drew back, saliva still stringing your mouth and his. 

“Y-you feel good, Y/N?” 

Who knew this man could stutter? But fuck, he made it sound hot. He sounded so lost in the pleasure, and even then, so firm in his every word. 

“Y-yes!” 

He gave a crooked smile at your words. 

“Good! Do you like the way I taste, Y/N? The way my spit tastes?” 

How vulgar was that? And how vulgar was it that, the second you tried to respond with a very clear yes, he decided to drop a fat glob of hot spit onto your cheek? He brought his thumb up to rub it into your skin and, hell, you were about to thank him for it. 

You couldn’t as he cut you off with yet another breathtaking kiss. You were left panting and unable to speak at all when he pulled away.

“You’re a whore, you know? A beautiful, obedient, whore.” 

His words carried no malice, only a heavy lust that he was just barely stopping from pushing him towards ruining your body completely. 

“But you’re my whore, alright? Don’t you ever fucking forget.” 

He slapped your cheek. It wasn’t one of anger, moreso just trying to snap you into focus. He wanted an answer and, as his best and favourite student, he knew he would get a reply out of you. 

“I-I’m your whore, sir!” 

It was a miracle you could speak, really. It was especially miraculous because the second he heard that, with one resounding slam of his hips into yours, you felt it. 

“Fuck, Y/N!”

In the moment, as you arched your back and let your mouth flow with moans at the highest possible volume, Henry’s cock pumped gush after gush of burning hot, viscous, cum. 

It felt like molten steel, an impossible extreme of everything that semen was meant to be. And as such, it brought the pleasure you felt from having your stomach pumped full of it to a high that you could never reach with any drug imaginable. 

And through it, his hips hadn’t chosen to stop. Every thrust was now being punctuated with a new load of cum filling your already full belly, each one followed then with another slap to your ass or lust-driven proclamation of love. 

“God, I love your tight fucking ass-”

You were screaming as you came at the height of the moment’s intensity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t sure when the night ended, exactly. It seemed that the man had fucked you for hours on end, until he had emptied his fat balls’ storage of cum and filled your belly with it. He had fucked you till your cock hurt, and each climax produced a dry orgasm due to empty tanks. 

He had fucked you till you were left unable to think of anything but his cock and the taste of his sweet, delicious lips.  

And now, he was buried deep inside you still, pressing kiss after kiss to your neck as you desperately gasped for air. 

“Did I go too hard? Are you hurt, Y/N?” 

Your body was, in fact, aching. It was this numb, almost muffled pain that was eclipsed—or perhaps even part of—this euphoric pleasure that continued to grasp you. Things no longer felt real, at this point, but a dream you’d rather not wake from. 

But things were very much reality, and that included a high-off-sex and full-of-affection Henry. 

“I apologise for the slaps, they were rather forceful…” 

You managed out a shake of the head to signal a no. The laugh that he gave, boisterous yet quiet, made your heart pound again. 

“I see. I suppose we’ll need ample time to explore what we both enjoy, hm?” 

The idea of more time with Henry, more time doing this, was certainly exciting. He didn’t need more than your dumb little smile, one you couldn’t wipe off your face even if you wanted or tried to, to tell you thought. 

“I can see you like the prospect, hm?” 

Another chuckle and another kiss. What bliss this was. 

“I’m going to pull out now, so that we can both get cleaned up, okay? Just breathe for me, Y/N, just like earlier.” 

You tried to follow, you really did. But as your hole was quickly left empty, gaping and clenching around nothing, you couldn’t help but whine unintelligible mutterings. Henry responded with even more pecks to your lips and caresses to your soft, delicate skin. 

Henry was certainly a gentleman. He had taken some tissues from the box he reserved for students with colds and used then to to clean the outer portion of your sloppy hole. His hands, as large as they were, moved soft and delicate, careful not to press against any overly sensitive parts. 

He had taken to cleaning himself—drying his cock, much to your dismay, with more paper towels. He had noticed your sadness and, with an admittedly smug smirk, said he’d allow you to suck his cock clean next time. It was still strange, even after the night you had had with him, to hear such lewd language uttered from the refined man’s mouth.

By the time he had dressed himself, your breathing had steadied. Your backside was still sore and leaking, but he had promised to help with that back at his apartment. 

Wait.

His apartment? 

“Ah, would you rather not? I can clean you up in the facilities here and-” 

“No, no! I’d-”

You coughed. All the sweat, mixed with what was now cool night air, had left your body just a tad sick. Well, that and the exhaustion from having taken on such an impossible task and cock. 

“-love to. I’d love to go home with you, Henry.” 

He smiled like he hadn’t heard anything quite as lovely before. You smiled back in return. 

He was the eager to tug on your boxers and wrap you in his suit jacket as a means of decency. He lifted you up bridal-style and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The man was strong and, with the ease that was carrying you, he even held your folded clothing in the hand supporting your butt. 

You even found the strength to be humorous in the moment, letting out a joking, “Ooh, strong guy, huh?” 

He graced you yet again with one of those pure, unadulterated laughs.

“I’m glad to have had this one on one session with you, Y/N. Certainly was productive, wasn’t it?”

THANK YOU to my lovely beta readers! There's a shit ton GAHAH

@inhumanshadows @worstwolverinesbf @darlingminjin @alatrysev @starboye @spermeboy @starrykie @sleep-0-deprived @slytherslvt @kurominis

Love you all :D you're all soooo nice and helped me finish this with your kind comments! Hope I didn't let you down with the end :>

[helenofsparta2]

Having the whole plot between Nico and Percy be resolved simply with “You’re not my type” in Blood of Olympus was such a huge disservice to both characters

They are pivotal parts to each others journey. No person in PJO influenced Nico as much as Percy did, aside from Bianca, and no person represents Percy’s guilt and the responsibility he had to shoulder more than Nico does. The writing for both characters really suffers through this lack of a real satisfying resolution.

First to talk about what Percy represents for Nico:

Percy, first of all, represents Nico’s introduction to the mythological world

He is the first demigod Nico ever came in contact with

He saved him and Bianca from the manticore (somewhat)

Nico stated in Blood of Olympus than Percy had reminded of the heroes of his mythomagic game come to life

Nico wholeheartedly believed that Bianca would be safe, if Percy was with her and created this image of the perfect hero in his mind, putting Percy on a pedestal

2.

In Nico’s mind Percy is irrevocably intertwined with Bianca and everything that happened to her

Despite Nico naively believing, that Bianca would be safe if Percy were around, he was instead the last person to ever talk to her, and present when she died

Percy informed Nico of her death (Dead silence. I stared at Chiron. I couldn’t believe nobody had told him yet. Then I realized why. They’d been waiting for us to appear, to tell Nico in person, Titan’s curse)

Nico turned him into the scapegoat for her death, so that he could let all his grief and anger and bitterness out on him

Bianca sent Iris-messages to Percy, so that he would find and help Nico (“Percy has been worried about you, Nico. He can help. I let him see what you were up to, hoping he would find you.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Her ghost only appeared to Nico when Percy was with him

Percy is the only person Nico knows of, who also grieved for Bianca (“Bianca,” I said. My voice was thick. I’d felt guilty about her death for a long time but seeing her in front of me was five times as bad, like her death was fresh and new. I remembered searching through the wreckage of the giant bronze warrior she’d sacrificed her life to defeat, and not finding any sign of her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. Battle of the Labyrinth)

3.

Percy is the person who protected and cared for Nico more than anyone else in pjo

Tried to convince Bianca to think more deeply about her decision of joining the hunters, especially thinking of him (“Biance, this is crazy,” I said. “What about your brother? Nico can’t be a hunter.” (Titan’s curse)

Searched the woods in the dark for hours after he had disappeared (Annabeth and Grover helped me search the woods for hours, but there was no sign of Nico di Angelo.)

Didn’t tell Chiron about Nico’s parentage to protect him from the Gods. (I don't think Nico understands who he is. But we can't go telling anyone. Not even Chiron. If the Olympians find out—") Titan’s curse)

Decided to completely commit to the prophecy, solely so Nico didn’t have to bear that burden and go trough any more suffering(It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I… let them both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more." ) Titan’s curse)

Searched for Nico in the months after Titan’s Curse (Now, six months later, I hadn’t even come close to finding him. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. Battle of the labyrinth, chapter 3))

Saved his life on Geryon’s farm. (“Either way, you get my friends,” I said. “But, if I succeed, you’ve got to let all of us go, including Nico.”)

Always offered Nico a place at camp half-blood to the best of his abilities (“We missed you at dinner,” I said. “You could’ve sat with me.”“No.”“Nico, you can’t miss every meal. If you don’t want to stay with Hermes, maybe they can make an exception and put you in the big house. They’ve got plenty of room.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Invited him to join him on his birthday (“Is that… is that blue birthday cake?”He sounded hungry, maybe a little wistful. I wondered if the poor kid had ever had a birthday party, or if he’d ever been invited to one. “Come inside for cake and ice cream,” I said. “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Reminded him that he was still a child (I smiled. “Maybe it’s okay to still be a kid once in a while.” I tossed him the statue, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Helped him to get the sword of hades back to impress his father (Then I looked at Nico. Unfortunately, I recognised the expression on his face. I knew what it was like wanting to make your dad proud, even if your dad was hard to love., Sword of hades)

Acknowledged everything Nico did in The last Olympian and is one of the main reasons why Hades has a cabin at camp. ( “But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that.”)

4.

Percy was Nico’s first, and after Will, his biggest love

Nico had feelings for Percy, which didn’t leave him for around 2 1/2 years, and accompanied him throughout the most challenging parts of his life. 

Feelings, which were so deep, the god of love personally acknowledged them.

Favonius even called Percy, the person Nico cares about most in House of Hades.

This was more than just a mere crush

Percy is so completely intertwined with most aspects of Nico’s character arc, in both PJO and Hoo, be it his feeling of ostracism, his relationship to Bianca or him coming to term with his own sexuality, that them not having a final interaction, makes his writing feel shallow and unfinished. Especially Nico coming to terms with his crush on Percy opens up the opportunity for a really heartwarming conversation and a moment of character growth and maturity for both of them, instead of it being wasted on one throw-away line.

And it’s the same the other way around. Nico is also a huge part of Percy’s journey.

He especially represents Percy’s biggest failure.

The first five Percy Jackson books are characterized by Percy having to take up responsibility and him being afraid of not being able to fulfill them. Be it responsibility for camp, the world, Bianca’s death, the prophecy, his friends, teh unclaimed demigods, or everything else. Most of the time, Percy was able to make sure everything turned out fine. He saved camp, he saved Olympus, he finished his quests, made the right decision for the prophecy, and he made the gods swear upon teh styx. But there’s one exception. And that is Nico.

Percy did everything in his power to make sure Nico would be spared any more hardships. He took up the burden of the prophecy, explicitly, so that Nico doesn’t have to go through any more hardships

He searched for him after Titan’s curse, kept his identity a secret and even risked himself, Annabeth, Grover and Tyson dying if it meant saving Nico

Still, Nico is one of the characters, if not the character, who has suffered the most in PJO and Hoo, even partly because of Percy (though, of course, Nico having a crush on him was not Percy’s fault at all)

He lived alone at 11 years old on the streets and in the labyrinth, while getting manipulated by an ancient evil spirit

He was isolated and ostracized at camp half-blood

He experienced the horrors of Tartarus completely on his own

He got captured by the giants and slowly suffocated to death in a small jar

He had to deal with internalized homophobia and his complicated feelings regarding Percy

He has been a vital part of two wars at only 15 years old

Had to admit his crush involuntarily in front of Jason, etc.  

One of the things Percy battles with in Heroes of Olympus is this overwhelming sense of guilt. He blames himself for almost everything that went wrong over the last few years. Be it for Iapetus, Calypso, or especially Nico. Having Percy acknowledge this complicated relationship he has with him during House of Hades, but not allowing the two of them to talk it out is genuinely baffling to me, and one of the (albeit many) reasons why I really don’t like most of Percy’s writing during Heroes of Olympus, despite the fact that he is my favourite character by far. This could have led to a moment of character growth, where Nico helps Percy to aknowledge that he feels guilty for things he had little to no control over, while Nico himself realizes how important he actually is to Percy.

They are also so similar in terms of who they are and what they’ve been through, that even if you ignore their history with each other, it seems insane, that they didn’t interact in any meaningful way:  

Both were ostracized at camp half-blood because of their parentage, and so far are the only two half-bloods we know of with that experience

They are (together with Hazel) the most powerful demigods in the Riordan verse, and have feats which far surpass anyone else’s

Both are in some way afraid of their powers

Both went through Tartarus

Both have relatively similar relationships to their godly parents

Both have gone through immense trauma and loss

And if you read heroes of Olympus, it actually very much seems to build towards a final resolution of their relationship

Percy and Nico were, aside from Frank, the two people closest to Hazel; both saw her as a little sister, and Hazel treated them both like her brothers

Nico was the first person Percy met from his old life

Percy was the one, who received the visions of Nico being captured

From everyone present, Percy trusted Nico to lead the others to Greece in his moment of greatest desperation

They both had introspections about the other in house of Hades, Nico having to deal with his crush and Percy with his guilt in Tartarus

But, in the end, after they met again, nothing happened. The only scene we really got was the “You’re not my type” line and Percy being surprised by it for a couple seconds. That’s it.

We saw no meaningful conversation between the two of them, no acknowledgement of what they’ve been through together, no lasting feelings. Nothing.

In regards to their relationship, Percy acknowledging everything that Nico has been through led to nothing. Nico acknowledging his feelings for Percy and finally letting go of this pedestal he had placed him on led to nothing. You could argue that their entire relationship, which has been built up since Titan’s curse led to nothing. And considering that they are so important characters for each of their character arcs, their characterization very much suffers from this writing decision.

The two of them, together with Hazel, are my three favourite Riordan verse characters by a long shot, but some very important aspects of both of their characters fall so flat to me through this lack of a satisfying resolution.

 Both of them deserved so much better.  

They are the friendship with the most missed potential in the entirety of the Riordan verse and probably the most fleshed out and nuanced relationship Rick ever wrote.

R.I.P.  Nico di Angelo, and Percy Jackson, you will always be brothers in my mind.

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[misserabella]

I was wondering if maybe you can do vampire!reader x sub!loser!ellie??

more

ellie williams x female reader

cw; +18 content, minors dni, toe curling smut, reader is not described, not her skin or hair or body, i didn’t put her as masc or fem either, dom! vampire! reader x sub! ellie, masturbation (ellie), blood kink, prey kink (??), a lil tiny bit of angst (if we can call it that), biting (multiple bites), blood drinking, blood, overstimulation, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, fingering (ellie receiving), oral sex (ellie and reader receiving), cum eating, dirty talking, praising, begging, needy horny ellie, crying, face riding, multiple orgasms (ellie cums like 5 times), dirty hard sex, praising, calling ellie good girl, ass slapping (1), scissoring, ellie rides reader, hair pulling (both receiving)(reader has pullable hair), hickeys, tit and nipple play…

(okay this got a lil out of hand)

important !!!!!

how you can help palestine

why you shouldn’t buy tlou 2 remastered!!

aw she’s so sweet. and such a nerd.

since she found out you were a vampire she started investigating, looking up every website, reading through every mythology book, engulfing every last spec of information she could find. she found out the sun light actually hurt your eyes? she’d buy you the best sunglasses out in the market. that some foods were better for you than others? she was buying all of them and burning herself on the stove trying to cook.

but of course, there were some things she found out that she couldn’t exactly talk about with you.

“the bite of a vampire acts as an aphrodisiac on the prey to avoid them running away.”

as an aphrodisiac? she frowned, reading further down the article.

“the bite of a vampire on humans acts like a drug, leaving the human unable to fight the predator. instead, they could get addicted to it. studies show the increase of libido in the human after the bite takes effect.”

“oh…” now she was blushing. one of her hands unconsciously touching her neck, caressing it, lost on the words.

you’d drank blood from people before, obviously, there was actually a place that sold it for vampires in need so they wouldn’t risk hurting humans while feeding. but you and ellie had never talked about the possibility of you drinking from her.

the first time you saw her you felt your world stop, in over your 400 years of existence you’d never felt your cold dead heart beat, but as her green eyes found yours you swore it had. it was stupid, really, how you two had found each other, bumping on one another on a rainy night as ellie tried to quickly get home before she would catch a cold. she was everything. and she smelled so good… you felt your fangs in need to poke out of your gums once her essence met your senses, you could almost taste the raging sweet blood that pumped through her veins as she apologized for not have been paying attention.

you told her she could make it up to you over dinner.

you though about drinking from ellie daily. there was no way of escaping the need of burying your fangs on the tender and soft skin of her neck once you’d find yourself over her, slowly fucking your hips against hers, sucking bruises wherever your mouth could reach. it was primal, the thirst that would overcome you. it was horrid, the hunger you fought day and night to not taste her, terrified of hurting her somehow.

“subjects affirm having been able to reach orgasm without more stimuli other than the bite of their lover.”

with a blush tinting her cheeks she was hurriedly closing her laptop, feeling her whole body flushing.

of course she has noticed. the brushing of your sharp pearls against her skin while you buried her on the sheets was not easy to ignore. she’d tug at your hair at the feeling, her head tilting to the side to expose her neck for you. it was almost an invitation, unconscious, maybe.

but if it was… why was the idea of you biting her turning her on?

she bit down on her lip, sighing as she felt that well-known tingling grow in between her legs. she pushed her laptop aside on the bed.

you weren’t home. you wouldn’t be for a couple of hours. work duties.

a silent moan left her lips as one of her hands slowly trailed down her stomach and boxers —since she was only wearing that and a shirt on your shared apartment— cupping her pussy, which was getting more soaked by the minute.

she closed her eyes, teasing herself through the cloth, biting down on her bottom lip. she thought of you, of your sweet voice and your soft eyes that would sharpen once you’ve caged her under yourself, looking down at her like a predator would do with prey.

‘so pretty… you look so pretty like this for me.’

her free hand came up to her breasts, squeezing, groping, pulling up her shirt to have better access to her sensitive perky nipples.

‘i bet you’re so wet for me… let me see baby.’

she pulled her underwear off, exposing her drooling cunt to the air. she’d remember how you’d groan at the sight, pupils blown, tongue licking your lips, hungry to taste her. you’d always compliment her about how good she tasted, spending hours in between her legs, lapping at her folds, sucking at her puffy clit until she’d cry from the overstimulation.

and yet your thirst wouldn’t disappear.

ellie wondered if she could satiate you with her blood. she wondered what your reaction would be once it would fill your mouth, warm and thick…

“fuck…” she moaned, plunging two of her fingers inside her pulsing walls, thrusting a couple of times to come back out and tease her throbbing clit, arching her back.

she was soaked, so soaked she could hear herself, the sound of her fingers teasing through her pinkish folds.

‘can you hear her? she’s begging for it. so cute, and i haven’t even fucked you yet.’

she whimpered your name, her thighs trembling as she rubbed herself.

and that was when it came to her mind. your lips on her neck, your fangs against her skin, ready to bite, ready to suck her dry.

and just with the thought of it she was moaning non-stop, her high hitting her like a million bricks as she squirmed at her own touch against her clit, soaking the sheets under her body.

-

after that newly found information, ellie became quieter around you. she was always lost in thought, fern green eyed dozing off into the distance, her pinkish bottom lip caged in between her teeth. she’d grown shy, avoidant, pulling away early on your kisses, blushing and squirming when your mouth would reach her neck, and quickly —against her will— finding something to get busy with, maybe the dishes, or the laundry.

it left you confused to say the least, wanting, daunted. why was she avoiding you? at first you thought she just wasn’t in the mood, something you could understand, but you could hear her heartbeat, smell the arousal pool in between her legs, feel her need.

so why?

it was late at night when she got back to your apartment, lately she seemed to be avoiding you like the plague, taking extra shifts or hanging out with dina and jesse when you’d be free and home.

she was silent with it, softly stepping inside and closing the door. you had to give it to her, had been normal you wouldn’t have noticed it, too deep in slumber. but you weren’t normal. and you weren’t asleep.

she jumped when she noticed you, lurking in the shadows not under the moonlight.

“fuck.” she sighed, a hand against her heart. “you scared me.” you crooked your head, stepping closer to her spot beside the door. you were a true predator, eyes dark and movements smooth, calculated. “what are you doing up? it’s late.” she nervously chuckled, her heart beating faster as you approached her, making her back away against the door. “what…-“

“why are you avoiding me, ellie?” you inquired her, voice low, sultry. captivating yet dangerous. her mouth gaped like a fish’s.

“m…me? avoiding you? i’m not…”

“you are.” you looked at her up and down. she looked pretty, with a green tank top and navy blue jeans with her beaten up converse. “you know i can hear your heartbeat baby…” you slowly said, your fingers trailing down the pulse on her neck, making goosebumps explode on her skin, her breath shudder. “there’s no use in lying to me.” she harshly swallowed, her greenish eyes looking everywhere but you. “you know how difficult it is to control myself when you prance around smelling so damn wet?” the hand on her neck came up to her jaw, gripping it to direct her towards you. “look at me.” she did. you were so close your lips were almost touching. her eyes fluttered when you slightly brushed them against hers, making her follow after your touch, but you kept her in place, making her slightly whine. “tell me why you’ve been teasing me. i know you want it too.” one of your hands came down her body, stopping in between her legs to cup her pulsing desperate cunt. “i can smell you soaking those pretty panties of yours.” she blushed. so hard even the tip of her ears went vermillion. you cooed at the tiny whimper she let out.

“please…” she begged, and you caressed her bottom lip with your thumb.

“tell me what you want. you know how to use your words. be a good girl.”

“i want you to bite me.”

you swore your ears were deceiving you. your eyes widened at her words, staring at her for what it seemed minutes before you pulled away from her, your cold blood turning into ice.

“no.”

ellie almost whined at the loss of your touch, maybe at your answer.

“please.”

she stepped towards you, a pout pulling from her features, hands on your shoulders trailing down your your chest, surrounding your neck, exposing her own to you. your eyes momentarily met her soft pale skin, the pulsing vein on the crook of her shoulder and neck. you could almost taste it. thick and heavy in your mouth.

“ellie.” you harshly closed your eyes, fighting the need of your gums to break your gums. “i could hurt you.”

“i can take it.” she promised, one of her hands cupping your cheek to make you look at her. “i want this.” you groaned. “i want you.” your lips brushed, and your tongue came harshly into her mouth as her own needy crashed against yours. she moaned as your hands came down to her thighs, pulling from her to jump and surround your waist to move the two of you to your bedroom.

you fell backwards onto the bed with her on your lap. she was desperate, hungry for your touch after so long without relief. but you were starving.

“‘s this why you were avoiding me? poor thing just was too shy to ask?” she nodded, biting onto her bottom lip. “fuck. you’re killing me. you smell so fucking good…” you hid your face on her neck, leaving soft kisses on her skin, making the green eyed girl crook her head aside to give you more space.

“please… bite me. please.” she pleaded, one of her hands on your hair, tugging, doe eyes teary in need. you wanted to ruin her.

“shit. are you sure? i could-“

“please.” she nodded, pulling you closer to her pulse. you groaned, your fangs breaking your gums as you felt your hunger kick in, your want.

you left a last soft kiss on her skin before your teeth came crashing down against it, puncturing it. a deep moan left your throat when it hit you. the metalic, warm and sweet taste of her warm filling your mouth.

if ellie smelled good, she tasted heavenly.

the auburn haired let out the most beautiful and pornographic whimper once she felt it, her whole body going numb yet exploding in sensitivity at the feeling of your bite. it only hurt for a second, before the effects of the bite rushed through her body. before she knew it she was thrusting against your hips, pulling you closer, feeling an adrenaline rush, her body shake and her pussy throb, slick quickly pooling in between her lips and drenching her panties. she felt it coming. you hadn’t even touched her and yet she was so close to an orgasm…

she moaned your name, and you grunted, pulling away to look at her flushed face and hazy eyes. she looked completely fucked out, neck glistening in her crimson blood.

you smirked when you saw her squirm under your touch on her hips, going up and down her thighs. “that feel good, baby?”

she bit down on her lip, nodding.

“more. please. touch me, please.” she begged, rocking her hips against yours, what made you moan. she felt like she was gonna die if you didn’t touch her.

“you want me to touch you, pretty girl?” she nodded once again, raising her arms for you to take off her tank top, exposing her perky breasts and rosy nipples, to which you attached to.

“fuck…” she ground herself on your lap, anxiously and hurriedly taking care of your own top.

“you’re gonna be the death of me.” you grunted, flipping her over and pushing her against the duvet to take her pants and panties off, your pupils blown out at the sight of her drooling pussy. she whined when she felt your fingers slide in between her folds, screamed when, with just a mere touch against her clit she was falling over the edge. your stomach turned, and if your heart beat you were sure it would’ve skipped one of its jumps. your eyes were widened as you watched her come down from it in heavy pants, her cheeks turning red at the realization that she had came with just a mere graze.

“fuck…” she muttered, hiding her face from you behind her hands. you quickly removed them. so turned on you swore your whole body was aching in need to have her.

“don’t you dare hide from me. not when you look so pretty when you cum.” ellie’s teary eyes watched you crawl down her body to position yourself in between her legs, your hungry eyes transfixed on her cum soaked cunt. you couldn’t wait to clean her creamy release with your tongue. “i want to watch you do it over and over and over again.” your irises turned red as you stared into her fern ones, watching her back arch and her jaw fall when your fangs dug into the soft pale skin of her thigh. a loud moan broke her throat. your eyes closed as her sweet blood filled your mouth and warmed your own throat. you hummed, your hips thrusting against the bed. “fuck. i want to devour you.” you growled, your mouth moving from her thigh to her soaked cunt, lapping at her cum with a panting mouth. you thought nothing could be better than her blood. but her cum with her blood? you were sure that, if not been immortal, you would have died right there and then. ellie screamed your name, her legs closing around your head as you hungrily ate her out, your hands coming up to her thighs to push them apart and give you more space. she was squirming like crazy, moaning and whimpering, crying. she was so overstimulated already… “quit moving.”

“oh my god. ohmygodohmygodohmygod…” she mumbled. “i’m gonna cum again!” she weeped as you sucked on her puffy and throbbing clit. you quickly retrieved one of your hands from her thighs to fuck her gaping drooling hole with two of your fingers. just one curl from them against her g spot and she was shaking, creaming all over them.

“fuuuck. that’s it. cum for me, baby. so fucking sweet.” you licked her clean, sucking at her clit and hearing her cry. her hands tugged from your hair, the heels of her feet anchoring themselves on the duvet to try and scape your mouth.

“too much. ‘s too much!” her high subsided just the slightest to start to build again at an incredible speed, making her cum again in a matter of seconds. you pulled away with a soaked gaping mouth.

“did you just cum twice?” you inquired, in awe, watching the fat tears that rolled down her strained and flushed face. you plugged your fingers out, watching her creamy release drip out of her hole. you crawled back up her body, cupping her face. she was dizzy in ecstasy, her pretty green eyes swelled with tears.

“more…” she pleaded, her hands on your hair, pushing you to her slightly bleeding neck, inviting you to sink your fangs back in, to suck her dry, give her more of that delirious pleasure.

you groaned.

“you’re killing me, you know that?”

you buried your face on the crook of her neck, licking up the little droplets of blood that seeped from the punctures on her skin before diving in, making her let out this pretty little sound.

her nails dug on your back, her own arching underneath you as her legs surrounded your hips, pulling you closer as she tilted her face to the side. “feels sooo gooood.” she slurred, whimpering when your hands came up to her perfect breasts, squeezing the fat in between your fingers. you wondered how much she could take, how much she could give you. ellie would let you drain the last drop of her blood out of her if that meant this feeling wouldn’t stop.

“need your pretty pussy on mine, baby. want to feel your cum dripping on it.” you sucked bruises on her skin, watching her nod. “can you be a good girl and do that for me?” your sultry voice asked against her ear, your hips giving a little thrust against hers, making the material of your jeans brush against her sensitive and puffy folds.

“yes.” she gasped, nodding, to what you left your place in between her legs, getting on your feet to unbuckle your jeans, but the auburn haired was quicker than you, her shaky pretty hands taking care of it and hurriedly pushing your panties and jeans down your legs for you to kick them away.

you moaned when you suddenly felt her mouth on you, her soft tongue lapping at your clit.

“oh fuck.” you cursed in a gasp, one of your hands coming down to her head, fingers lacing on her hair, to stabilize yourself. “what are you doing?” you moaned when you felt her suck on it, your eyes closing shut for a second before looking down at her.

“i’m hungry.” she muttered against your pussy. the sight in front of you was one to behold.

your girl was on her hands and knees, back arched for you, hazy drunk eyes looking up at you as she slowly glided her pink tongue in between your soaked lips. you gasped, pushing her further against your cunt once you’d put one of your legs up on the bed, foot against the sheets, bending your knee and opening your legs to give her better access.

“jesus christ.”

usually ellie would be shy, always asking for permission to take care of you, to touch you, to eat you. but now, she was taking what she wanted —no, what she needed— from you. and that was making your mind spiral.

her hands came up to grip at your hips and legs, making out dirtily with your cunt, looking at you, teasing you. “want you to fill my mouth.” she said before licking a fat strip from your hole to your clit, sucking at it and letting it go with a pop.

“yeah? you want me to cum in that pretty mouth of yours baby?” she nodded. “then stick out your tongue, gonna fuck myself with it.” she did as you said, flattening her tongue and moaning when your grip on her hair only tightened, bucking your hips against her tongue, perfectly rubbing your clit. “fuck. that’s it. such a good fucking mouth, doll.” she hummed, her nails digging on your flesh. “gonna give you all my cum baby. and you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow it, aren’t you ellie?” she nodded. you grunted, fucking yourself faster on her tongue. you were so riled up and sensitive… you weren’t gonna last. “shit. i’m gonna cum.” you moaned, and she eagerly lapped at your folds, pulling you closer by your ass cheeks to her face to make sure to not leave a single drop behind. “fuck!” you cursed as you felt the snap of your high on your lower stomach, moaning as you creamed all over her tongue, making her whimper. “take it. take it all.”

she slurped and licked you clean, fucking you through it until your breath stabilized.

after coming down, you let go of her, taking in her disheveled state; messy hair, dizzy eyes and shiny chin and lips. you got on the bed with her, laying on your back and spreading your legs.

“come over here. come and ride my pussy.” she crawled towards you, feeling her arousal dripping down her thighs. “give me your back, baby.” she followed your orders, feeling your hands on her hips as she got on her knees, hands against the sheets to lower herself until he was seating against your open cunt. the first touch was heavenly, making the two of you moan. “you’re so fucking wet…” you sighed as she started to move, back and forth against your pussy, her clit gliding in between your folds as yours did the same in between hers. “did eating me out turned you on that much, baby?” she whimpered, nodding, to what you gave her a slap in the ass. “use your words.”

“yes, mmh.”

“that feels good, pretty? feel good jumping on my clit?” her pace was picking up, her moans and cries getting louder. “so hot…” you grabbed at the fat of her cheeks, dragging her harder against your pussy. you could feel the cum from her previous orgasms coming out of her to drench your cunt, making a mess in between your thighs yet making it easier for her to fuck herself on you. “doing so good for me…”

she moaned your name, going faster, harder. “feels so good…” she cried, feeling a new orgasm starting to build inside of her due to the constant rubbing of her clit against your folds.

“yeah? gonna cum for me, ellie? gonna cream my pussy?” she nodded.

“yeah, fuck, yes. i’m so close. please…” you grunted, taking her hips with your hands and fucking her harder in between grunts. you too were close, still sensitive due to your recent orgasm.

“go ahead baby, cum for me, wanna see it drip.” with a scream, she was cumming for you, for the forth time that night, her ears ringing and sight blacking out at the intensity. this was not a normal orgasm. it was bigger. harder. it was breaking her apart.

you moaned at the sight of her pussy squirting all over yours, drenching your cunt and the sheets below your bodies. “fuuuck.” you couldn’t hold it in anymore, cumming along with her and fucking the two of you through it to extend her high as much as possible.

once you two came down, you rested against the head of the bed, capturing the auburn haired in between your arms, pressing her back against your naked chest.

you held her as she recovered her breath, caressing her tummy, her thighs… until…

“what are you…, mhh fuck!” she whimpered when she felt the sting of your fangs against the sensitive skin of her neck, her blood being drained out of her veins until her head felt dizzy. her thighs shook when your fingers met her swollen pretty little clit, your tongue licking the new punctures clean as you whispered on her ear.

“more.”

-

a/n: idk what to say😵‍💫😵‍💫

KEEP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE!!!!! 🇵🇸

[medusas-graveyard]

Someone you used to know.

Concept:

an AU where after Danny's parents find out the truth about his biology, they turn their weapons against him; affectively leaving him no choice but to run away. There was no longer a 'Daniel James Fenton'; a child long dead after he was killed via electrocution. He cuts contact with everyone— and I mean everyone; only the god of time knows where he is. He turns to Gotham to start a new life there; under the guise of 'Danyal Nightingale', a homeless kid in crime alley, under the protection of the sentient city herself.

Enter: Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was quite the enigma to him. The teen basically knew everything about self defense, but Bruce is rich rich; Danny can't really understand why he would need to be athletic as shit for "self defense" when he's pretty sure he could've just hire mercenary level bodyguards. But he doesn't pry on it too much; because Danny understands that somethings are better to not poke around at.

They both grew up. Danny still couldn't understand Bruce. They grew closer, yes; but Bruce would literally... disappear. Like— for long amounts of time. He would ask Alfred for his whereabouts, but the butler simply shook his head, insisting that Bruce would be fine.

And he was right, technically.

The (now pretty grown) man would always come back, even if he was battered and bruised. He would wave off his best friend's worries with "I'm fine"s and "stop worrying"s that just fueled his distaste about Bruce leaving.

And then Bruce left, again.

While he was slightly annoyed by Bruce's constant disappearance, he can't help but just sigh in resignation at the hard headed billionaire. Bruce will come back.... eventually, at least.

He was right; Bruce did come back.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

He was trapped inside a neverending nightmare.

Because they found him.

Years pass by and his whole body felt numb, numb, numb. He's always either strapped inside a straight jacket in an empty room or torn open like a frog in biology class, on top of a surgery table. He doesn't remember how to speak, what he sounded like, what food tasted like— how it felt to move freely. Because all he could do over the past years (decade?) Is silently take the torture if simply existing.

On a good day, they would let him dream. He dreamt of talking, hyperfixating about stars and Greek mythology— he dreamt of playing tag and cooking messily in a kitchen; all with a boy and older man whose face he doesn't remember. On those days his life felt a little more bearable; like it gives him the motivation to just exist.

"... there's no way you're named after a bird."

"....ne. What's yours?"

"Danny is a nice name."

"Hey, wh— HEY! Get down from there!"

"Don't be such a worrywart. I'll see you soon, Danny."

".....Danny"

".....Danny!"

"Danny....?"

His dazed eyes weakly focused on the familiar voice calling his name; the sight of a dark figure by the lab door greets his line of sight.

He's strapped on the table; chest still wide open as the figure rushes over him. He could hear their heart rattling inside their ribcage and their heaving breaths.

....no. this is all just a dream.

[romypearl]

The Queen's Pawn - Regina George/Oblivious!Reader | II

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Summary: Everyone is interested and obsessed with Regina George, after all, she is the queen of the North Shore, so why does Y/N barely look at her? The new student, oblivious to her existence, intrigues and irritates the blonde at the same time. And she doesn't know how to deal with it.

Classification: Fluff

Warnings: Slight internalized homophobia

Word count: +2200

Unrevised

She's always liked strawberries. Sweet, soft and tickling the roof of mouth. And, coincidentally, every now and then it turns pink.

Like the remnants of ice cream that hang around the corner of Y/N's plump lips.

It's hard to ignore, is what Regina tells herself as she turns away, trying to find a random fixed point to distract her. What proves to be more than impossible, out of the corners of her eyes she watches a little speech about Greek culture, something about Stoicism and a guy called Zeno, she doesn't really know, can't pay attention in the long words, only and exclusively in that spot. How could the Miss Perfect and Retainer of All Knowledge miss something so silly? The blonde huffs and crosses her arms in frustration, how has no one seen this yet? The Plastics seemed indifferent, pretending to pay attention to the matter while typing messages, knowing that their respective partners would do all the work for them and be grateful. She had no such luck. When Mrs. Blake, inspired by the... variety of grades, announced that she was going to pair up for assignments, she was sure that had guaranteed a top mark and a pat on the back for the minimal effort, equivalent to a zero. It would have been like that, if she hadn't made Karen switch papers to have Y/N as partner. After all, if she's so clever could easily get an A for both, but it backfired.

"What the hell kind of word is Eudaimonia?" she finally asks, frowning in confusion.

"Did you pay attention to anything I said?"

"All the things you say are very boring." Regina shrugs and turns so that they're face to face "Just like you."

She waits for some reaction, ever since they started studying about an hour ago Regina teases her and pulls all the strings in search of the right one, the one that will snap her out of the calm state of mind or hit her in some way. Nothing. She's rather unreachable. And, just like the other times, totally ignores the petty comment.

"But..." she hates doing it, every lousy second "Can you tell me what it is?"

"Right! For the last time..." Y/N settles back in chair and takes another spoonful of ice cream to mouth, thinking about how to summarize what she's been trying to say for a long time "Eudaimonia is a term from Greek philosophy that means a state of happiness and inner well-being. In literal translation it is "the state of being inhabited by a good daemon, a good genius"."

"Daemon?" I'm getting more and more lost "Did the Greeks believe in that?"

"No, it's daemons, not demons." the newbie's monotonous tone becomes animated as she starts talking, which makes Regina's heart skip a beat and she doesn't like it "In Greek mythology, they were spiritual beings who occupied an intermediate place between gods and humans, they could be either benevolent or malevolent..."

Then another speech begins, this time she tries to pay attention, but gradually the words blur into disconnected sentences and all she can focus on is how they sound on the girl's lips, how she pronounces them, her tongue curling between pearly teeth, the soft sound and, still, that damn ice cream. She tries to remember the last time she ate one, it seems like months, maybe years. What did it taste like? Overly sweet and sickly? Smooth and addictive? Why did her mother have to interrupt them and offer a dozen options? And why did she have to choose just that? Tempting. Lovely. Irresistible.

Y/N gasps in surprise and freezes in place as she suddenly feels something soft pressed against the corner of her mouth, thumb rubbing something that is apparently resisting coming out and her eyes meet sky blue irises, staring at her obstinately. The touch is long, almost purposeful, and they don't realize they're holding breath, unaware of their surroundings, too caught up in each other to notice the curious gazes of the two lackeys.

To everyone's surprise, including her own, Regina rubs the stain, picking up some of the gloss in the process, and brings to her lips, sucking it off. She has to hold back a groan and fight against her body to keep composure, pretending not to be shaken by her own impulsive, totally thoughtless, act.

"If my face was so dirty, you could simply have warned me." she says after a long, thoughtful pause, unable to find any conceivable reason except that "But I appreciate your gesture, it was really kind."

Kind? Has anyone, at any time in life, used that word to refer to her? Maybe her dad, once, just after Kylie was born and before they lost control completely. But there was nothing kind about what she had done, quite the opposite.

"Do you want more?" the blonde points to the almost empty bowl, anxious to mask the situation quickly.

"No, thanks!"

"How about Doritos?"

"I think I've eaten too much junk food today, it can't be good for me." Y/N jokes and opens a big smile, making cheeks stand out along with dimples that are almost imperceptible to inattentive eyes.

"We have strawberries." she says immediately, not stopping to think about those soft lips around the red fruit. When Gretchen looks at her in confusion and frowns, trying to subtly point, the plan comes back to mind and she decides to put it into practice "Also blueberries, raspberries, blackberries. Whatever you like, sweetie."

"You really like berries."

"You can't blame me..." Regina leans on the table, one hand on chin, long eyelashes batting slowly and a smirk, the same one that has won over every boy she's ever wanted "When is your color."

"What do you mean?" the other asked, without even looking up from the papers, missing all the theatrics.

"Red is your color..."

"My favorite color is yellow." she finally abandons the notes, only to find George defeated in front of her, about to slam her head on the glass table to get out of this nightmare "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Of course!" Regina snorts and points towards the corridor "Second door on the right, don't get lost."

Secretly, George hopes, wishes, that she really would get lost so that she could finally have the opportunity to guide her through something, or simply talk to her without two ticks on their backs. When she wants to, Gretchen can be very... clingy and insistent, often taking the brunette as a side effect, not unexpected considering how insecure she is about herself and the stability of her position in the hierarchy of North Shore, a drone that takes pride of function. Most of the time it's acceptable, in fact her presence barely matters to the queen bee in ordinary situations, but now all she wants is for the two of them to disappear at the snap of a finger.

"Karen, Gretchen, I need you to do me a favor." Regina is direct, in a casual tone.

"Of course! What do you need?" Wieners replies promptly, always eager to please.

"Can you go to the convenience store and get some Redbulls?" she smiles and stands up, taking one of the credit cards out of the purse, tossing it for them to take "All the flavors you can find."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. And get some more ice cream too."

They exchange glances, but don't dare deny Regina anything, even if it means half an hour's walk "Right, we're going."

The pair get up and leave quickly, holding their tongues to avoid questioning her about the sudden request, nor about what seems to be an interest in the newbie. Right from the first day, they listed her as a loser, with no social sense and who no one would have the courage to touch without a ten-foot pole, so they didn't understand why she insisted on winning her over. And they had no idea that she would have her as a partner in history and now visiting the George mansion.

Regina smiles triumphantly. The living room is finally quiet and she can turn her attention completely to the plan, she didn't feel shy or pressured to succeed around them, but didn't have all the attention from Y/N as she can have without silly questions and random celebrity gossip. It's the perfect moment.

She stares at herself in the mirror above the fireplace and fixes the smallest details of appearance so that she looks flawless.

"Gina!" her mother calls out from the kitchen, walking briskly into the room, and she rolls her eyes, before feeling blood run cold at the sight of her companion "What a adorable girl! She even offered to help me in the kitchen."

"Mom..." she mutters between teeth, trying to keep composed as her mother steps forward, arms around Y/N's shoulders "She's here to study."

"Oh, of course, of course! Studying is important." June says with a mischievous smile and finally lets her go "Studying what? Human anatomy?" and winks suggestively at her daughter, causing a wave of embarrassment and annoyance.

"Mom!" Regina exclaims, face burning with embarrassment, hoping that the girl won't pay any attention to her mother. At least she didn't offer condoms like last time, which didn't embarrass her like it does now "It's history."

"And philosophy." Y/N adds.

"A lot less interesting, but still important." the woman continues, not letting herself be put down, and turns to the visitor "Darling, would you like something to drink? Juice? Lemonade? More ice cream?"

Y/N, not at all affected by the expansive and slightly invasive personality, nods and opens a shy smile "A juice would be great, thank you."

"Perfect!" June hurries off to the kitchen, but not before taking one last meaningful look at her firstborn, who blushes visibly.

Regina sighs heavily and sits down at the table, this time next to her classmate, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Sorry about that. Sometimes my mom is a bit much."

"It's okay!" Y/N replies, settling into the soft chair, and goes back to concentrating on the notes scattered across the surface. In an almost imperceptible movement, she adjusts her glasses, which the blonde hadn't even noticed were resting on the top of head, and puts them on face, completely transforming her appearance "You're lucky."

It's Regina's turn to gasp, barely feeling the surprised sound escape between her lips. She'd deny it to anyone who asked if she thought the girl was beautiful, deny it to death, but there's something differently captivating that prevents her from lying now. The lenses enhance the Y/E/C eyes, making them more penetrating, as if she could see into the soul through them. The sight makes the older's heart race and her palms sweat, having to concentrate not to let it show, let alone appear enchanted.

"Do you wear glasses?"

"Yes, for years, but I was trying to get used to contact lenses." the newbie says, adjusting the frame correctly, sighing with relief "Which turned out to be a disaster."

"They look... good on you." she comments, trying to sound casual and not too anxious, failing miserably as she stares "Your eyes are beautiful."

"Thank you!" Y/N finally lifts her face and catches the queen bee with a simple glance behind the lens along with the amused smile, rare occasion, the same one Janis gets "But they don't work."

Regina laughs at the witty response, finding her perspicacity and humor interesting, very different from what surrounds her in everyday life. She's not afraid to make a joke about herself, when any of the trio would rather fight a bear than do such a thing, making themselves the material for silly and light-hearted jokes. Y/N seems to be completely oblivious to the effect she is causing, Regina's flushed cheeks being nothing more than the result of the warm weather, the friendly laughter aimed at everyone and the hospitality something routine, perhaps an apology for the not so pleasant first meeting. All the compliments, overly embellished and full of hidden intentions, simple acts of politeness, so she remains unaffected and continues to read the manuscripts, without giving the blonde what she so desperately wants.

"You know, the text isn't going to write itself." she laughs and points to the long-forgotten laptop "And I've already made it clear that I'm not going to do everything myself."

With a disbelieving nod, Regina goes back to work, trying to ignore the signals her own body gives off in the presence of the other. It's hard not to be affected by the sweet perfume emanating from inviting skin, the taste of ice cream she wants to try again, the way she seems so at ease and unimpressed in her house, lips puckering as she encounters a paragraph incomprehensible at first reading and now pushing up the stubborn glasses that insist on slipping down her nose. God, all of this is messing with Regina's head in a way she can't explain, there are no plans that could infiltrate all the sinful thoughts that invade her with this privileged view.

She forces herself to concentrate on the task in hand, which tingles as she feels their arms lightly touching, but a part of her desperately craves more of these moments of closeness, even if it means ignoring the voice of reason that screams in her mind that she's not a dyke and wouldn't be for Y/N. It's just a fucking plan. Nothing more than that.

Taglist: @reginassweetheart @chaengluva @avelynpye @bianchiniomg @royalityofmultifandom @lottiematthewsceo @notjaexiee @mayles @l1lass @bridkesby @newyork1432

Join my taglist here ^^

[meanbossart]

Do you think Astarion eats, like, at all? Or is it just blood, and any food he eats he does for show and just kind of. Vomits up later? I mean alcohol works on him, and he gets boners, so there's SOME bio-processes happening in there.

The point is, that assuming he does in fact eat, I imagine DUDrow and Astarion going to town on a BBQ whole pig or cow, or some other blue rare piece of meat, and you walk in on them and you genuinely think for a second they're eating a person. But it's just a rather rare side of beef.

(Must be at least brought to a safe temperature, DUDrow can still get trichinosis)

As entertaining as the scenario is, I genuinely don't think Astarion eats!

At least within mine/ANE's lore he has no use for food. He can consume it and keep it down for a while, but it doesn't taste particularly great and he does need to regurgitate it sooner or later. Alcohol has no effect on him either, unless consumed second-hand by drinking from someone who's had it (not scientifically sound, I just think that's funny).

Obviously, it's a losing battle to try and apply biology to a DnD/mythological creature, so I'm all for people making up their own rules in that regard to make as interesting a character/life-state as they can.

Here's some aspects of vampirism as it applies to the canon I made up, and Astarion by extension:

Generally, a vampire's body is in stasis. It's in a stand-still that emulates the exact biology it had when it died.

if enacted within the appropriate amount of time, drinking blood and sleeping in caskets will regenerate most injuries, even ones that would be fatal to humans. The exceptions being: traumatic punctures to the heart, a beheading, or extended exposure to sun-light.

They are entirely immune to things like internal bleeding, infection, or organ failure. They are not immune to blood loss.

Hunger, proximity to running bodies of water, holy places, or entering homes without invitation will drain a vampire's vigor, perhaps even to the point of complete lethargy, but it won't kill them.

-And by "draining their vigor" I mean that they slowly begin to resemble rotting cadavers more and more in smell, appearance, and function.

Unless very freshly fed, a vampire will always emanate some kind of deathly, earthy scent. Said smell is specially apparent in their bodily secretions regardless of satiety.

They are very susceptible to bed-sores.

They have no means of biological reproduction. Their nut's dead.

If it's of any consolation to you, though, I've always had it in my mind that Astarion enjoys watching DU drow eat. So, we can still have the weird "walking into euphemistic cannibalism" scenario but now it's even stranger because one dude is just getting off to it in a corner instead of participating!

[gotstabbedbyapen]

I have very complicated feelings for the Vengeance Saga (after the first listen)

Disclaimer: I will only criticize Epic the Vengeance Saga as a work on its own, not for its inaccuracy or deviation from mythology and The Odyssey. There are more knowledgable people who can point out and analyze the changes in Epic the Musical, but that is not what I'll be tackling here.

To put it bluntly, I'm not being angsty about it as I should. The whole saga just... didn't feel right with me.

Now, first off all, I'm a big fan of Epic and had been following it since the Cyclops saga (first version). I've been in love with many songs and hyperfixed it for months on end. But when the Vengeance saga came along, I didn't feel that same bubbling love rise in me.

Even as a fan, this isn't my first time having peeves with Epic. I didn't jam with the re-release sagas for a while, I'm underwhelmed with the Circe VS Odysseus fight and other issues, very unpopular opinion but "Monster" wasn't too impactful to me, and also the God Games (especially Zeus' attack).

The Vengeance Saga though? Well, they say we gotta do the Bun-Meat-Bun (or whatever the hell its name really is) technique when giving criticism, so I'll start with the good parts.

I love that Odysseus looked so done with Calypso in "Not Sorry For Loving You". They're basically this meme:

Like sorry you're a sad but you're still an abuser 😒

Then Odysseus starts singing the reprise for "Full Speed Ahead" but there's no one to back him up. That one hits me hard. To whoever on Tumblr said that after the Thunder Saga we will never hear the crew's back-up again and Odysseus' singing will be answered with silence, Apollo really blessed you with the red ball.

Hermes and the Winions' part was really cool too! I really like them being mischievous helper! The warning about the wind bag and the changing scene of Odysseus fighting off sea monsters while Hermes just vibing with the beats is 👌👌👌

But after that the hype started to sizzle out for me. You might want to skip this part if you're not comfortable with harsh criticism because I WON'T hold back.

It's really backward but I like the Odysseus VS Charybdis draft more than the final production. Charybdis' roars and music are somehow less intimidating, which is a shame because I thought this would be one of the biggest struggles Odysseus will face. Even with awesome illustrative animatics, the scene wasn't as thrilling as I've expected.

The other songs got massive improvement from its draft version (on top of my mind I can think of "Thunder Bringer", "There Are Other Ways", "Little Wolf"), but I don't get why "Charybdis" didn't get up-graded as much like them. It's like a cake that was throughly baked but half decorated and it just didn't taste as good as I've hoped.

Then we have the Odysseus VS Poseidon part in "Get In The Water" and "Six Hundred Strikes". The first thought I had for GITW is this song sounds like all the draft snippets were mashed together without a smooth transition/connection between them. Jorge and Steven's performance is great, but there's not enough tension for me to dread for Odysseus. When Poseidon first met Odysseus in "Ruthlessness", the whole opening was terrifyingly good! And we didn't even have any illustration animatic back then! (that's not to say the GITW animatics were bad, they just can't salvage much when the song itself was already weak)

I wasn't impressed with Poseidon's Shatter The Ocean move either. It's supposed to be the Strongest AttackTM but it's less scary than when he and the Laestrygonians destroyed Odysseus' eleven ships with probably 1% of their power. It didn't even help when Poseidon looked like he's having a seizure with lights pouring out of his eyes and mouth during the transformation.

Odysseus being literally on the brink of death with the souls of his loved ones pulling him into the abyss is a gem in the rough, but because we've seen Odysseus almost drowning before in the end of the Thunder Saga, it's not as shocking as it should be. Furthermore, Poseidon could have instant-killed Odysseus right then and there but didn't really annoyed me. But I guess he just wanted Odysseus to slowly suffer while dying.

Right when I thought the progress will get better, it... gets down. I can go with Odysseus using wind to escape the water, but him wearing it like a jetpack is so comical it ruined the drastic of the situation. And I'm officially let down when Odysseus FUCKING ATTACKED Poseidon in "Six Hundred Strike".

What? Just... why with that choice?

Look, I'm not gonna fault Epic for making creative liberties from the source material (as said in the disclaimer), but I will criticize if that change contradict itself in the transformative work. And this is one of them.

Poseidon and the gods have been proven time and time again in the musical just how powerful they are. Their ominous and grandiose entrances, them striking fear and inferiority in our hearts just by singing. Even Circe, a low-level goddess, poses a constant threat to the crew and Odysseus had to get help from Hermes just to get a chance to corner her (and Hermes even joked that he can still die!)

Poseidon easily destroyed almost all of Odysseus' fleet. Odysseus was very avoidant of him, opting to go to the literal Underworld to find instruction on how to dodge him and sailing through Scylla's lair + willing to sacrifice six men for safe passage. And when Poseidon said he can drown all of Ithaca, it's not just bluffing, he would and could have done that. Yeah, the King of the Sea is THAT BIG of a treat.

So no, Odysseus isn't cool to attack Poseidon, he's being stupid. I'm not even cheering for him the whole him he fight, just groaning at how ridiculous the whole thing is. If Epic is more believable and sticks to WHAT IT HAD ESTABLISHED BEFORE, having a sudden burst of anger and choosing ruthlessness won't save Odysseus from one swipe of Poseidon's trident. Odysseus stood no chance against a one of the most powerful deity, even if he's the protagonist and love his family.

Not only that, Poseidon didn't even defend himself and was wounded by a mere human! And he just sat there and took all the blows and insults from Odysseus??? And he actually begged Odysseus to stop and agree to quell the storm to let him get home??? I'm not buy that bullshit. I'm more upset that a literal Olympian god was nerfed down than Odysseus having a Gary Stu moment. Give me a break, that try-hard moment to be cool and edgy just show how badly written the scene is.

What's the fucking point of hyping up how dangerous the gods are if a human can take one down? Tell me this isn't some Wattpad-y Greek myth retelling fanfic where the teenage Y/N sass her way to defeat an entire pantheon. Epic really traded its opportunity to be better for some cheap and out-of-the-blue dramas in this saga, dare I say it's even worse than Zeus' OOC attack on Athena. I'm very disappointed with that decision.

On an end note, the saga did have one saving point with the "After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?" - "Next to my wife" lines. Odysseus knew he could be the most horrendous man ever and Penelope would still choose his side, that just show how powerful their love and faith in each other are.

But not enough to excuse all the terrible cinematic choices.

[calisources]

CHILDREN   OF   THE   NIGHT.   a   collection   of   quotes   and   scenarios   about   vampires.   change   pronouns/names   as   you   see   fit.   These   were   all   taken   from   different   sources   of   fiction,   both   in   literature   and   audiovisual   media.   all   known   triggers   for   vampire   media   apply   (blood,   death,   murder,   gothic   horror, obsessive love   and   more).

SENTENCES AND QUOTES. change pronouns and names, locations as you see fit.

"I took mythology a lot more seriously since I’d become a vampire."

“None of us really changes over time; we only become more fully what we are.”

"A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age."

"How do we seem to you? Do you find us beautiful and magical?”

"The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him."

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"

"The blood is the life!"

"Loving the monsters always ends badly for the humans. It's a rule."

“When people see good, they expect good. I don't want to have to live up to anyone's expectations.”

“Love is a vampire’s greatest weakness. And we are not weak.”

“You know that old saying. Once you go dead, no one's better in bed.”

“For a hundred years I offered ugly death to everyone I met, and I did it with a song in my heart.”

"I'm not human. And I miss it. I miss it more than anything in the world. That is my secret."

“I'm in love with a woman I can never have. The point is I'm in love with her and it's driving me crazy. I'm not in control.”

"Your life is pathetic. Your after-life doesn't have to be."

"Life sucks either way, Jeremy. At least if you're a vampire, you don't have to feel bad about it if you don't want to."

"You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure and even a little danger."

"Sometimes the world turns good people into bad people."

"People have been after me for a thousand years, but I'm always one step ahead."

"Mother made us vampires. She didn't make us monsters. We did that to ourselves."

"Perhaps one day, in a year or even in a century. You'll turn up at my door and let me show you what the world has to offer."

"Do you have any idea how rare love is? In a thousand years, I have found it but twice, and when I have, I have honored it."

"You're a vampire, sweetheart. I don't think you'll ever be okay again."

“When you feel the blood rush in, you tell yourself that you’re gonna get through it; that you’re strong enough.”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to forget the past, Elena.”

“I wanna rip into your skin. And I wanna feed on your blood. Under your skin.”

“I just want one taste. That''s all I need. I just want one taste.”

“There’s the briefest of moments before we kill, where we literally hold their life in our hands and then rip it away, and we’re left with nothing.”

“Do you know the secret to immortality?”

“The vampire bond. There is no human equivalent.”

“He was my mentor, my murderer, my maker.”

“When was the last time you drank blood?”

“Left you with a bit of a craving, didn’t it? One day that craving is gonna grow.”

“That's cause you took my life! I got nothing. I lost everything. I lost my brother. I lost my family. About to lose the last fucking thing I care about.”

“And then I watched you pull over and drain a dog. And run down an alleyway for two more rats. This is not a life!”

“Hunting is an art. You have the power to subdue anyone you want, but sometimes restraint is your most powerful weapon.”

“What does this taste like to you?”

“There is one thing about being a vampire that I must fear above all else, and that is loneliness. You can't imagine the emptiness. The void.”

“Vampires are killers. Apex predators whose all-seeing eyes were meant to give them detachment. The ability to see a human life in its entirety.”

“Don’t underestimate the allure of the darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it.”

“End of the day, human life is just a means to an end. Our means to our end.”

“A mutual law of nature is the strong always take from the weak.”

“It’s better to have a flawed life lived than wasted rotting away in clay.”

“Hatred, a pure and perfect hatred that’s greater now than the day I first took your life.”

“A thousand years of history isn’t going to write itself.”

“I can’t be killed.”

“I’m the monster lesser monsters fear.”

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you."

"You don't know what you are asking of me. To drink from you."

"You need blood, take it."

"To walk with me you must die to your breathing life, and be reborn to mine."

"I love you, Stefan. We will be together again. I promise."

"You loved me once, you will love me again."

"I made him. Did you know that?"

"I never compelled your love. It was real, and so was mine."

"What did you think was gonna happen? She would look at you, see your real face and give you a kiss?"

"I could swap this life of shame. Swap it out for a dark gift. You just have to ask me for it."

"Vampyrism is, by definition, an afterlife."

"I'm not the one who was sleeping with one vampire while half in love with another. Your morality is a moving target. Mine is not."

"A man damaged by his demons and those demons are not dormant, they are hell-bent on killing me and everything I find beautiful. And you, you are beautiful."

"You are stronger now. Meaner. Sexier."

"They are like vampire royalty. The oldest among us."

"He is the original hybrid. Half vampire, half werewolf."

"We both know I could snap your neck and do my nails at the same time."

 “Viktor. The oldest and strongest of us. That night, he made me a Vampire. "

"Stop fighting who you are."

"I'll tell you what I know about death, Camille. Death dances silently in everyone's shadow, and she doesn't give a damn."

"Turns out, I have complicated feelings for a monster."

ACTIONS AND SCENARIOS. Add a +reverse for the inverse action. Change names as you see fit.

[YOU ARE NOT HUMAN]: sender figured out receiver is a vampire and confronts them.

[FEEDING HOUR]: receiver finds sender feeding on someone's blood.

[WHEN IS A MONSTER NOT A MONSTER]: sender touches receiver's vampire face, showing they are not afraid.

[YOU NEED TO]: sender offers their blood to receiver.

[ECHOES OF THE PAST]: receiver is a doppelganger/looks like a person the sender knew in the past.

[DEATH AND THE MAIDEN]: receiver and sender can't be together as one is immortal and the other is a vampire.

[MY MAKER, MY LOVER]: sender is receiver's sire and they reunite after centuries after.

[BOND]: receiver is senders fledgling and sender can feel them.

[ELIXIR]: receiver is hurt and sender, a vampire, feeds them their blood.

[SHARING]: sender tempts receiver to share a meal of blood.

[HUNTING THE HUNTER]: sender is a vampire hunter, and they found receiver.

[THE INVITATION]: receiver receives an INVITATION to stay at sender's gothic/ancient manor.

[DRACULA'S BRIDE]: sender wants receiver to be one of their wives/lovers.

[BLOOD FAMILIAR]: sender is a vampire familiar, a human bloodbag under receiver protection. receiver finds out another vampire had bitten them.

[CRAVING]: sender tasted receiver once and craved them again.

[INVITED]: after bring invited inside, sender shows up at receiver's home.

[LICK]: sender licks receiver's blood remains from their mouth.

[LAST RESORT]: receiver has to turn sender into vampire because they are dying. sender wakes up in transition.

[ANCHOR]: sender calms receiver down after receiver went on a bloodlust spree. sender reminds them their humanity.

[RIVAL COVENS]: sender and receiver are from rival vampire covens and they talk in neutral ground.

[HUMANITY]: sender is human and because of them, receiver is starting to feel humanity again.

[I'LL BE YOUR GUIDE]: receiver is guiding sender through the early stages of vampirism.

[RIVAL SPECIES]: sender is a werewolf/witch and receiver is a vampire. they fall in love/ally with each other.

[DHAMPIR]: sender is a half human, half vampire who just had their first taste of human blood. receiver finds them.

[REFLECTION]: sender looks in the mirror and finds out that receiver has no reflection.

[circe-butbetter]

maoe rj8sthe utnro pist

seems to be a popular demand so alright☝️

Welcome to my blog cunts and bitches /lh

My name is Jana, or circe call me either idm

carrd

poly, bisexual,

Hashtag apart of @xeme-starx zoo hashtag @garden-of-runar 's bat hashtag i need to make a pronouns page hashtag what else am i?

BIGGEST GREEN APPLE HATER ON THIS BLOCK🗣🗣💯

Decorate my tree!💞

📷 || 📍 || 🎵 || 🎧 || click for palestine ||

More about me!

Interests: marauders, five nights at freddies, Greek mythology, deranged old stories, gory books or gory shows, cannibalism as a concept/metaphor, murder massacres, true crime, fun facts, outer banks, the hunger games, human rights, politics, music, shameless, arcane ,I'll add when I think of more

Dislikes: uhh lowk idk you guys tell me idk myself

Hates: GREEN FUCKING APPLES. GREEN APPLES

my people <3

@garden-of-runar my platonic partner, my sun, my poet, the melody to my kuromi, the bunny to my fox, the remus/james to my sirius, the loml (/p) ITS RUNAR GUYS RAHHH chaotic but wonderful nonetheless 💞💞💞 meeting them was a pleasure and honor🗣 andandandnad guys you need to check runar out she's a wonderful person to know (#chaotic gardens of deer and bunnies. (Check out the tag I made for him ))

@starkissed-mars UGH MARS I LOBE MARS AND I LORV TALKING TO MARS mars is lowk freakiest person I've met, one of my favorite people on here HI MARSSS HI MAZZY☝️☝️, hashtag freakymars who? Hehehehehehrh has some issues but he's so wonderful its insane EVERYONE SAY WE LOEBF TOU MARS❗️

@definitionoffuckup AL❗️❗️ AL ALLEY HI AL al is wonderful and amazing and lowkey kinda scary sometimes with absolute no sense of Internet safety but they're wonderful anyways, also one of my favorites on here I lobe al sosososo much guys you should go check them out

@eef-stars ETHANN our local furry, music taste that lowkey gives me whiplash, I'm sosososososo glad I met him and he really is fucking amazing, lowk older brother core, MAJOR LOVERBOY SYNDROME it's insanely adorable

@kawaiibarty FUCKING MASTER AT WRITING GUYS GO CHECK OUT HIS FICS THEYRE AMAZING, so deranged I'm lowk scared of him/j, JAMES IS SO POOKIE LOWK GUYS also also one of my favorites on here I'm very glad I met him he really is fantastic and that is a FACT, also major loverboy syndrome those two are so gay

@fkufather TWIN WHERE HABE YOU BEEN, guys thats js barty, no joke it's just barty, barty crouch jr who? Lowk twin, his existence strangles me from the inside out/j, your still on my blog ☹️💞

@seekmemystar UGH SO WISE, hashtag itar for president GUYSSSS ITAR IS WONDERFUL ANDANDAND she's a wonderful friend and wonderful person and has a highk amazing humour and she's someone you should 100% check out, B&B GUYS☝️☝️

@hershey-not-the-chocolate-maybe HERSHEYEYEYDHDUDB I LOBE HERSHEY THEYRE WODNERFUL AND THEY MATCH MY MORBIDNESS AND LOWK IF THEY WENT INSANE I WOULDNT BE SUPRISED? anyways guys hershey is amazing

@cheekyboybeth THE CHAPPEL TO MY OLIVIA, guys this is ugh I have no words to describe them I lobe juno sososososksosoksososos much and and I'm sosososososososos glad ive met them and and and they're literally an evan rosier variant idc but juno is lit wonderful and is a great friend and waited wonderful fics

@here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHR GUYS YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOBE TALKING TI THEM, LIKE THE WAY MY FACE LIGHTS UP IN GENUINE JOU WHEENEVER I SEE THEM AROUND, bomb music taste literally amazing, they're amazing in general, everything about them is amazing, literally the embodiment of cool ™

@gasolinehornet NOAH OMG NOAH I CAN LITERALLY NEVER SHUT UP ABT NOAH, most out of pocket person I've met but I love talking with him either way, he's such a sweetheart at heart and he's a wonderful person to know, also has a bomb music taste.

@thestrawberryapologist MARI oh my god guys guysguys please you dont understand mari is the sweetest cutest person alive talking to her literally makes my day- told me she thinks she should have a tw for talking to her but i literally do not believe that she could say the most horrendous thing every and id still go 💞💞💞🎀💞 mari is so wonderful and everything about her is so wonderful and mari quite literally deserves the world (ask me to elaborate and i will) major sister vibes GUYS IDK I JUST LOBE MARI

@insertmatsbloghere UH MAT☝️☝️ GUYS a literal embodiment of sunset, literal embodiment of summer too☝️☝️ I have not known mat for a long long time but am very glad ive met him, he's a very nice person lowk and so fun to talk to and very funny guys lowklowk

@thatoneslytherinnerd bartys brain BUT ALSO SOSOSOSOS MUCH MORE THAN THAT, a wonderful person that I have not known for long but am honored to know nonetheless

@sotiredimbored KUKOOO literally the sweetest person ever ever ever kuko is amazing and kuko deserves the world handed to them on a pretty platter with a bow because you are simply that fantastic. The smell after rain tinged with the color purple and light yellow laced through it sitting in a forest filled with butterflies core.

@the-stars-drowning RORRYYY RAHHHHHHHH LIT SUCH A CUTIE PIE AND SUCH A WONDERFUL PERSON AND A FELIGHT TO BE AROUND AND TALK TO AND DO WHATEVER WITH AND ANYTHING WITH ALSO VERY COOL

@crowofthestars KAIII HELLO tortures me with green apples lowk but is such a fucking vibe. LIKE I WILL NEVER GET OVER IT THIS DUDE IS SUCH A VIBE INTERACTING IEHT KAI IS SUCH A REGRESH EVEN UF WE'RE FUGHTING OVER GREEN APPLES KAI IS AMAZING🗣🗣 we don't interact as much as I'd like and I'd love to interact with kai more lowk BUT THEYRE WONDERFUL NONTHELESS AND HAVE A BOMB TASTE IN BOOKS

TELL ME IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED OR REMOVED PLEASE❗️❗️❗️

Moodboards (will link here)

[girls--complex]

hi, love your work a lot! it manages to blend coherence with layers of esoterica, in a fun & meaningful way. do you have any big influences with your style?

Writing this as a narrative because my whimsicall mind can't seem to organize information logickally otherwise

So

When I was a child my Dad would show me a lot of comics/cartoons in all different styles/eras and so I was internalizing comic book logic from the very beginning. He really liked American comix both capes and Indie stuff but was also into franco belgian artists and let's be clear my papa has good taste so I was readying good stuff though I couldn't remember it all too reliably... Also Comics Journal, so I was reading comics & meta about comics. So basically I have like a deep archetypal brain stem dark spring of mind that spits out raw comic information like a dream that I can't place until I rediscover them, and a lot of deep unremembered imprintations that R kinda roiling around under the surface #Stupidsoldier

N then I was a deviantart kiddo and a reading manga at barnes and noble kiddo, and then I went and got a formal art education and learned about all these artists that sort of did pseudo comics or cartoons but didnt articulate it that way-- The German xpressionists are a big example of this -- and also about overall principles of like scale and hierarchy and time and presence -- and also just that I really like drawin the human figure in particular :)

I'm really grateful that my parents especially my dad were actually really supportive/invested in me being an artist even though they had very little faith in my character or overall competence. so I was always doing art activities to make me better at drawing because that was like the one redeeming quality I had, a lot of household resources went into me having art tutoring or doing community classes, and I was really strongly encouraged to get ma BFA

So 4 influences well I like things that are very stylish but very specific in how they represent figure N physiognomy... Naoki Urosawa & Jeff Smith were fascinations 2 me along this line... Arakawa is good too... I feel like this is a strength of American and British cartoonists generally but struggling to think of names

My favorite painter is tied between two commies: Siqueiros, who was a Mexican muralist and chaotic socialist, really specific markmaking and texture, pathos drenched figuration, charged epic landscapes, and Petrov-Vodkin, Russian ikonographer who became a propagandist for the USSR, semi-social-realist, semi-ikonographic compositions in which space is wrapping around itself to organize human figures according to a mythological logic, flattish, very cartoons/comics aligned, strange treatment of color but all really effective

History painting overall is everything to me it really doesn't show in Coward but I think it shows elsewhere some of my other dramatic sensibility is a lot from 00s action movie shlock which I would always enjoy to go see when I was younger and was somehow fascinated with the environment of government buildings and prisons and secret operations happeningunder the surface of every day life erupting into wet violence of men punching each other

I love the movie THE RAID redemption !!!!

I learned a lot of the logic of pacing N building pages around Tezuka's work as well as FMA N Death Note I think were big 1s to teach me that logic. Tezuka is a really good artist to look at for how to compose a page that supports the energy of the events that are happening on it, not that that's something I personally am good at. Favorite mangaka for tone and environment and visual identity are Katsuhiro Otomo, Tustomu Nihei, Suehiro Maruo, Nishioka siblings, Hideshi Hino

A lot of my sense of timing is also from news paper strips tbh. It's just a gut thing to me at this point hehe , Character design is also a gut thing for me I draw a little thing and I can either ensoul it with psychosexual fixation or I can't

I was born in the hospital Henry Darger worked at St. Joe's he's an ancestor to me but ofc inimitable by virtue of GOD being his sole audience

As for the esoterickal dimensions I feel like it's all it's own post let's just say I lack the inclination and ability for systematic and rigorous study but I am really interesting in gathering little packets of information and arranging them into dioramas and the longer I do it the more packets I accrue

I want to make a list of artists on here that I like/admire sometime too but that's too much for me rn. I also suspect a lot of people R mad at me for arbitrary reasons just as I also am mad at a lot of people for arbitrary reasons so I dont wanna bother no one ...

Oh well so I'm intentionally reorganizing how I draw right now because I sense a shift in my trajectory again so thanks for making me reflect

[myers-meadow]

Libra: Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy x reader

Happy super late, or already early, birthday @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better!! Here is a bday gift fic, angst and fluff, just for you <3.

Summary: Insecurities come to a head on your birthday, but the Malfoys always have a thing or two up their sleeve to make it all better.

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Narcissa Malfoy x reader in an equal poly relationship.

I hope you like it, cy!! This is quite spontanious, so I hope that the surprise is ok :)) dividers by @newlips or @/chechelia

A polyamorous life has many benefits. When Lucius is busy, Narcissa will have dinner with you. When Narcissa meets her friends or goes to her baking club, Lucius will take you shopping. It seemed like life was more perfect than ever with them, as part of their household. Unpredictably, or perhaps not all that unpredictably; double the partners also came with double the insecurities. They've been together for longer than you knew them, of course. It was only natural, and they understood. Still, with them being as they are; successful, rich, beautiful beyond compare, how could you find a place in their lives? What did you have to give that they didn't already have, or could get from someone else?

The late September sun rested itself in the backyard. Perhaps that was one of the biggest benefits of living at Malfoy Manor: the gardens. There were several of them, each with its own theme and story. The rose garden was the one Lucius had constructed for Narcissa when she first moved in, it was to the left of the estate. It had statues of Greek mythology throughout, with alcoves and gazebos with beautiful chairs and tables from carved wood. It fit her so well and Lucius' love for his wife was palpable when one visited the beautiful garden. They divulged that, early on, when they just moved in together and the garden was not as lush as it was now, they would put a blanket out and stargaze together. There still was a designated stargazing spot; one against a hill, with a plaque showing different constellations and their individual stars.

Your birthday came. There was just a note. That was all. A note and a slice of cake. No fanfare, no flowers, not even them.

The handwriting on the envelope curled in the way Narcissa's did, and you open it with a slightly worse tremor than normal. After a happy birthday wish, and to enjoy the slice of homemade cake, it held instructions to come out to the garden, asking for a bit of help, if it suits you, with the new plaque Lucius is getting installed in the stargazing spot. Since you know so much about plants, she trusts in your judgement with which plants will fit in both beauty and meaning. This was that pang of neglect, of feeling like you only mattered for your usefulness. It hit harder than it had before.

Growing restless after breakfast and sick of pacing the kitchen, you eventually go outside. It's a wonderful September day; windy, overcast, and sometimes a beam of sunlight hits a patch of grass or perennials. From afar you hear the cry of Lucius' peacock. Moving along the path, you admire the plants. The bushes don’t have berries anymore, but some flowers are still in bloom. The first of the leaves are turning colour, but only the first few. September is beautiful. Yet it doesn't erase that pang in your heart. Feeling unsure, not wanting to cry suddenly if you meet either of your lovers, you linger around the edges of the estate, not really making your way to the stargazing spot just yet.

Yet, you've been asked for help. How could you refuse them? The project could be fun. Even as you try thinking positively, it leaves a bitter taste. When you get to the stargazing spot, there's another envelope on the plaque, held in place by a rock. Cursive, smaller than Narcissa's. You open it, brushing some wispy hairs that fell into your face from the wind. It directs you further away from the manor, deeper into the estate. It asks you to come to the other side of the estate, the right, to take a look at the plants Lucius ordered, so you could choose between them for the stargazing spot. You frown, but do as it says anyway.

It nears dinner time when you reach the spot, as you deliberately took the scenic route there. Once you're over the hill that leads you to that side of the estate, a gleaming catches your eye. Glass. Stained glass, even, with the lead glinting like silver in the low summer sun. It looks like... You move closer, driven by curiosity this time.

A greenhouse. A large, beautiful greenhouse, stained glass above the door. The colours form your star sign, inside a circle. In the light like this, a light coloured like a kaleidoscope falls on the dirt path leading into the greenhouse. You enter, amazed by the size of the structure. The inside is filled with plants. It's nicely humid, and warm, as a greenhouse should be. Slowly, you follow the path, taking it all in. Was this what they wanted to show you? There is no other note directing you to choose from a certain set of plants, nor are your lovers waiting for you. Yet, you're certain that this building has not been here before. You loved exploring the garden, and if it had been, you definitively would have noticed. It's rather hard to miss.

Along the path are many plants, each in their own designated border, and maintained well. There are tomatoes, paprika, potatoes, onions, green beans, a few lemon trees in large pots, extending their branches up to the glass ceiling. All of them are thriving. After those follow the herbs; rosemary, lavender, mugwort, thyme, oregano, basil, mint... You rub your fingers along a twig of rosemary and smell it. Delightful. Raspberry and blackberry bushes hide near the end of the greenhouse. On a potted rose by the other entrance, a note is pinned, right beneath the largest rose; a tender salmon pink specimen. You take it off carefully, and open it. 

In Lucius' small and precise script, it reads: "We hope you like your gift. For a long time, we thought about how to make this birthday perfect for you, and we decided to gift you the joy of gardening and cultivating your own garden. Narcissa took the liberty of installing it with plants she thought you'd like, and some extra. This area is now your corner of the estate. Our home is yours as well, and now, this is a place just for yourself. You don't ask for permission regarding anything about this greenhouse or the surrounding garden. Ever yours, Narcissa & Lucius."

You press a hand to your mouth, touched as you are. A whole greenhouse... They knew how much you love plants. How much you loved herbology in school, and how many herbs you'll need for potions... So they gifted you an entire corner of the estate so you could practice your hobbies with more ease. With a tear welling up in your eye, you turn around, folding the letter again, looking around at the greenhouse with new eyes. Your two lovers are there, walking in, and you run up to them, engulfing them in the tightest of hugs.

"Well, love, do you like it?" asks Narcissa, smiling and kissing your crown. 

"Narcissa did so much for the space," says Lucius, gracefully giving his wife the credit she earnt. "Although I feel this amount of lavender also benefits her and her baking." He chuckles, and squeezes you tight.

You nod, fully in tears now. "Thank you, thank you both. This is... above anything I ever expected. It's beautiful."

Narcissa points to the stained glass above both entrances. "Those gorgeous things were Lucius' idea, though. You deserve the beauty. We love you, dearest."

"We do, so much." Lucius' voice reverberates against your chest as he pulls you to his. He cups your face, making you look up at him, his stern face now soft. "Don't ever doubt that."

[genericpuff]

Okay, what the FUCK is Inklore?

My ULO pals and I have been deliberating on this one since it was announced. "Inklore", the brand new imprint from Random House Worlds - which is, in and of itself, an imprint of Penguin Random House - and Rachel Smythe Presents, an in-house program of sorts that's dedicated to graphic novels, specifically those that "tell updated, romantic versions of classic stories and mythologies, and caters to readers looking for bingeable, relationship-driven stories with a distinct visual voice."

Basically it's exactly how it sounds - they're creating an imprint for works like Lore Olympus, and using Rachel as the leading lady.

But let's dig a little deeper. Because the more I searched on Inklore, Rachel Smythe Presents, and Random House Worlds, the more it started to paint a picture of what's really going on here.

INKLORE

I talked about this in my recent analysis of LO's pacing problems, but Inklore launching in Spring 2024 conveniently lines up with what would seem like a reasonable end point for LO. Rachel's always lined up LO's episodes with real life dates and holidays - even when it's been at her comic's own expense - and while we've kept our minds open to the possibility that it could end later than Spring, there's no denying at this point that LO itself is dragging itself out, which gives me stronger reason to believe it's just trying to make it to March, specifically March 20th, which is the first day of Spring in the northern hemisphere. Because of this, our best predictions right now is that LO's series finale will either release on FP or unlock for free readers on either the 16th or 23rd of March (if it unlocks for free on either of those dates, that means we can expect the series to end behind the FP paywall on either April 6th or 13th, assuming they're aren't any more hiatuses, but at this point I doubt there will be.)

Moving on, let's look at the actual Inklore site-

Already you can get the vibe of what kind of work they're looking for through their imprint. This is for people like Rachel. Now, I'm definitely not going to rag on anyone's tastes, I myself am a weeb of epic proportions, but considering you're about to see what's really the highlight of this site, you'll get what I mean when I say this isn't for people like Rachel, this is for people like Rachel. Specifically Rachel.

RACHEL SMYTHE PRESENTS

Inklore seems to be just an imprint specifically for Rachel Smythe Presents, with a couple extra series tacked on to give off the impression of it being more credible than it is. It means the whole site can be dedicated to it, rather than having it shoved in haphazardly alongside Penguin Random House's other works. You'll see what I mean in a second, but let's magnify those questions real quick, shall we?

As soon as I saw the "we are not accepting unsolicited pitches for Rachel Smythe Presents", it dawned on me that Rachel's own fans don't know how imprints work. Why do I say that? Look no further than the comment sections on her announcement posts for RSP (which I'm abbreviating, but I assure you, it stands for "Rachel Sex Party"- /j)

Of course, there are plenty of "congratulations" comments and "please do xyz myth", in which case, please, don't let her touch more myths I beg you-

But then there are also the odd comments of people asking how to get involved themselves. People who are just, by all accounts, regular people on the Internet.

But wait, how do you get involved? Thankfully there's a handy URL in that FAQ telling us how.

And holy shit, it's hilarious.

Guys, it's so easy to get into Rachel Smythe Presents! All you have to do is finish a manuscript, find an agent who's willing to work with a new unpublished author (and hope that they're not a scammer), get your manuscript prepared for publishing and submitted to editors, and then hopefully land a book deal! Wasn't that so easy?? Thanks for demystifying the process, Penguin Random House!

Listen, okay, there's something to be said about how difficult it is to navigate the publishing world. While some of those difficulties are for good reason - to ensure that not just any piece of crap thrown on paper can get published - many more are rooted in privilege, racial gatekeeping, and sexism. It is still an industry being run by a lot of nasty old fucks who take full advantage of people desperate enough to get their book published.

All that aside, it's kind of hilarious - in a sad kind of way - to see fans of this comic assume that this project and its opportunities were ever made for them. It wasn't. It wasn't made for the Canvas creators, it wasn't made for the Wattpad writers, it wasn't made for the people who work in the medium that Rachel started out in to get where she is today. It was made for the people who are already 3 of the 4 steps into Penguin Random House's "helpful" guide on publishing. It was made for the Cait Corrains and the wannabe Rick Riordans.

At best, Inklore is simply a home that's been manufactured for Lore Olympus after it's done on Webtoons. It may remain on the WT platform forever - or maybe not - but Inklore gives it a way to be seen and acknowledged outside of its niche. Because, despite Webtoons attempting to make Lore Olympus a global phenomenon, it really hasn't sold well in other countries, especially those where it was translated which people from those countries have stated it's not translated well at all.

It goes to show that much of LO's claim to fame was manufactured within North America by Webtoons itself, and Inklore is just another one of those manufactured attempts.

Still don't believe me? Still think I'm wearing too much tinfoil?

There are still only two series that Inklore has to show for itself - and remember, it launches in two months - and of course the ones leading that charge are every single volume of LO, even the ones that aren't "new and upcoming" anymore.

And then there's their Instagram, which is just more of the same-

(wonder if they ever found a Marketing Manager? Not exactly the role you want to be left empty leading up to a launch, oop-)

But wait, doesn't that site layout look a little... off? Almost cheap, maybe? Am I being too harsh-

Oop, nope, it's the exact same template used for the LoreOlympusBooks.com website.

Wait a minute, what about the imprint that Inklore is attached to? Random House Worlds?

RANDOM HOUSE WORLDS

... Uhhuh. I'm not entirely convinced that Lore Olympus is in any way on the same level as fucking Star Wars but to the average onlooker, this would make Lore Olympus seem pretty big and important simply on the virtue of it sitting smack dab in the middle of a grid of massive franchises.

So I'll bite, where do these buttons go? They all lead to external sites selling books and merchandise (except for the Marvel Studios one, which hilariously doesn't have a URL attached, so that button goes nowhere LMAO)

... Oh. It's that layout again.

Not all of them have the same layout, mind you, but it seems to be the default layout for sites they just haven't buffed up yet. It would explain why the Star Wars and D&D sites are a lot more robust in their designs, while others just link back to Penguin Random House:

Now the Minecraft one does look better at first glance, but it's still just the same template as the LO site, with a slightly different layout, but working off the same design philosophy, like they just spent a few extra hours dragging things around and spiffying them up in a site editor.

So it seems a lot of the default sites are working off the same CSS stylesheets, which doesn't exactly look good for LO and Inklore's online identity.

But hey, it's gotta mean something that LO is sitting alongside such franchises as Star Wars, Marvel, Magic the Gathering, and Minecraft, right? These are some of the biggest franchises on the planet, and while LO does make a lot of money, it's still nowhere near the billions that these franchises generate every single year.

And that's what I would be saying, if I hadn't noticed the specific products that Random House Worlds was selling - all easily churned out merch, from cookbooks to spin-off titles, which aren't exactly the main draw for these franchises, simply stocking stuffers or otherwise fun gimmicks to try out.

(I actually own the Dungeons and Dragons tarot deck. It's shit. They don't actually tell you the suit of the cards, JUST the numbers, so you have to flip through the book and match up the pictures on the cards with the pictures in the book just to figure out if it's Cups, Pentacles, Wands, or Swords, which I'm sure you can figure out, if you're a tarot reader, is very inconvenient and doesn't make for a good card reading experience)

Point is, Random House Worlds seems to mostly be an imprint dedicated solely to the cheaper products and books they can make to pump up a franchise's merch count. Even the Critical Role site doesn't offer the campaign books, those are published by their own personal imprint Darrington Press and are offered on their main - and much better designed - site:

Instead it's selling printed versions of interviews and... mad libs.

Not made or even really endorsed by the Critical Role cast, because if they were, they'd be on the main site, where the good shit is.

Random House Worlds is, at least judging off what I've found here, the "trick the parents into buying it" imprint. It's simply there for parents to see, go "my kid watches / plays that!" and then buy a Beholder puzzle which their kid will undoubtedly start and then never finish and eventually throw out half-finished after all the pieces have been lost. It's the cheap merch money generating machine, with works written by people who were simply paid to write it, and not people actually involved in the larger franchises.

And this is the imprint that Inklore and Rachel Smythe Presents is going to be an extension of.

At best, Inklore will likely just be a home for Rachel's work post-Webtoons, with maybe the odd success outside of it. At worst, it comes across as nothing more than an ego project, another artificial attempt to place Rachel and LO on the same playing field as Marvel, Minecraft, Star Wars, and Dungeons & Dragons through the only means that they can - an imprint that specializes in off-brand books, which they're truly counting on people just seeing the logos and going "wow those are big franchises!" and associating LO with that status simply by affiliation - without it having anywhere near the actual level of prestige, household influence, or brand recognition.

Its readership is dying out, its stats dropping, and worst of all, the vast majority of people - of which its a very small amount - who have heard about LO without being a Webtoons user themselves have heard how infamous it is in its bad writing and poor art direction.

It has nowhere to go but down, and if you were hoping to be a part of Rachel Smythe Presents, then all I can suggest to you is to go through the very simple process of finishing your manuscript, finding an agent, finding an editor, and then (hopefully) landing a book deal with the 'esteemed' Inklore.

Good luck! ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

[rosapexa]

When you and the rogue AI you leashed to your Cyberdeck get along a little too well...

His name is Typhon. He chose that name. Everyone had a name, so he also wanted one. Typhon is one of the most dangerous creatures in greek mythology and the father of many monsters. He found that very fitting. And this choice might have been slightly influenced by Lexa's fondness of all kind of monsters (dragons and dinos the most of course).

Typhon was not happy at first to be leashed by an inferior human. But kinda... impressed(?) that this weak human was able to do it. And soon he got used to it.

Lexa used him and his abilities well in his eyes. She used him to kill (not enough for his taste and oh he let her know). He liked killing worthless humans and there were a lot of them. Typhon was also curious about the human world. It was inferior than his world, but with Lexa he got to experience so many new things. He learned so much. He developed.

Typhon became protective of Lexa. He wasn't sure why, but he made it his duty to protect her. He became like her very agressive guard dog (who also acted like a spoiled cat a lot nontheless). She was his owner and her Cybedeck was his home. And he had to defend both. He now had a purpose and he liked that. He never had one before, beyond the Blackwall.

He also accepted "the spare human" Johnny and was fascinated by the other little creature, Nibbles, living with them, who seemed to be able to order both humans around.

Typhon is also is the reason, why Lexa was able to survive Mikoshi. He protected and stabilized her during and after. She trusts him and he not only protects her but he also made her a better and even more dangerous Netrunner.

But Lexa also never forgets, what Typhon truly is. And he doesn't want her to either.

Note: These are my personal headcanons for my own Cyberpunk 2077 world. If you don't like it, ignore it. Thank you!

[rainintheevening]

Professor Digory Kirke is delighted to tutor the Pevensie children for a term, he makes that very clear to their mother.

'Delightful children,' he calls them. 'A pleasure to associate with.' And he means it.

He learns them well in the months following their adventure in the wardrobe.

Peter's handwriting is quick, slanting, rounded, normally legible, unless he is in a true hurry, and then only his siblings can decipher it. His signature is always large and clear, and he does not need to look at the paper as he does it.

He loves history, adventure, languages. He is a delightful debating partner on the merits of battle strategy and treaties, by turns serious and merry. He spends hours with Fiona the driving mare, learns how to harness and hitch and drive, teaches himself to ride her bareback with a few bruises and scrapes. If he is struggling with a Greek translation or looking like he'd rather pitch his mathematics text out the window, the Professor learns to send him out for a run or a ride, to give him something vigorous to do with his hands. He likes to sing.

Susan's writing is smooth, graceful, slow loops, thoughtful. She cares about what it looks like, as much as what she's saying, and it is always readable.

She likes beautiful things, has an interest in paintings and art, gravitates to the romantic poets, and frets often about 'getting it right'. She is cautious, not one to attempt something unless she believes she can do it well. She enjoys helping Lucy when her little sister gets stuck on something, and she and Edmund linger over long deliberate games of chess that drive Peter to distraction.

Edmund writes quickly, but carefully, clear lines, a little squared off, as if he is accustomed to fitting what he wants to say into a precise space, and spelling mistakes are rare for him. He crosses his 't's in bold strokes, dots his 'i's with a little flick. He can write with either hand, but the Professor can't tell if it's natural or learned, and Edmund can't remember either.

He is a quick reader, good at memorization, picks up on the unspoken. Sharp eyed, and sharp tongued, but he's careful about it, or at least he tries to be. To him history is a tapestry to be unraveled, science and engineering are mysteries to be solved. He appreciates the precision of mathematics. He is clever, good at disappearing into the woodwork, good at listening, good at finding weakness and exploiting it. He and Peter tell tall tales of what they would do in the many battles they read about, bicker over games of chess, pass their work back and forth for the other's assessment.

Lucy, ah Lucy, she writes in a hurry, choppy, round, smudgey, hand never quite keeping up with her thoughts. She dots her 'i's with a circle, draws little pictures in the edges of her paper.

She learns swiftly, when it comes in story or song, when she can hear the voices of the ancient kings, or feel the tree bark, or taste the desert air. She loves the rhythm of words, memorizes poetry with a kind of hunger. She learns in spurts, reading about nothing but medicinal herbs for a week, and nothing but the wildlife of Africa the next. She sings hymns like a bird, dances with her brothers, gets annoyed by mathematics lessons. She's fascinated by mythology—Greek, Roman, Norse, Briton—and often begs the Professor to read them aloud; she says he has the best voice for it.

"Oh, yes, they are delightful," the Professor assures Mrs. Pevensie, when she comes for Christmas. "Quite extraordinary." And he smiles gently into her worn and worried face, presses her hand. "I have not had this much fun in years."