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normal-thoughts-official · 5 months ago

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It's actually insane how brave Wyll is when it comes to Mizora. Not only by not killing Karlach but also all the small ways he defies her - calling her an asshole, saying she's full of shit, even when Mizora is literally choking him he's still telling her that she's a liar. Whenever she shows up it's pretty much guaranteed that she will have to threaten him with lemurehood because he simply refuses to play nice. Even if it accomplishes absolutely nothing and in fact is actively dangerous to sass her

And like. Of course this ties in with how Wyll has pretty much nonexistent self preservation skills and a sense of moral fortitude so strong he can't even pretend to not be hostile towards her. But i also think it ties with Mizora's obsession with him

Because while we all know Mizora is evil and annoying on principle and all that shit, she seems to be particularly interested in tormenting Wyll. I have to assume shit like putting a tracker on him and showing up randomly just to spite him and staying in camp just to be annoying even after the contract is over are Wyll specials, because if she did this to every single one of her warlocks then she would have time for nothing the fuck else. And we know from Karlach that she's generally more worried about sucking Zariel's toes, so

(Also, I've been told that in early access she was like... Straight up jealous if you romanced Wyll, so, again. Obsessed with him in particular)

I always got the impression that she was so evil and annoying to him because she was overcompensating. Mizora is a cambion, which means she's half human, which means that in Hell's hierarchy she is fucking trash. Even the official cambion lore states that they are often rejected in both realms and struggle to earn one of their parents' approval. And it's obvious that in Mizora's case she's aiming to be accepted in the Hells.

I've seen some people claim that Mizora is too cartoonishly evil, and while that is objectively true... I think it works precisely because it's so cartoonish. I'm thinking particularly of how she describes her home in the Hells being all "oh, how I adore it, the delicious agony of it all". It's so over the top it's eyeroll worthy. I don't think Zariel herself would be Like This about it

In other words: Mizora is a tryhard

And Karlach even implies that Mizora resented her because she was Zariel's favorite, which is why I think Mizora's tryhardness was intentional as opposed to just a lazily written villain. She wants to fit in the Hells so bad it makes her look stupid. And she never will, because no matter how over the top she is about being Generically Evil, she is simply not that powerful or important.

So she overcompensates, and then she uses Wyll as her punching bag. If her own superiors will always see her as vermin, then at least she can cope with that by treating others that way as well.

But like I said, she will have no time left to suck Zariel's toes if she spends all her time tormenting every single warlock under her patronage, so the question is: why Wyll?

Obviously his unwavering goodness is the biggest reason. His soul is already damned and yet he refuses to be selfish with the time he has left on the material plane. Mizora can own him, but she can't corrupt him, and that makes her hate him. The fact that even despite her best efforts he is still recognized and beloved as a hero has got to sting too, considering she tries so fucking hard to be the Evilest Cashier In Hell or whatever. And the fact that he still manages to belong in his world (however isolated and lonely he obviously is) despite his connection to hers and she can't belong in her world because of her connection to his... Well, jealousy is to be expected.

But I think his refusal to play nice with her also plays a big role.

There's the obvious "this makes her resent him even more" factor; if Mizora wants to feel superior, it must piss her off to no end that Wyll refuses to bow to her, even if he does her bidding.

But, paradoxically, this also makes her feel more powerful.

Because at the end of the day, she does own Wyll's soul, and he does have to do her bidding, even if he doesn't go quietly. And the fact that he hates her so openly makes it all the more satisfying to have him do what she wants anyway. In Wyll's words, "the more bullshit she pulls, the more [he's] forced to swallow". His hatred for her is exactly why she wants him so bad, even though she obviously hates him just as much.

And so this is why she's so desperate to get Wyll's soul back, and why, even if he breaks the pact, she still makes it a point to stay in camp just to fucking spite him. Because Wyll is the only warlock that actually makes her feel appropriately Powerful and Evil, if we assume that her other warlocks are simply not as good aligned as Good Alignment Georg or even just don't want the trouble of spiting her for no reason. She can be obeyed and tolerated and maybe even revered by the other warlocks, but only Wyll can make her feel like an absolute, inescapable power. Because the other warlocks choose to obey her. Wyll makes it clear that he has to, and thus, she feels like she is mighty.

And obviously I know that the whole "person who has it all is obsessed with the one person who doesn't obey them" trope is a well known cliche, but I think Mizora and Wyll's dynamic is unique in that Mizora doesn't actually want to make Wyll bow to her and respect her as an authority; she wants him to fight back so she can feel like she's winning.

(And, of course, because Mizora doesn't actually have it all; she's just a petty errand girl who wants to feel special)

So, yeah. Wyll's incredible bravery in constantly defying her is exactly why she is so eager to keep him

#maybe all of this is obvious and again i know this isn't exactly a groundbreaking new dynamic but i do think it combines several elements #of dynamics that don't usually go together #if that makes sense #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #mizora #mizora bg3 #meta #overflowing trashcan

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yurozo · 2 months ago

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the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time.

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass.

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes.

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression.

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say.

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back.

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again.

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people.

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms.

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far.

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis.

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him.

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation.

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down.

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands.

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash.

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it.

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too.

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips.

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance.

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes.

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping.

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return.

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control.

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart.

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet.

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die.

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us.

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment.

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him.

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind.

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours.

it’s like falling down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it.

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved.

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else.

“love you too, old man.”

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too.

#top academic of the police academy would absolutely go on random academic tangents and no one can fight me on that #thank you vaaaaaiolet for listening to the nonstop writing process #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy/reader #resident evil imagines #ali writes #leon kennedy smut

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didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback · 18 days ago

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Jana també!

https://x.com/MenendezFaya/status/1853449298370847085?t=JQkaAjVxZ5ABQKhQozIeTg&s=19

yes jana! alexia and aitana have also donated to this initiative and here's alexia's message.

"hello everyone. i'm alexia putellas. and i'm putting my grain of sand into this initiative to raise funds for all the people who have lost everything in valència and for all those families who are affected by the dana. i am going to donate my boots, my barça shirt, and my selection shirt. thanks."

bona tarda, anon....però què? quina impotència! quina vergonya! no haver suspès les activitats avui és un acte d'irresponsabilitat. la universitat hauria de saber-ho millor. el nostre govern i els nostres líders ens haurien d'ajudar! però no estan fent res. m'alegro que estiguis segur, però això és ridícul! no hi ha res més a dir. 🙃

thanks for sharing your story, anon. it's so frustrating. the university should be protecting students and not making their lives difficult. we need to learn from the mistakes of other regions! 🙏

ahora sí, gracias. 🙏 ha parado de llover. mi familia está bien pero sigue siendo un desastre en algunas partes de catalunya/bcn.

#alexia putellas #dana #valencia #barcelona #natural disaster awareness

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lacharapita · 5 months ago

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CHAN CHAN

Esteban Kukuriczka x Reader

Fluff & Smut! - sexo sem proteção [CARA???????????], sexo oral [Femme Receiving bc he's a gentleman], squirting, menção de sexo em local público, espanhol fajuta, Esteban namoradinho, carinho matinal [aos prantos com o primeiro parágrafo, ok????], degradação sexual e bombas.

N.A 🪻- Galera, um dos parágrafos me matou muito, não sei o que rolou comigo mas eu tô achando que quem escreveu foi a própria Andressa Urach. Escrevi essa ouvindo Chan Chan do Buena Vista Social Club ou seja, estou recomendando que leiam ouvindo essa também, beijocas💋💋 [e sim dona @creads, isso foi uma parte da minha ameaça feita a você nessa semana😠🚬, ainda tem mais]

— O filete de sol que passava por entre a minúscula brecha da cortina do quarto se projetava perfeitamente nos olhos de Esteban, transformando o castanho escuro em um tom de mel recém colhido. Vocês dois estavam acordados a mais de uma hora, mas a preguiça gostosa da cama quentinha e confortável não permitia que vocês se levantassem de lá. Os corpos enrolados um no outro como se aquela fosse a melhor posição para se ficar, e de fato era, pelo menos para vocês dois, claro. O som da confusão que estava na casa do vizinho era totalmente audível, uma mulher gritava com algum rapaz depois que algo caiu no chão fazendo um estrondo tão alto que vocês dois puderam ouvir.

– "Acho que nós vamos ter que levantar, bebita."– Um choramingo arrastado saiu de entre seus lábios antes mesmo que Esteban terminasse sua oração, um pequeno drama comparado a sua vontade de passar o resto do dia agarrada com seu noivo naquele emaranhado de corpos e cobertas. – "Não faz essa cara, sabe que se estivéssemos no nosso apartamento eu passaria a vida com você nessa cama."– Ele sussurrou perto de seu rosto quente antes de deixar um beijo na pontinha do seu nariz e outro nos seus lábios. Seus olhos se encontravam um no outro, como se fossem incapazes de esconder o afeto que transbordava de vocês.

De Alto Cedro voy para Marcané

— Seus corpos estavam suavemente inclinados contra a mesa de madeira pintada em amarelo, um de frente para o outro, bebiam um café recém passado e se encaravam em total silêncio. O rádio no canto da cozinha tocava Chan Chan da banda cubana Buena Vista Social Club e você se controlava ao máximo para não cantar e sair dançando pela casa como todas as outras vezes, Esteban por sua vez rezava em mais de uma língua para que você fizesse exatamente isso, ver você dançando e cantando movia o dia dele. Uma de suas mãos se moveu para tirar um pedaço do bolo cortado em sua frente, levando a fatia até a boca e dando uma mordida generosa antes de aproximar o pedaço fofo dos lábios de Esteban, que também deixou um mordida grande enquanto os olhos castanhos se mantinham em você. Seus lábios agiram antes de você e um riso deixou eles enquanto você e o argentino continuavam se encarando.

– "HA!! Ganhei."– Esteban disse curto antes de voltar seu corpo para trás e respirar fundo enquanto você o olhava incrédula.

– "Eu não falei nada!"– Ele apenas deu de ombros antes rir e colocar a xícara de café vermelha grande sobre a mesa e levantar as mãos como quem agia indiferente.

– "Sem risadinhas durante o jogo, lembra?"– De repente ele ocupava todo meu campo de visão, a samba canção azul e a camiseta branca abarrotada que ele vestia fazia você acreditar fielmente que aquela seria a visão que você teria quando estivesse de chegada no céu. O cabelo claro bagunçado, o rostinho ainda meio amassado do sono gostoso e pesado que vocês dois tiveram, a barba falhada em todo o maxilar dele, a pontinha do nariz rosada e aquelas benditas sardinhas que pareciam tomar conta do rosto cada vez mais toda vez que você olhava.

Llego a Cueto y voy para Mayarí

— Você calçava seus chinelos enquanto Esteban estava parado na batente da porta te esperando, admirando cada pequeno movimento que você fazia até que estivesse parada na frente dele e deixando um beijo em sua bochecha, tirando ele do transe que você mesma tinha o colocado. A caminhada pela estradinha de terra foi confortável, sentia a brisa geladinha aliviando a temperatura quente do sol que brilhava sobre vocês. O sorriso estampado em seu rosto se fazia presente pelas palavras de Esteban, todo animado falando sobre o cachorrinho que tinha ficado com ele na rede na noite passada enquanto você tomava um banho. As palavras do argentino se serraram quando a vista da cachoeira celestial tomou conta da visão dele, o barulho da água caindo era audível a alguns metros, mas vocês estavam tão focados um no outro que acabaram só percebendo quando estavam quase dentro da lagoa que a cachoeira formava. Com o calor que fazia você não tardou em puxar o pequeno short que vestia pelas pernas e puxar Esteban para dentro da água gelada, fazendo ele gemer alto assim que sentiu a temperatura fria. Você riu com a reação dele e começou a nadar para longe do argentino, fazendo com que ele fosse atrás de você. Não sabia se era sorte, o horário ou talvez o sol estivesse muito forte, a questão é que estavam sozinhos naquele lugar paradisíaco.

– "Mi amor, vem cá..."– Seu olhar era sujo e não passou despercebido por Kukuriczka. O argentino se aproximou de você até que seus braços caíssem sobre os ombros dele e o abraçasse, puxando-o suavemente para mais perto de seu corpo molhado até que seu rosto estivesse ao lado do ouvido dele. – "Que que 'cê acha de me comer aqui hm?"– Sentiu o corpo de Esteban se arrepiar por inteiro com suas palavras e o aperto das mãos dele em sua cintura se tornaram mais pesados.

– "Essa sua bucetinha carente me dá muito trabalho, sabia? Não consegue ficar um único dia sem ter meu pau te enchendo, nena?"– Suas bochechas coraram em um tom de salmão enquanto você encarava o peito molhado e coberto de sardinhas de Esteban. Uma das mãos dele saiu de sua cintura para segurar a polpa da sua bunda e deixar um aperto firme lá, deixando a área avermelhada.

De Alto Cedro voy para Marcané

— As gotículas de suor escorriam sobre a pele avermelhada de Esteban enquanto ele encarava fixamente a forma como sua bunda ficava ainda mais bonita quando ele te comia desse jeito. Seu rosto estava enfiado entre os travesseiros na cama, abafando todos os gemidos e súplicas que saiam de seus lábios. Uma das mãos de Esteban agarrava sua cintura, usando de impulso para se empurrar para dentro de você com mais força, a outra alternava entre massagear a pele dolorida da região das bochechas da sua bunda e deixar tapas cada vez mais duros. As sentenças sujas que saiam da boca dele te faziam chorar contras as fronhas vermelhas e empinar ainda mais o quadril.

– "Perrita desesperada hm? Precisa tanto da minha porra vazando de você que precisa se comportar como uma vadia."– A parte funcional do seu cérebro que não pensava no pau grosso te esticando agradecia mentalmente por Esteban não poder ver seu rosto, quente de vergonha e com lágrimas escorrendo pelas bochechas. Você não ousava dizer uma única palavras, seria muito humilhante, você mal conseguia raciocinar, quem dirá responder a provocação cruel dele. – "Agora você não fala não é? Na hora de se ajoelhar na minha frente e implorar pra eu foder essa sua boquinha bonita e depois te encher de porra você falava."– O gemido pornográfico que fugiu de você não conseguiu ser abafado pelos travesseiros, fazendo Esteban sorrir e agarrar seu corpo com ainda mais força. – "Bucetinha gulosa, carajo."– O argentino gemia entre suspiros enquanto observava a forma como aquele buraquinho apertado engolia o pau dele tão bem. Ele tinha te cozinhado por horas, fervendo cada pedacinho de você antes de te desfiar por inteira.

– "Mi amor-"– Você engoliu um gemido, jurou por todos e quaisquer santos existentes no mundo que sentia seu útero se contorcer, ferver e palpitar dentro de você. A sensação pouco familiar dentro de você indicava algo que seria resultado de toda a brincadeira de Esteban com você. A forma do pau dele se formava no baixo do seu estômago, te fazendo enfiar o rosto contra o colchão e fechar os olhos com força enquanto o buraquinho esticado se apertava cada vez mais em torno da ereção firme do argentino.

– "Vou tirar algo novo de você hoje, nena?"– O tapa estalado na pele machucada foi a última coisa que você ouviu antes de todos os seus sentidos sumirem e você amolecer completamente. Esteban xingava baixo, saindo de dentro de você quando o líquido esbranquiçado jorrou de você com força. O sorriso no rosto dele era impagável, claramente orgulhoso do que tinha feito com você enquanto você permanecia na mesma posição ainda tentando processar o que tinha acontecido. Quando sentiu os braços dele rodeando seu corpo e te puxando para o colo dele se sentiu confortável para se manter de olhos fechados enquanto ele sussurrava algo para você.

Llego a Cueto y voy para Mayarí

— Era para ser só um jantar, mas a garrafa de vinho branco tinha outros planos para vocês. Abriram a garrafa enquanto ainda estavam cozinhando, dividiram a primeira taça, mas claro - quem bebe uma, bebe duas. Só mais uma, foi o que você disse antes da quinta taça. Na sexta e última taça Esteban já estava ajoelhado entre as suas pernas, com você sentada sobre o balcão e choramingando com as espirais que a língua dele fazia sobre o pontinho de nervos pulsante e com o dedo indicador rodeando o buraquinho quente e então se empurrando para dentro. Você sentiu ele sorrir contra os lábios molhados quando um gemido algo fugiu de você, te fazendo agarrar os fios do cabelo loiro com força e largar a taça vazia sobre a bancada. O efeito do álcool no seu corpo tornava cada movimento dele triplamente mais intenso, te deixando com o quadril inquieto e as cordas vocais mais ainda. Gemia sem vergonha alguma, focada demais no argentino talentoso que estava com a cabeça entre suas coxas. Ele se aproveitava dessa versão sua, amava quando você ficava tão perdida no tesão que esquecia das pessoas ao redor de você e deixava todos aqueles sons divinos saírem de sua boca sem pudor nenhum. Seus dedos puxavam as madeixas loiras com força, pressionando a cabeça dele cada vez mais em sua buceta quente. O queixo coberto pela barba falha e os lábios de Esteban estavam encharcados com o quão molhada você estava, não só pela saliva dele mas também pela própria lubrificação que escorria de você antes mesmo dos trabalhos árduos da boca dele. A forma como ele agarrava suas coxas era como se nunca quisesse sair dali, abraçava elas com força e gemia alto contra sua buceta toda vez que você apertava as coxas ao redor da cabeça dele, afogando ele cada vez mais.

– "Porra, nene! Se continuar aí me voy a matarte sufocado."– Suas palavras saíram fracas e fizeram o argentino rir, aquela vibração gostosa de deixou tonta. Quando olhou para baixo viu aqueles olhinhos castanhos quase te implorando para realmente deixar que ele morresse ali, sufocado entre suas coxas e saboreando a melhor refeição da vida dele.

– "Morreria feliz, nena. Muy feliz."– Maldito homem argentino que arrancou de você a força todo o resto de sua honra e dignidade.

🪻

Terminei essa e fiquei EXATAMENTE assim:

#la sociedad de la nieve #brasil #lsdln cast #the society of the snow #esteban kukuriczka #esteban kukuriczka x you #esteban kukuriczka fanfic #esteban kukuriczka smut #esteban kukuriczka x reader #esteban kukuriczka você me paga #Esteban namoradinho #buena vista social club #lsdln x reader #lsdln #a sociedade da neve #alexia's man #alexia is typing😍🌟💥

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miskhalie · 9 months ago

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Besos Robados (Parte 2) - Matías Recalt x Reader x Enzo Vogrincic

Pairing: Matías y Enzo

Advertencias: foreplay, un poco de angst

Notas: perdón, pero al final tendré que hacer una parte tres.

En el cuarto de Enzo todo eran besos, caricias y marcas por la piel. Habías ido en diferentes limusinas, pero no os aguantabais más estar uno lejos del otro. Por lo que decidisteis seguir lo que hacíais en la discoteca en el cuarto de Enzo.

Tú estabas tumbada sobre tu espalda con Enzo a tu lado, apoyado sobre su costilla izquierda, besándote de una manera más sucia y sin reparos. Ya estabais casi desnudos, solo llevando la parte de abajo de la ropa interior. Él con unos boxers negros y tu con unas bragas de encaje rosa. El pelo de Enzo estaba muy revuelto y el tuyo estaba desperdigado sobre la almohada. Estabais rojos por los besos y las mordidas, pero también por la calefacción y el propio calor corporal.

Al besarte, Enzo te masajeaba los pechos y tiraba de tus pezones con suavidad mientras se ponían duros. Tu gemías levemente, solo acababa de empezar la noche. Te besaba el cuello y su mano bajaba a tus costillas a tu vientre y a tu entrepierna, sobre la braga. Luego, volvía a subir y a bajar. Te creaba frustración pero también impaciencia. A Enzo le encantaban los juegos previos, pero tu los odiabas porque se aprovechaba para hacerte suplicar por él.

- Enzo, por favor... - gemías.

- Dime, nena - te respondía- ¿Qué queres?

- A ti, Enzo, A ti... - tu voz se entrecortaba por que Enzo no podía dejar de tocarte por todas partes menos de la forma y en el lugar que más lo necesitabas.

- Si me lo pedís así... - su voz se quebró cuando empezaste a tocar sus partes intimas, frotando el gran bulto que tenía entre las piernas. Un suspiro se escapó de él.

Cuando estaba apunto de meter la mano bajo la ropa, sonaron varios golpes en la puerta. ¿Quién llamaba a esta hora? Enzo se quedó parado pero ignoro los golpes y siguió el camino hasta debajo de su ropa, sin embargo, volvieron a sonar y esta vez, mas fuerte. Enzo resopló y se levantó, debían ser esas camareras que le habían llamado a la puerta solo al saber que se hospedaba allí. No quería fallar a sus fans, pero esque en ese momento tenia a la actriz más sexy del cast en su cama, esperando por él, suplicando por más. Se puso unos vaqueros y se los abrochó, debía estar decente.

Abrió la puerta y miró por la pequeña rendija que había dejado de visión dentro de su habitación. Rápidamente una mano cogió la puerta y empujó para abrir del todo esta.

Un Matías celoso entró, dando pisotones como un elefante.

- ¿Que queres, Mati? - le preguntó Enzo siguiendole, intentando adelantarlo para cortarle el paso.

- No me lo puedo creer... - musitó para si mismo, se giró hacia su amigo antes de girar el pasillo y ver la situación - ¡Te dije que queria besarme con ella y vas tú y la besas!

- Mati, yo no hice nada, fue idea suya. - avanzó por su lado y lo empujó suavemente hacia la puerta - Además, si ella no sabe nada. Deberías comentarselo mañana por la mañana.

Se oyeron los muelles de la cama de Enzo, habia alguien más, pensó Matías. Se miraron a los ojos por un instante y Enzo intentó agarrarlo en vano, ya que el pequeño era más agil. Giró la esquina y se quedó impactado por lo que vio.

La chica, por la que empezaba a sentir un cosquilleo, estaba tumbada en su cama, casi desnuda y sudorosa. Sus mejillas sonrosadas, sus pechos con incisiones de dientes y los pezones duros, con el pelo revuelto y las piernas entreabiertas. Todo apuntaba a que Enzo lo queria echar para terminar lo que empezaron en la discoteca. Respiro hondo y tragó. Quizás había cruzado el límite para ella. Tú te apoyaste sobre tus codos y miraste al chico intentando cerrar las piernas.

- Matías, creo que... - su amigo empezó a decir.

- No si ya estoy viendo que esta ocurriendo. - rió dolido. - No hace falta que me corras a la puerta. Ya me voy.

- ¡Mati, espera! - gritaste.

Te levantaste de la cama y le cogiste de la mano, lo llevaste hasta la cama para que se sentara. Le quitaste la camiseta y le besaste. Estaba receloso, incluso puede que un poco enfadado contigo, pero no rechistaba. Se fundía en el beso como si estuviera aprendiendo a besar por primera vez. Le agarraste la cara a Enzo y también lo besaste, era una invitación moderada a algo más de sexo casual del que habías tenido desde el principio.

#lsdln #lsdln cast #la sociedad de la nieve #society of the snow #matias recalt #matias recalt x you #matias recalt x reader #enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic x you

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fortjester · 1 year ago

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okay, everyone's being really vague on my timeline discrepancy post from earlier, and idk if anyone else has made a post/theory abt this, but i also don't care. i'm gonna rehash this, mostly for my own benefit, but everyone is welcome to also come have a look and tell me if i'm missing smth. this post does contain spoilers for htn, so reader's discretion.

so, timeline clarifiers, per htn subheadings. let's start easy. this is the earliest date given in htn in its entirety:

parados (act 1) is the chapter where Harrow talks to Ortus in River bubble Drearburh. it's the second (chronological, not linear) chapter we read in the book at all. it's set 13-12 weeks prior to leaving for Canaan House, per gtn timeline details. it is the first time Gideon's name is explicitly redacted (or as i like to call it, Ortuscorrected).

if we ignore the (upcoming) discrepancy's date, the next earliest subheading date following parados's is, conveniently:

epiparodos (act 5) is the chapter immediately preceding/following Harrow's lobotomy, as told from Ianthe's perspective. while the setting is not explicitly stated, per Harrow's narration from chapter 45 (act 5) and the Upon Coherence letter in chapter 4 (act 1), we can glean that Harrow lobotomised herself 3-4 days following Gideon's death on the First House, which would mean they are still on the Erebos (and would argue that the Heir's stay at Canaan House lasted roughly three weeks to a month before Cytherea was killed).

the next (linear) date subheading:

chapter 1 (act 1), nine months. in this chapter, Harrow is stated to be on the Erebos, in a hospital wing. she has been given Gideon's longsword and is battling the awful psychic powers Wake's revenant (inside the longsword) is using on her, likely as an attempt to kill her so she can follow the thanergetic link into Harrow's body and use it for her own means (killing John) (this is mostly conjecture, but i see no other reason for the sword to have this effect on her, bar her lobotomy sparking a vomiting response as opposed to an intercranial hemmorhage response to the memory of Gideon). in the few chapters following this, Harrow is told about Resurrection Beasts, hears the Body speak to her for the first time in eight (estimate) years, recieves the Upon Coherence letter from Ianthe, and is nearly smothered in her sleep (or so it seems). at this point in the narrative, the only OG lyctor she's met is Cytherea, who is dead. she meets Mercymorn as she's being rolled onto a shuttle bound for the Mithraeum. it is only once on the Mithraeum that she meets Augustine and G1deon. during G1deon's entrance, he informs them bluntly that Resurrection Beast #7 is "just under ten months" away.

the next subheading is both chronological and linear, even though the exact placement in the timeline is somewhat unclear:

chapter 12 (act 2), six months. at this point, Harrow, Ianthe, and John have been on the Mithraeum for an unspecified amount of time. Harrow has killed twelve planets. she and Ianthe have been being tutored by Augustine in swordsmanship and understanding the river. in chapter 13 (act 2) Ianthe makes a crack about Harrow making it to her room from the docking bay without being assassinated. Harrow spends the next four chapters giving basic biographies for Mercymorn, Augustine, and Ianthe, as well as speaking with the Body, and revealing the truth of her conception to John.

now comes the discrepancy. the next timeline clarifier, per chapter subheading, is chronological, but oddly not linear:

chapter 19 (act 2), ten months. TEN.

this would place chapter 19 (act 2) prior to Harrow's lobotomy (nine months and twenty-nine days before; per epiparodos, act 5), which doesn't make any sense, because chapter 19 is the chapter where G1deon's first attempt on Harrow's life is recounted. he attacks her in the kitchen on the Mithraeum, quite clearly stated to be only a few days after she arrived on board, and she only narrowly survives the attack because Mercymorn intervenes, to her apparent disgust.

now, could it be that the attack in the kitchen is not explicitly specified to be the initial attack in question? could it be a sleight of hand on Muir's part to say that the first atatck came before Harrow even arrived on board teh Mithraeum, and then recount a completely different one? could the first attempt on Harrow's life actually be the attempted suffocation on the Erebos from chapter 4 (act 1)? i don't believe so. the suffocation is a bookend to the Upon Coherence letter scene with Ianthe, and there isn't even any scene break in the chapter to indicate shifting time between Ianthe's exit and Harrow's subsequent discovery of the fingernails she embedded in the wall in her attempt to defend herself against her attacker, mid-suffocation.

every other timeline clarifier in htn (of which there are nine remaining) makes sense and follows the narrative both chronologically and linearly - apart from the subheading of chapter 45 (act 5):

chapter 45 (act 5) is the River bubble scene where Harrow and Ortus rehash their guilt to each other, and Abigail announces her intention to exorcise Wake's revenant from the bubble. the subheading is vague where no other heading has been, stating only "an amount of time", despite the chapter preceding this one linearly (chapter 43, act 5) having this subheading:

logically, there should be very little time passing between the scene where Harrow comes to fully inside the bubble and sees it for what it is, and reuniting with Ortus properly. the only connection I can see between chapter 19 and chapter 45's discrepancie's is that both chapters make use of the Second House crest, 19's in reference to G1deon being the one to attack Harrow, and 45's no doubt being in reference to Harrow's realisation of G1deon's real name and the as yet unconfirmed connection he has to Gideon herself.

so, what's the fucking deal then? is it a woeful editing mistake? is it a cipher of some kind? is it a product of Harrow's canonical schizophrenia? I certainly don't know, but it's bothering me so much, and I just had to make sure I wasn't making it up in my head. anyway. woe, conspiracy theories on a book published three years ago that likely someone has already talked about be upon ye. whatever.

#my post #fuck off lou #tlt #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #htn #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav #tlt meta #gideon the first #ianthe tridentarius #john gaius #ortus nigenad #wild speculation #tlt theories #sorry if this is incoherent #it grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go

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tecontos · 11 months ago

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Não resisti as investidas de um amigo do trabalho e trai o meu marido

By; Aylana

Oi me chamo Aylana, sou casada, tenho 30 anos e o que aconteceu comigo foi ha alguns meses com um colega de trabalho, sabe aquela pessoa que voce se identifica, almoça todos os dias e acaba ficando amigo ?

Deixa eu me descrever, sou branquinha, meiga, corpo bonito, sou bastante admirada quando passo. Quem me vê jamais imaginaria que eu seria capaz de trair meu marido… Na verdade, nunca tive essa intençao, mas aconteceu.

Meu amigo não tem nada de especial, um cara pra lá de comum, nem bonito nem feio, até um pouquinho acima do peso. Trabalhamos juntos ha pouco tempo, mas como almoçamos juntos quase todos os dias, acabamos nos conhecendo, sabia de suas namoradas e ele um pouco de mim.

Aos poucos senti uma diferença na forma que me olhava e falava comigo, mas achava que não era nada, pois ele sabia que eu era casada e sempre me respeitou.

Para complicar a situação, meu marido começou a trabalhar ate tarde e comecei a pegar carona com ele ao final do expediente. Conforme foi passando os meses, pegamos uma certa intimidade em falar qualquer coisa um pro outro sem constrangimentos.

Um dos dias que eu estava de carona com ele, estava muito transito, e ele sugeriu paramos em uma rua qualquer para continuar conversando, pois o trecho em que estavamos estava tudo parado mesmo. Eu falei ok e paramos.

Ele começou a conversar virado para mim com a mão ligeiramente no meu cabelo, e estranhamente comecei achar perigoso ficar ali com ele pois não sabia onde poderia parar, mas acabei ignorando o perigo e continuamos conversando, nisso ele passou a passar a mao na minha nuca, falando como eu era linda e meu marido tinha muita sorte em ter uma mulher como eu, eu comecei a sentir uma coisa estranha, um tesão repentino, não exatamente por ele, mas pela possibilidade de ter algo com outro homem que nao fosse meu marido…(nunca o trai).

Entre um papinho e outro ele me abraçou e respirou no meu pescoço, eu me arrepiei, ele percebeu e me beijou. Eu não sabia o que fazer, fiquei surpresa e acabei correspondendo ao beijo.

Neste primeiro beijo (rapido) nada de mais, ficamos um pouco sem jeito, mas acabamos nos beijando mais e mais.

Em um desses beijos eu já estava quase em transe, ele começou a passar a mão nos meus seios (que ja estavam duros ) eu comecei a gemer, a falar no ouvido dele “para, para” e ele me beijava mais avidamente, uma delicia. Nao satisfeito ele pegou minha mao e colocou sobre seu pau… aí eu nao aguentei e apertei , segurei um pouco ja ficando maluca, ele ameaçou colocar o pau pra fora, e eu parei definitivamente com aquela sacanagem. Ele se desculpou e fomos embora quase calados.

Ficamos uns dias sem se falar, ate que um dia ele me chamou para almoçar e ao invés de irmos nos restaurantes por perto da empresa que estavamos acostumados a ir, ele pegou o carro e disse que iriamos almoçar em uma churrascaria perto da marginal e la fomos nás. Na verdade, eu nao pensava em outra coisa a nao ser beija-lo novamente e sentir toda aquela sensaçao vivida ha uns dias atras.

Ele começou a perguntar sobre o que eu senti naquele dia, se eu havia gostado, e eu respondi que sim, porem não era certo, e ele concordou.

Ele novamente parou o carro, e pediu para me beijar pela ultima vez e eu concordei e começamos a nos beijar, os beijos foram esquentando e estava me almoçando toda e eu tinha que voltar a trabalhar. Eu nao tinha a menor intençao de dar pra ele, só queria ficar naquela sacanagem colegial, mas pra minha surpresa ele sugeriu irmos a um motel por ser perigoso ficar na rua, etc. Ele disse que eramos adultos e principalmente amigos e nada aconteceria, pois sabia que eu era casada, e estariamos mais seguros…

Na hora eu falei ok, por que ele era tao meu amigo que eu nao me imaginava dando pra ele, entao eu topei e fomos pro motel.

Chegando no motel, ficamos meio sem jeito, sentamos na cama, conversamos dois minutos e começamos nos amassar novamente, mas o ambiente já era outro e eu ja estava toda molhada, quando eu comecei a falar que minha blusa estava amassando, ele gentilmente começou a tirar a minha blusa, eu a esta altura ja estava toda entregue a aquele homem que nao era o meu marido.

Ele tirou minha blusa, meu sutiã e começou ame lamber inteira, ele lambia os bicos dos meus seios de uma maneira delicada que só aumentava meu tesão, eu avisava que nao passariamos daquele ponto, mas ele começou a me chupar de uma maneira tao maravilhosa que ele levantou a minha saia e começou a lamber minha virilha de uma maneira que eu saí de mim literalmente que eu nem senti ele tirar as calcas dele, eu estava totalmente entregue.

Quando ele começou a tirar minha calcinha e chupar o meu grelinho e ja tinha gozado, mas estava segura que ele estava vestido. Entao, ele começou a subir com sua lingua quente e veio vindo pra cima de mim, me lambendo da virilha até o meu pescoço e se posicionando em cima de mim de forma tal que eu ficasse na posiçao de frango assado e quando ele começou a chupar meu pescoço eu senti a sua pica encostando na minha buceta, eu tomei um susto, tentei sair, mas ja era tarde, ele me segurou pelos ombros, acelerou os movimentos da sua lingua, e começou a me penetrar vagarosamente, deliciosamente, eu sentia cada centimetro daquela pica desconhecida entrar dentro de mim, eu comecei a gemer, a gozar como nunca.

Eu so pensava que estava sendo penetrada por outro homem, era como eu estivesse sonhando. Meu tesao era enorme (talvez apimentado por uma situaçao proibida) Quando eu dei por mim que estava realmente trepando, como nao podia fazer mais nada me restou aproveitar da situação e me entregar inteira para aquele homem proibido, comecei a apertar a bunda dele, fazendo que eu comandasse os movimentos da penetração.

Logo invertemos de posiçao e pude ver aquela rola pela primeira vez, peguei-a com muito carinho e fui sentando em cima dela até sentir seus pentelhos roçando na minha bunda, comecei a rebolar, ir pra frente e pra tras até ver a cara de satisfaçao dele, logo, ele me virou de quatro e começou a meter vigorosamente, e eu ja estava gozando de novo, ele me apertava minha virilha enquanto enfiava aquele cacete gostoso e ficava roçando os pentelhos na minha bunda, quando ele estava para gozar...

Ele perguntou se podia gozar dentro de mim e falei que não, ele tirou pra fora e gozou na minha bunda, onde pude sentir aquela porra quente escorrendo.

Nos recompomos, e eu ja estava totalmente descontraída, quando fomos tomar banho de banheira, ficamos nos tocando e eu pude brincar com aquela rola que me deu tanto tesao a minutos atras, ele sentou na bera da banheira e eu fiquei dentro d’agua apoiada no meio de sua pernas olhando para aquela rola já apontada na minha direçao, nao resisti e comecei a chupar, passava a lingua das bolas a cabeça daquela rola, quando percebi que ele poderia estar pra gozar novamente eu parei e sugeri que voltassemos pra cama, mas ele falou;

-agora é sua vez.

Ele pediu pra ficar de quatro, e começou a lamber minha boceta, passando a lingua no meu cuzinho, eu me contorcia toda e logo senti aquela rola deliciosa na minha buceta novamente… quando eu estava praticamente gozando de novo, ele perguntou se eu ja tinha feito sexo anal, eu disse;

- já (mas nao gostava muito)

Entao ele falou que eu iria me surpreender. Eu já nao podia negar nada pra ele e deixei ele tomar conta da situação, logo senti uma pressão no meu cuzinho e ele se abrindo para receber aquele intruso… eu nao senti dor nenhuma, pelo contrario, me senti completa sendo devorada por aquele homem, ele fazia movimentos leves, me fazendo gozar pelo cu. Eu nunca havia sentido isso.

De repente ele começou a gritar e comecei a sentir aquele gozo quente dentro do meu cuzinho, foi maravilhoso.

Tomamos banho, nos arrumamos e voltamos pro trabalho sem almoçar e como se nada tivesse acontecido. Depois disso ainda saimos mais umas vezes até ele ser transferido para outro estado.

Meu marido não soube de nada até hoje, vivo muito bem com ele, e de vez em quando fico me lembrando dessa aventura gostosa e por que nao, segura.

Enviado ao Te Contos por Aylana

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