#rosemary beads

[todayisafridaynight]

Kume stabbed Masato and ichiban rushed him to the hospital and then they had a funeral for everyone including Masato but yeah no he's also in hawaii

I mean… technically he IS in hawaii with ichi…��� lol…. 📿

[only1keza]

🎀

[wheelercore]

Rosegate observation of the day! the reoccurring beads/pearl shaped accessories jewelry (yes I did obnoxiously circle all of it).

Also I didn't notice this before but Holly's white shirt may have pink flowers/roses on it but I'm not too sure! The more you know 🌈

(Holly may also be wearing a floral/rosey shirt in this scene but it's too blurry for me to tell for certain)

Funny because the OG Rosemary wears pearl earrings the entire movie. Honestly I don't think there's a scene where she isn't.

[everestblue]

A sketch of Winter in a nationella dräkten, a historic Swedish costume often worn by the middle class and nobility. And Moonwatcher in a baro’t saya, a Filipino traditional dress, with an agimat and some rosemary beads as well!

[honeylullaby]

“You have no idea what ‘ya doing to me, do ‘ya?” PT 1

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader PT 1

Suggestion by my sweet anon / SPOILER 🫶🏽 Maud has unexpectedly took off for London, leaving Declan alone. He could never touch, or even look, at another. Or could he?…

18+ FANFIC / SMUT. Unfortunately I got rather carried away so this one is fairly long. Hopefully it’s not boring! Reader character aged at 21. Pls leave requests in my ask box 🫶🏽🫶🏽

It has been 3 weeks, 2 days, 9 hours & 32 minutes since Maud O’Hara took leave for London — not like Declan is counting. And since then, he has spent every day with his mouth firmly clasped over a bottle of whiskey, and sleeping between the dewy blades of grass at The Priory. Taggie had since grown tired of peeling her intoxicated father from the ground and had ordered him into the village to gather supplies for her next catering job.

Begrudgingly, Declan stumbled through the village shop, throwing items from Taggie’s list into his basket. You, however, were having a mundanely average day. Filling your basket with fresh fruit and cream for a majority of your shop, you lingered for just a second by the bakery. Expecting the comforting smell of fresh bread, the sharp musk of wood shavings & rosemary aftershave danced through your nostrils as a suited man with a distinguished moustache appeared next to you, nonchalantly swiping a loaf of bread into his basket. Your slender hand reached out for a tiger loaf, just as he began his next embittered swipe.

“Sorry. Oh, hello.” He muttered under his breath, as he recognised you as the receptionist from the hellhole that is Corinium. “It’s okay. Go for it.” You reply, filling your face with a friendly smile. Hearing the melodious tone of your voice, Declan looked up to meet your gaze. The breath caught in his throat as he drank you in from top to bottom — from the gentle black kitten heels to your carefully curled brunette hair. “No, no. Take it.” He spoke, softening his voice and motioning his hand towards the bread. What a stunning girl. He had never noticed before. As you shot him another gentle smile, you picked up the loaf, popped it into your basket and begun to walk on the opposite direction. Watching your every move, Declan kept a firm concentration on your floral dress, admiring the elasticated hem that hugged your waist so tightly. Now that Maud has gone, surely he’s allowed to at least look at another woman— something he would’ve never dreamt of doing in his previous life.

Trudging out of the shop’s door with plastic bags clinging from your arms, the man is leaning against the wall, puffing furiously on his cigarette. “Hello again, Declan. You really didn’t have do that.” You immediately begin, sweat beading on your forehead. “Ahh, don’t worry,” A painstaking awkward silence ensued. The smell of his musk was intoxicating— comforting and manly. “How’s life treatin’ ‘ya workin’ for that cunt Baddingham?” He spoke Tony’s name like he was spitting it out, vile and sour-tasting. “You don’t have to… you don’t have to make small talk.” You mutter, turning away from him and beginning your walk home. Sure enough, Declan was striding to catch up with you, eyes firmly fixed on your svelte legs as you walked. “I’m not makin’ small talk. I’m just askin’. Everyone makes out that I’m a bastard, but-“ Your hand shot up to silence him. Declan’s pessimistic commentary was unbearable at the best of times, but you couldn’t stand to hear it right now. Being unable to hear anymore, you strutted off, being extra sure to sway your hips as you go, praying that he was watching. He definitely was.

•

Bursting through his own front door, Declan collapsed his shopping bags onto the floor and practically threw himself onto his sofa. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way your legs looked under that skirt. Caramel bronze, effortlessly smooth. The way the bottom of your ample cheeks just about slipped into sight as you swayed. Fuck. Closing his eyes and unzipping his trousers, Declan released his cock from the confines of his boxer shorts. He was aching, and dripping pre-cum from something as innocent as your legs. Clasping his hand around his girth, he began to pump himself slowly — imagination leading the way. Just picturing the soft skin of your breasts as he grabs a handful whilst simultaneously thrusting himself inside you. The aroma of your hot, sweet breath as you moan into his mouth, every pump taking you another second closer to ecstasy. Declan’s thighs twitched as he pictured you taking him into your mouth, humming gently on his cock as you forced him deep into your throat. Fuck, this was getting too much to bare. Pumping his hand faster, he could practically feel your tight walls enveloping him, closing around him like a tight hug. It was all too much.. he’s gonna cum. Im keeps with the worst timing humanely possible, there was a gentle knock on the front door. “Go. Away.” Declan managed to grunt out through gritted teeth. And predictably so, the mystery guest knocked once again. A few seconds pass. Angry, stomping footsteps. Door swinging open and… “WHAT?” The Irishman bellowed — half furious at having his wank disturbed, half grieving over the stunning image of you he won’t be able to get back.

“Oh, sorry, I- I just wanted to say sorry for being rude earlier. But you’re, umm… obviously busy.” You mumble under your breath, fidgeting with your hands nervously. Declan’s flies were unzipped, with a rather curious wet patch seeping through. Your eyes glazed over, and darted immediately to the side, cheeks blazing in pure crimson embarrassment. “Come in.” He replied, fighting off a smirk and zipping his trousers back up. Hesitantly, you sit on the sofa, trying not to take up any space and keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “Drink?” Declan asks, showcasing a rather expensive looking bottle of whiskey. “No, thank you. Don’t let me stop you though.” You smile, pearly teeth on show. He wouldn’t let it stop him regardless — pouring himself a huge glass, sitting down next to you and knocking the glass back like a shot before pouring another. “As I said, sorry for being rude earlier. You caught me at a bad time,” You begin to tell your endless, anxious story, crossing your legs and exposing the laced line of your thongs under your painstakingly short skirt. Declan cracked his neck side to side, too afraid to look. Out of respect.. of course.

•

Pouring himself his third glass and sparking his 12th cigarette of the day, his clumsy, (almost) drunken hand knocked the lid of his whiskey bottle onto the floor. “Oh, let me get that.” Time to go on for the kill. Just about lifting yourself from the sofa, you bent over to retrieve the lid — the lining of your skirt almost touching your lower back, pink lace thong tucked neatly between your behind .. a full frontal view of your shapely arse. “You have no idea what ya’ doin’ to me, do ya?” Declan growled under his breath, collar growing increasingly hotter and his bulge threatening to tear through his trousers. Pretending not to hear him, you sit back down and screw the lid back onto the bottle.

“Hmm? Did you… say something?” You question, closing the gap between you both, hot breath reverberating off him. You have always found Declan O’Hara unbearably sexy.. Why not take your opportunity? “No. Have ya’ come here just ta’ be a fuckin’ tease, or did ya’ actually want sumtin’?” He snarls in the most playful manner he possibly can. You’ve had your fair share of men leering at you, but there was something so passionate and inebriating about Declan that made your loins ache. “Why would I be teasing you?” Eyes widening innocently as you talk, wrapping your hand around his fingers and guiding it to the fabric of your thong. Instinctively, he ran his fingers over your clothed slit, grunting carnally as he felt the material soak under your heat. “Fuck. I can’t. Maud.” He moaned breathlessly, the image of his sweet wife’s face clouding his mind. It mustn’t have bothered him too much, as he was soon pushing your panties to one side and swiping his pointing finger across your clit. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ wet.”

Unable to resist the devilish temptation any longer, Declan delved two fingers inside you, hooking and pulling towards him instantly. The sudden shock of pleasure made you groan with all your lungs capacity. The sound of him coaxing out your wetness paired with your affirming moans was enough to make him blow his load then and there. “Fuck, Declan.” You belt out, feeling your orgasm grow closer, your thighs tightening and your stomach binding. “Yeah? Ya’ like my fingers inside ya’?” The man asks, speaking into your ear, the bristles of his moustache sending a chill down your spine. Feeling you clench around his fingers, he lowers himself to the ground, beginning to lap at your clit like a ravenous animal, hungry for your orgasm and fiendish for the taste of you.

The front door opens and the man you recognise as Rupert Campbell-Black lingers by the frame, puffing a cigarette and smirking with pride. “Oh fuck!” You scream, pulling one of Declan’s velvet cushions over your lower half. Menacingly, Declan threw himself up. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rupert, don’t you ever knock?” His tone increasing in volume with each word.

“I’m so sorry. This was a mistake, this was…” You manage to push out, your eyes brimming with tears. How utterly embarrassing. It’s dawned on you what a huge mistake you’re making. Fastening your skirt and brushing tears from your eye, you fly out the door as fast as your legs would take you — brutally aware of a furious yet saddened Declan calling your name from his open living room. “Fuck.. please!” He shouted again, running his hands over his face.

[scealaiscoite]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。 ﾟ。　 january prompts

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

¹��� amber

²⁾ seven stitches

³⁾ a bare back

⁴⁾ homesick

⁵⁾ gone-cold tea

⁶⁾ kitchen table

⁷⁾ an empty train carriage

⁸⁾ shotgun shells

⁹⁾ blackberry jam

¹⁰⁾ an older woman

¹¹⁾ silver candlesticks

¹²⁾ cheap tattoos

¹³⁾ a shattered windscreen

¹⁴⁾ rosemary

¹⁵⁾ a half-full milk carton

¹⁶⁾ family tree

¹⁷⁾ backseat

¹⁸⁾ a broken lock

¹⁹⁾ thursday

²⁰⁾ lovers’ lane

²¹⁾ unrequited

²²⁾ someone tying up your seatbelt for you

²³⁾ soft persimmons

²⁴⁾ a beaded curtain

²⁵⁾ rusted nails

²⁶⁾ handcuffs

²⁷⁾ lukewarm bathwater

²⁸⁾ a divorce lawyer

²⁹⁾ thigh-high boots

³⁰⁾ cigar smoke

³¹⁾ worship

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 11 Chapter 11 | splintered reverie ⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The morning sun filtered gently through the open windows, casting a golden glow across Queen Penelope's chambers. The light was soft, barely warm, and it turned the curtains into gauzy veils, making them sway gently with the breeze that carried the scent of the herbs growing outside.

You were pouring a delicate herbal infusion, the scent of rosemary and mint rising into the air, into a silver cup etched with Athena's myth. The intricate designs on the cup shimmered in the morning light, depicting the goddess in battle, her spear raised high.

The steam curled up in gentle wisps, twisting and dissipating into the soft morning light. You carefully controlled the stream, tilting the clay vessel slowly to ensure not a single drop spilled. 

Penelope's voice filled the room, smooth and wistful, as she spoke of simpler days—her youth, the laughter of her childhood—spent exploring the olive groves, of secret hiding spots near the cliffs, and of the scent of the sea that lingered in her hair long after she returned home.

Her gaze drifted toward the open window, her eyes losing focus as if she could see those groves once more, stretching endlessly before her.

Her fingers absently traced the rim of her cup, following the contours as she spoke, her lips curving into a small, almost bittersweet smile. There was a soft sigh, barely audible, as if she were reluctant to return to the present.

You listened attentively, nodding occasionally as you steadied the clay vessel holding the water; your gaze flickered between the steaming infusion and the queen, taking in her every word.

Each story she told felt like a thread weaving a vivid tapestry of her past, and you could almost see it—young Penelope, her laughter ringing through the hills of Sparta, her eyes bright and free of worry.

There was a soft sigh, barely audible, as if she were reluctant to return to the present. Her voice, usually commanding and full of responsibility, now held a gentleness—a vulnerability that she rarely showed.

But the quiet intimacy of the moment was interrupted by a sudden, firm knock at the chamber door. Penelope paused mid-sentence, her brows arching slightly as her gaze shifted towards the door.

You gave her a reassuring smile before setting the cloth down beside the shallow clay vessel holding the hot herbal water; you smoothed out the creases in your dress, the fabric rustling softly as you moved towards the door.

Your hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before you pulled it open.

The door creaked slightly, and your eyes immediately met Telemachus'. His face was scrunched in a frown, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression softened. A smile began to tug at his lips, and you could feel one growing on yours in return.

You stared up at him, taking in the way his features changed—the tension leaving his face, his eyes softening with recognition.

But then, something shifted.

His eyes widened just a smidge, and a look of panic flashed across his features, his smile faltering. You could see the muscles in his jaw clench for a moment, his eyes darting towards the interior of the room before quickly flicking back to you.

A bead of sweat seemed to form at his temple, and his eyes—once so filled with warmth—now carried a sense of urgency, almost as if he had been caught somewhere he shouldn't have been.

You blinked, your own smile freezing as you tried to understand the sudden change. Confusion clouded your thoughts, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Penelope's voice called from behind you, breaking the growing silence. "Who is it, ____?"

You turned, holding the door wider as you spoke, "It's Prince Telemachus, my—" Your words faltered, the sentence trailing off as you turned your head back towards the door, only to find the empty space before you. "—queen?"

The hallway beyond was empty.

You blinked, your eyes scanning the space, almost expecting to see Telemachus hiding just beyond the doorframe. But there was nothing, only the quiet echo of Penelope's chambers and the distant chirping of morning birds.

The silence suddenly felt thick, the warmth of his presence fading like a dream slipping away upon waking. Had he even been there at all? The thought flickered through your mind, absurd yet unsettling, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than a trick of your imagination.

Your face scrunched up, a puzzled frown tugging at your lips.

You turned back to Penelope, brows knitting together in bewilderment. "Um, I'm unsure where he'd gone," you said, your voice hesitant. "I could have sworn he was just here..."

You felt the confusion settle deeper, as if the moment you had just experienced had slipped like water through your fingers.

Penelope's curious gaze settled on you, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied your expression. "Telemachus was here?" she repeated, her voice calm, though curiosity laced her tone.

You nodded, feeling a bit silly now. "He was. Just for a moment, but..." You hesitated, glancing once more at the open door, half-expecting him to reappear as quickly as he'd vanished. "I truly don't know where he went."

You turned back around to shut the door, but before you could, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway once more. You paused, the door still ajar, and turned just in time to see a young servant skidding to a stop, panting slightly.

"Wait, please," they called, their voice soft but urgent.

You blinked, taking in their appearance—a young person,  their features so delicate it was hard to tell if they were a young man or woman. Their tawny-honey hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, stray strands framing their face; large, earnest hazel eyes met yours, catching a bit of the morning light.

They wore a male servant's uniform that hung loosely on their slender frame, and they were around your height, perhaps a bit taller. But despite the clothing, there was an androgynous beauty to them—something almost ethereal in their features.

"Prince Telemachus..." the servant panted, trying to catch their breath. You raised an eyebrow, a questioning look in your eyes as you waited for them to continue. The servant hesitated, tucking a stray lock of hair behind their ear, their gaze briefly dropping to the floor. "He told me to tell you..." They paused, pressing a hand to their chest before finally managing, "To tell his mother... he'll be back to... join her for lunch."

You stood there, almost speechless for a moment, a wave of confusion washing over you. "Oh..." was all you managed for a moment, glancing down the hallway again.

"Alright, thank you," you finally managed, the words coming out slower than usual, still unsure what to make of it. You gave the servant a small smile as they straightened up, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

They gave you a polite bow, shifting slightly from foot to foot as if uncertain, before turning and disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there, the door still ajar.

You slowly closed the door, the latch clicking quietly into place. As you turned back around, Penelope had already lifted her cup to her lips. You caught a glimpse of her expression—her eyes glinting with something unreadable, her lips twitching as if hiding a smile.

She shook her head slightly, her voice so soft you almost missed it, lips curving into an almost secretive smile. "Silly boy," she muttered, almost to herself, a sigh escaping as if it was a habit—a mother's familiar exasperation mixed with affection.

You made your way back across the room, still feeling a hint of confusion. Penelope set her cup down as you approached, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "There's no need to relay the message, dear," she said, her eyes glinting with humor. "I heard everything."

You blinked, a bashful smile tugging at your lips. "Oh... of course, my queen," you murmured, a bit flustered.

Penelope shook her head again, her eyes softening as she looked up at you. "He's always been impulsive, but his heart's in the right place," she said, her tone filled with both fondness and a hint of exasperation.

You weren't too sure why she told you this, but you accepted it with a nod.

Turning back to your little station, you busied yourself with tidying up—setting the sugar bowl neatly back onto the tray you had carried there, arranging in a more orderly cluster.

You carefully lifted the clay vessel next, making sure there were no spills, and set it back onto the tray as well. The familiar task brought you a sense of calm, grounding you amidst the lingering confusion.

As you worked, Penelope's voice called to you, soft yet clear, "Well, since my son has taken charge of my lunch plans, I suppose you'll be alright if I free you of your duties until then." She paused, her gaze flicking towards the window, her lips curving into a small smile. "Telemachus and I will likely have lunch in the reading alcove—it's a beautiful day, the sun should bless us with good light."

You bowed your head respectfully, a warm smile touching your lips. "Of course, my queen. I'll be sure to bring extra wine as well as the prince's favorite honey cakes," you replied, a hint of affection in your voice as you thought of Telemachus' fondness for the treat.

Penelope nodded, her eyes twinkling slightly. "Thank you, dear. That would be lovely."

You straightened up, gathering the tray and making your way towards the door. As you reached it, you glanced back, catching sight of Penelope gazing out the window, her expression soft and almost wistful. She held her cup delicately, the rim just brushing her lips as she took a small sip, her eyes distant.

There was something peaceful about her in that moment—something deeply content as she watched.

With a deep breath, you made your way out the room.

☆

☆

"You're strumming it like you're trying to scare a cat away!"

"How is it my fault that you're a horrible teacher!?"

The courtyard was calm today, bathed in golden sunlight that filtered through the leaves of olive and cypress trees. The air was filled with the scent of fresh earth, blooming flowers, and the distant hint of salt from the sea.

You and Callias were settled comfortably on the soft grass, your shoulders almost touching as you leaned in to watch his attempts at the lyre. He was holding your lyre, though not quite as gracefully as you might have liked, the strings stilling under his fingers as he tried to follow your instructions.

"Alright, alright, let me try again!" Callias insisted, determination written across his face despite his obvious lack of talent.

You watched as he squinted down at the lyre, lifting it much higher than necessary until it was perched awkwardly against his chest. His tongue peeked out slightly from between his lips as he concentrated, fingers awkwardly plucking at the strings with an exaggerated precision.

A few dull, entirely off-tune notes rang out, and you couldn't help but cringe just a little, trying to hold back your laughter.

He strummed a few more times before sighing in defeat, sucking his teeth as he plopped the lyre into your lap without warning. "Obviously, it's broken," he declared, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin as though offended.

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your lips twitching with amusement. Callias peeked one eye open, gauging your reaction before quickly turning his head again, pretending to remain aloof.

The sight of his exaggerated haughtiness, paired with the sheer audacity of his complaint, was too much. You couldn't hold it in any longer—the laughter bubbled up, light and infectious, spilling from your lips.

Hugging the lyre to your chest, you shook your head. "Oh, broken, is it?" you managed between laughs. "You mean to tell me the strings are to blame for your... unique musical talents?"

Callias scoffed, turning his head just enough for you to catch his smirk. "I don't appreciate your tone, fair lady," he replied, pretending to be deeply hurt.

You rolled your eyes, your laughter finally subsiding into softer giggles. Despite only knowing him for a short time, Callias made it feel as if you'd known each other forever. 

The way he sulked—childlike and endearing—made it hard for you to take him seriously, and though his musical skills left much to be desired, there was a lightness to these moments—something carefree and genuine.

You nudged him playfully with your elbow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "Maybe it's not broken, Callias. Maybe it's just you," you teased, your fingers already plucking at the strings with ease, producing a short and sweet melody that seemed to fill the air effortlessly.

Callias' lips pulled into a pout, his eyes narrowing at your casual display of skill. He watched you for a beat, his expression somewhere between admiration and mock annoyance. "Show-off," he muttered, though his tone held no real bitterness.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and a grin of his own returned. He reached into the satchel at his side, pulling out his panpipes, and wiggled them in front of your face. "Well, at least I can play these," he declared, his voice taking on a challenging note. "Now it's your turn to struggle."

You couldn't help but sigh dramatically, your shoulders slumping slightly in mock defeat. "Oh, not those again," you groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips nonetheless.

Callias waggled his eyebrows at you, clearly enjoying himself. "Come on, now. Fair's fair, isn't it?" He gave the pipes a shake, the small wooden tubes clicking together. "Let's see if you've magically gotten any better since this morning."

Your mind drifted back to earlier. After being relieved by the queen, you'd made your way to your usual spot in the courtyard, only to be intercepted by Callias not too long after. Without so much as a greeting, he'd started talking about practicing instruments, and before you knew it, he had you attempting to play his panpipes again.

Despite your natural affinity for most instruments, the pipes had given you trouble from the start. Something about the coordination of breath and fingers just didn't come easily, and after a few embarrassing squeaks and out-of-tune notes, you'd given up—flustered and frustrated.

Callias had laughed it off, of course, insisting that it was all part of the learning process, before demanding a turn with your lyre. And now, here the two of you were, neither particularly successful, but both unwilling to admit defeat.

With a sigh, you set the lyre down beside you and reached for the panpipes. "Fine, fine," you said, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break free. "But if I pass out from lack of air, it'll be on your conscience."

Callias smirked, leaning back on his hands as he watched you bring the pipes to your lips. "Oh, I doubt that," he teased. "Besides, you're too stubborn to give up that easily."

You took a deep breath, eyes narrowing in determination. The pipes were cool beneath your fingers, and as you blew into them, you tried to mimic the same smooth melody Callias had played earlier.

The sound that came out was... not quite right. It wasn't the high-pitched squeak from before, but it was still far from pleasant.

Callias bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and you shot him a glare. "You're a terrible teacher," you shot back, lowering the pipes with a huff.

He grinned, shrugging with an expression that very clearly said, You win some, you lose some. He reached over, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat. "Don't worry, you'll get there eventually. And until then, I'll just be here... being better at it than you."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile found its way to your lips.

Playfully, you scowled and shook your fist at him, your eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "Oh, you're insufferable! You sound like an old crone—'Practice makes perfect, my dear!' Bah!"

Callias' eyes went wide for a split second before he burst into a fit of laughter, his head tipping back as he shrieked with delight. "Oh gods, listen to yourself!" he gasped, barely able to speak through his laughter. "Me!? You're the one that sounds ancient! Like some wise old grandmother trying to give life advice!"

You huffed, though the smile pulling at your lips betrayed your attempt at indignation. "Well, maybe the old crones know a thing or two," you shot back, but even as you spoke, your own laughter threatened to bubble up again.

Callias continued to laugh, clutching his side, and you couldn't help but join in, the courtyard once again filled with the lightness of your shared joy.

"There you are, Callias..."

The sharp voice broke through your laughter, shattering the carefree moment like a clay pot against stone.

You and Callias both froze mid-laugh, your heads snapping over to the source of the voice. A few feet away stood Lady Andreia, making her way toward the two of you with a determined stride.

Your eyes were drawn to Andreia's dress first. At first glance, it looked to be blue, but as she drew closer, the true color became more apparent—a seafoam green, soft and elegant, the fabric rippling like water with each of her steps. She moved with a certain regality, her chin held high, her expression carefully poised.

A servant trailed behind her, holding a skiadeion—a small, elegant parasol that matched Andreia's attire, shading her from the morning sun.

Callias cleared his throat, his previous laughter abruptly stifled, though his lips still twitched with the remnants of a grin. He gave you a quick, sideways glance, his eyes wide with mock alarm, as though silently asking if you could shield him from whatever was coming.

Quickly, the two of you scrambled to your feet. Callias was up first, briskly dusting off his pants before extending his hand to you. His grip was steady as he helped you up gently. You dusted off your skirts as Andreia came to a stop in front of you both, her gaze flickering between you and Callias.

The air felt different, heavier.

You could sense Andreia's dismissive demeanor as her eyes glanced over you briefly before moving right back to Callias, almost as if you were not worth lingering on.

It wasn't exactly hostile, but you couldn't ignore the way she seemed to see through you. It struck you how different she acted when a member of the royal family was present—almost like you weren't even there.

Callias, sensing the tension, glanced at you and gave you an apologetic look. "Sorry about this," he murmured, and you shook your head, brushing it off with a small smile. "No worries," you replied lightly, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness. "Remember, I have to bring the queen and prince lunch... speaking of which, I believe it's almost time."

You gave a shallow curtsy to Andreia, your eyes lowering out of respect. "My lady, if you'll excuse me," you said politely, clutching your dress tightly.

Andreia's eyes snapped toward you, and for a brief second, it was as if she'd just realized you were standing there. "Oh... and you are...?"

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly as you tried not to stutter. "I am, ____... I am the queen's personal handmaiden, my lady." Internally, embarrassment clawed at you.

You'd thought that surely she knew you by now, with all the time spent in the palace. But you quickly brushed it aside. She was a royal, after all, and you were merely a servant—it wasn't her place to know who you were.

It felt like whatever interest she may have had fizzled away, like a candle snuffed out. Without so much as acknowledging your introduction, her gaze shifted back to Callias, her attention solely on him now.

The conversation moved forward, and you were no longer a part of it.

Andreia spoke to Callias in a tone that was neither harsh nor gentle. It lacked the warmth you were used to hearing when the Ithacan royals addressed their servants—something was missing, like the courtesy extended to those who worked tirelessly behind the scenes.

Callias, in response, kept his face neutral, his expression giving nothing away. It was like he'd donned a mask, one practiced and well-worn, as though he was used to this kind of interaction.

Peeking slightly over Andreia's shoulder, you caught Callias' eye. For just a heartbeat, his blank face broke as he tilted his head ever so slightly, a silent signal that said go, get out of here while you can. He managed a small, reassuring smile, one meant just for you.

You nodded gratefully and took a careful step back before turning on your heel, eager to slip away unnoticed. Your departure was quick, your feet nearly gliding across the stone path as you put distance between yourself and the royal and two servants.

As you left, Andreia's voice grew louder, commanding in a way that demanded attention. Whatever she needed from Callias was not your concern anymore.

You pushed the encounter from your mind, focusing instead on your next task—the lunch preparations for the queen and prince awaited, and you couldn't afford to be distracted; plus, there was no use lingering on things you couldn't change.

☆ ✩ ☆

It wasn't until sometime later, after you had served lunch to your two royals, that you realized you had forgotten your lyre.

A small pang of panic rippled through your chest, your mind racing. But then you remembered where you had last had it—in the courtyard, with Callias.

If this had been before you'd spent time with him, you might have been worried out of your mind, imagining all the possible ways your instrument could've ended up damaged or worse. But you knew Callias now.

Despite his teasing nature, you had come to see how careful and considerate he was, especially with his own instrument. He treated the panpipes with reverence, always handling them as if they were made of glass.

You could trust him to grant your lyre the same respect.

You sighed, relieved, deciding to simply ask him about it when you next saw him. However, as you were leaving Queen Penelope's quarters, your arms full with a basket of dirty bedsheets, someone startled you. A soft voice called out, and you turned, blinking in surprise. "Excuse me, miss?"

It was a servant—a Bronte servant, to be precise.

"Yes?" You gave a polite smile, shifting everything to one arm.

"Callias asked me to tell you that he has your lyre with him near the sheepfold."

For a moment, you were stunned, blinking at the servant before managing a response. "Oh," you mumbled, "Thank you."

The servant gave a polite nod before turning and leaving, her footsteps echoing lightly in the hallway. As she disappeared around the corner, you let out a soft scoff, shaking your head with a smile. "He would make me cross the entire palace just to get it," you muttered under your breath, amused.

Balancing the heavy basket back in both arms, you shifted its weight slightly, a humor-tinged thought crossing your mind as you began walking—since the king's return, Penelope had spent more time in his chambers rather than her own.

It seemed as though she used her quarters as a sort of resting spot, a break room whenever Odysseus was too busy to be with her. She hadn't moved back to her old rooms permanently, though.

It made sense, you supposed, after twenty years apart; staying close must have been comforting for them both.

You smiled at the thought, admiring their closeness.

With that small smile still lingering on your lips, you continued on your way, making a mental note to find Callias as soon as you dropped this off. You glanced out the window, noting the sun halfway in the sky.

You still had time before dinner.

.☆.           .✩.                    .☆.

A soft breeze brushed against your face as you stepped into the open corridors of the palace. You walked across the polished stone floors, each step echoing lightly in the halls.

The air was crisp, carrying with it a slight chill that nipped at your exposed skin—a reminder that the sun was now hidden partially behind clouds, leaving the palace grounds caught in that in-between of warmth and coolness.

You blew into your free hand, warming it with your breath, your fingers feeling a little stiff from the cold.

The sky above shifted from blue to a muted gray as the clouds filtered across, their shadows passing over the palace like fleeting memories. It wasn't an unpleasant cold, but enough to make you miss the earlier sunlight.

As you moved closer to the sheepfold, the difference between the animal areas became noticeable.

Unlike the pungent, earthy scent that clung to Eumaeus's pigsty, the air near the sheepfold was significantly lighter—a faint musk mixed with the grassy, soft bleating of sheep in the distance.

It was almost peaceful compared to the boisterous sounds of the pigs.

The layout was familiar. A small fenced-in area held the sheep in place, and beyond that, a shed a few feet away housed their feed and tools—simple, practical, but well-kept.

A soft melody reached your ears, just barely discernible over the rustling of the wind. Your pace quickened, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It was unmistakably the sound of your lyre—though played with hesitance, and the notes weren't quite right.

Rounding the bend of the sheepfold, you caught sight of a makeshift setup—a crate, weathered and worn, placed in front of the shed. Someone sat upon it, back straight and poise evident even from afar. A small, fenced-in area behind them kept the sheep safely enclosed, and the shed nearby cast a long shadow across the ground.

"Ah-ha! I knew you knew how to play! Better pay up for wasting my time..." your voice trailed off, your teasing tone faltering mid-sentence.

It wasn't Callias.

Lady Andreia turned her head, her eyes locking onto yours as you came to a sudden stop.

The clouds overhead thickened, their dark shapes sliding slowly across the sky, casting elongated shadows on the palace grounds. The breeze picked up, a little sharper now, carrying a weight that clung to your skin.

She was sitting delicately on the edge of the crate, her back straight, as if even the old box disgusted her. Her fingers stilled over the strings of your lyre, and she regarded you with an arched brow, clearly unamused by your sudden appearance.

The playful smile you'd worn vanished, replaced by an expression of surprise and confusion. Andreia—of all people—had your lyre. You tried to school your features, but it was difficult to hide the uncertainty bubbling within you.

The soft melody she had been playing died off, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air. Andreia remained seated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the lyre still resting atop her lap, her fingers tracing its edges with a lazy kind of carelessness.

Tearing your eyes away from your lyre, you immediately dropped into a curtsey, apologizing, "I'm so sorry, Lady Andreia, I-I thought Callias—"

She cut you off abruptly, standing with a swift motion, her gaze never leaving your face as she approached. "No need to explain," she said, her voice cool, dismissive. "I know."

The air grew heavier, the faint scent of moisture carried on the breeze. Somewhere far off, you thought you saw the sky flicker, but the light faded before you could be sure.

You blinked, rising slowly, your eyes flicking back up to meet hers as confusion etched itself onto your features. "P-pardon?" The word slipped out before you could stop it—an instinct, questioning her words.

Andreia said nothing for a moment, just letting out a nonchalant hum as her eyes assessed you, taking in every detail as she began circling you, moving gracefully, her gaze never faltering.

There was something in the way she walked—like a cat slowly stalking prey—that made you tense, your stomach twisting into a small knot.

The clouds above grew darker still, deepening to a stormy gray, casting an eerie dimness over the courtyard. The breeze had turned into a steady wind, and you noticed the way it stirred the hem of Andreia's dress.

Then, she stopped in front of you, her head tilting to the side; her eyes bore into yours, lips curling into a slight smirk. "You're pretty," she said bluntly, the words dropping like a stone between you.

The bluntness of her statement made you stiffen, taken aback by the unexpected comment. You blinked before forcing yourself to reply. "Um, t-thank you, Lady—"

But before you could even finish, Andreia cut you off again, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing as her lips twisted into something between a smirk and a smile. It was as if she spoke not to you, but rather at you—as if you were an accessory to her musings. "Tell me," she continued, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "did my brother find you pretty as well?"

Faint flashes of light appeared far on the horizon, subtle and quick, casting brief flickers across the landscape.

The question caught you off guard, and you fumbled for a response, your heart jumping to your throat. "N-no, my lady," you stammered, dropping your gaze to the ground, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "I—He— He was here as a suitor for the queen—only for the queen."

Andreia hummed again, her eyes never leaving your face, studying the way you faltered; the smirk on her lips growing slightly as she stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. You could feel the weight of her gaze, and it made you want to shrink away.

You dropped your gaze further. "I—The queen... and Prince Telemachus," you mumbled quickly, grasping for anything to divert the conversation. "Dinner will be starting soon, and the royal family will surely need me. Excuse me."

Far away, the flashes became more frequent, illuminating the edges of the clouds in fleeting bursts. The air was thick now, clinging to your skin, heavy with the promise of rain.

You thought about reaching for your lyre, but decided against it. The last thing you wanted was to escalate whatever strange game Andreia was playing. Instead, you turned on your heel, attempting to step back and leave.

But Andreia was quicker. Her fingers wrapped around your arm, stopping you in place. Her nails dug in lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point clear. "Hold on," she said, her voice now edged with a sharper, commanding tone, laced with a bit of mockery. "No need to be rude to your guest..."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't dare look up, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you nodded slightly. "Of course, my lady... my apologies."

Andreia held your arm for a moment longer, her nails digging in a tad bit deeper, just enough that you had to withhold a wince, resisting the instinct to yank your arm away, before she finally let go.

When you finally looked up, Andreia was smiling at you, but it never reached her eyes—there was something hollow, calculated in her expression.

The atmosphere between you both was heavy, tense, and you felt the urge to leave bubbling up again. The coldness of her gaze seemed to seep into your very bones, and you had to stop yourself from recoiling.

Andreia just tilted her head, her eyes trailing down before she focused on the lyre in her hands. Her fingers traced along its edges lazily, her gaze turning almost absent, as if you had faded from her attention altogether.

She hummed softly, her tone light but with a mocking undercurrent. "You know, Callias was very eager to be the one to deliver this back to you... your lyre, that is, once he realized you left it," she mused, her voice almost casual.

Andreia lifted the lyre by one of its strings, letting it dangle precariously, the wooden frame swaying in her grip.

Your hand twitched involuntarily, a surge of worry running through you.

It hung on her finger like it was ready to snap at any moment, and she seemed to know exactly how it looked—her eyes darting to you out of the corner of her gaze, watching for a reaction.

"What an ugly thing," she finally said, her tone blunt, as if the comment held no weight. Your eyes remained on the lyre, your heart tightening at the sight of it hanging so carelessly.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your expression neutral.

You cleared your throat, mustering the courage to speak. "Lady Andreia," you began, your voice wavering slightly. Andreia's eyes snapped sharply to yours, her gaze narrowing, daring you to continue. "If I may—it's a gift from Queen Penelope, herself," you managed to say, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

At this, Andreia's expression twitched, her lips tightening for a brief moment before she let out a scoff. "A gift from the queen? What in the name of Hades would compel her to give you something like this?" she asked, her voice dripping with incredulity, her fingers still tracing the edge of the lyre.

The air between you seemed to grow colder, the tension twisting tighter, and all you could do was stand there, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You hesitated, your eyes dropping back to the lyre. It was weathered and aged—clearly old. Though you cared for it diligently, the wood had dried out over the years, becoming brittle. Hairline cracks had formed around the joints, particularly where the crossbar connected to the arms—areas of frequent stress.

It was actually a lyre the queen had herself from her youth, a ratty old thing that you cherished deeply.

Over the years, Penelope and even Telemachus had often asked if you wanted a new one. The prince had even reassured you that he could have the best lyre ever crafted, the most expensive one available, if only you asked.

But you always refused.

This lyre held more than just music—it carried memories, moments shared with the queen, times of solace, and comfort. It was more than an instrument; it was a piece of your past that you weren't ready to part with.

Your once respectful demeanor began to evaporate, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You could feel your lips pulling into a frown, your face heating up in anger.

Your patience was wearing thin—you were getting sick of this royal, her coldness, her careless words.

"It doesn't matter why," you said harshly, your voice firmer now. "The queen gave it to me, and I am thankful for it. She did so much for all of us during her time of grief for King Odysseus—and this 'ugly thing' helped her, helped many of us, get through that." You could feel your heart pounding as you spoke, your words coming out more boldly than you had intended.

It wasn't until the silence settled between you, the weight of your words hanging in the air, that you realized what you'd done. You gasped, eyes widening as your hands flew to your mouth.

Andreia narrowed her eyes at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, you thought she might lash out, but then her face smoothed out entirely. The warmth—what little of it there ever was—returned to her features, her lips curving into a smile that was almost pleasant.

"F-forgive me, Lady Andreia... I-I didn't mean to speak out of turn... I—"

She raised a hand to her mouth, hiding a giggle, as if you'd just said the funniest thing in the world, cutting your apology off completely. "Oh, how amusing," she said, her eyes glinting with something you couldn't quite place. She took a step forward, her gaze holding yours. "It's funny," she continued, her voice almost sing-song, "how you still call me 'Lady Andreia' instead of what I am—a princess."

You blinked, taken aback, confused by the sudden shift. You had expected her to address your outburst, your audacity. You had expected her to be furious, to lash out.

Instead, she was smiling—talking about a title.

Honestly, you didn't call her 'princess' because she wasn't your princess. Plus, King Odysseus had shown his hand the very day the Bronte entourage arrived, addressing her as 'Lady Andreia,' despite her official title.

It was clear he wanted everyone in Ithaca to treat her as a guest, not as someone to be held above—or even on equal footing—as the royal family here.

Clearing your throat, you looked away, chickening out for a few seconds before finally gathering the courage to look her in the eyes once more, only to falter at the sight of her eyes—dark and stormy, yet the same smile remained on her face. "Um, oh, forgive me, I didn't mean to offend—"

She cut you off, letting out a laugh that sounded forced and hollow. "Of course not," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I wouldn't expect a servant to understand proper decorum. You're all just so... simple-minded, aren't you?" Her words were sharp, tinged with something cruel, yet there was truth to her observation—something bitter that stung.

You stayed silent, your teeth pressing into the inside of your cheek, hoping that this would be enough, that maybe she would stop and let you go. That she'd finally leave.

But Andreia wasn't done.

"You see, that's the issue with servants these days," she said, her voice dropping lower as she began to rant, her eyes drifting away from yours. "You're allowed too much joy, too much freedom. It makes you forget your place." Her gaze flicked back to the lyre, and without warning, she harshly plucked at the strings, her fingers pulling at them almost violently, as if to prove some twisted point.

The discordant twang made you wince inwardly, though you dared not let it show on your face.

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing along the lyre's frame. "Don't you agree, ____?" she asked, her voice back sickeningly sweet, her eyes cold as ice, her question hanging in the air like a challenge.

You blinked, not only because you were confused about where she was going with this but also because you weren't aware she even knew your name, especially considering how she'd brushed you off with barely a glance.

You cleared your throat again, buying a few precious seconds as you struggled to find the right words. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Um, I apologize—I'm unsure what you mean..." you began, trying to deflect her question.

But she wasn't having it.

"That servants shouldn't be pestered from their duties, distracted..." she continued, her voice sharp. Her stare was unwavering, and it was unnerving enough that you felt your gaze drift away from hers involuntarily once more, your shoulders stiffening.

You shifted your weight, the cold wind brushing against your back as you stood there under her scrutiny. Finally, you nodded, your voice coming out barely louder than a whisper. "Yes, I agree, Lady Andreia."

Andreia's shoulders visibly relaxed at that, her smile shifting into something that almost looked genuine. She tilted her head, her eyes softening, though the coldness behind them never truly faded. "I'm happy we gained this understanding, ____."

You nodded, hoping that the ordeal was over, that she might dismiss you. "Um, if that is all, then I should—"

You were cut off by the sight of her raising both her arms high, and just as quickly, she brought her knee up sharply, smashing the lyre against it.

The sound of splintering wood filled the space between you, a harsh, unforgiving crack.

The moment the lyre splintered, a flash of lightning lit up the courtyard, followed by the deep, guttural boom of thunder that seemed to shake the very ground beneath your feet.

The lyre's fragile body splintered across her knee—not entirely in half, but enough to create a large, jagged crack down the middle. One of the arms broke almost completely, dangling loosely by a few remaining fibers, while a couple of strings snapped entirely, coiling up limply.

She dropped the pieces into the mud below, where they landed with a dull, heart-wrenching thud.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart leaping to your mouth as you watched her let go, the shattered remains of your cherished instrument falling to the ground—lifeless, splintered, utterly ruined.

Andreia dusted her hands off, her expression never faltering as she picked up the hem of her dress delicately to avoid the mud. "I hope to see you at dinner tonight. Perhaps you could try the panpipes and do a duet with Callias, hmm? I do enjoy a spirited song, especially one that could liven up the room. After all, I'm sure everyone could use a bit of cheer."

She looked at you, her smile once again light, almost pleasant. Then, her gaze flicked upward, lingering on the darkening sky as another rumble of thunder rolled through, deep and resonant.

Andreia's lips curled into a faint smirk, her voice light and airy as she said, "Do get inside before it rains, ____. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

Her tone was so disarmingly casual that, for a moment, it almost masked the weight of everything she'd just done.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, frozen, staring down at the shattered remnants of your lyre.

The tightness in your chest felt unbearable, and you could feel your eyes sting.

You dared not cry, not here, not now. But the loss of it—the history, the memories—stabbed through you painfully.

The smile she'd left you with was hauntingly sweet, the remnants of cruelty staining the air long after she'd departed.

Your vision blurred; numbness began to settle in, creeping over you like a suffocating fog. You barely registered the fact that your knees buckled, and you staggered down onto the ground, harshly falling into the mud, feeling the dirt and water seep into your clothes.

The rain had then begun to fall in earnest, droplets soft at first, but growing heavier with each passing moment.

Your hands hovered just above the remains of the lyre, trembling, almost too scared to touch it, as if the wood might splinter further just from your touch. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, but it was no use.

Your breathing grew ragged, and your nose felt hot, your face flushed with the intensity of it all. Your ears were ringing, and you could barely hear the whispered, desperate mantra that escaped your lips, over and over again: "No, no, no, no, no..."

The rain continued to pour, masking your tears, until you could no longer tell where the rain ended, and your sorrow began. It drenched your hair, soaked through your clothes, and chilled you to the bone.

But before you could completely fall apart, you forced yourself to pull it together. You swallowed hard, blinking against the rain, and wiped your face with the damp sleeve of your dress.

You had to keep moving. You couldn't stay here. You wouldn't allow yourself to break, not yet.

Hurriedly, you bundled up your dress, cradling the broken lyre as gently as you could. You held it close to your chest, protecting it from the rain as best as possible. Your steps were shaky, unsteady, as you pushed yourself to stand.

You told yourself it would be okay—you could fix this. You had your touch-up kit. You could fix it. You repeated it to yourself over and over, a fragile hope that kept you moving forward.

You made your way back to your chambers, the world around you feeling strangely surreal, almost like a dream. Everything passed in a blur—the raindrops falling around you, the distant voices of servants in the hallways.

It all felt muted, as if you were moving through water, disconnected from it all.

Somewhere along the way, you were stopped by Eurycleia. The older woman had seen you, drenched and muddied, carrying something in your arms, and her eyes widened with concern. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your shoulder as she frowned deeply. "Child, by Poseidon's waves... You're soaked through!"

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight, and quickly shook your head, trying to muster some semblance of composure. "I... I don't feel well, Eurycleia," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the worry etched across her features, and you quickly continued, "I don't think I can attend dinner tonight."

And honestly, it wasn't too far off from the truth. You were in no way in shape to attend dinner, let alone be in charge of taking care of the queen's needs tonight.

How could you, when every breath felt like it might shatter you all over again?

Eurycleia's brow furrowed, her gaze staring at your face; she clicked her tongue in disapproval, her voice softening as she cooed at you, "Oh, dear child, you shouldn't have been out in this weather..."

You nodded numbly, her words fading into the background as your focus remained on the weight of the lyre in your arms. It was the only thing grounding you to reality.

Eurycleia gently turned you, her hands firm yet kind as she began ushering you towards your quarters. "Go now, you must rest. I'll let the queen know you're unwell, and I'll handle everything for tonight. You need to get warm, before you catch your death out here. I'll have a light broth sent up to your room, something to help you recover."

You offered her a small, weak smile, murmuring, "Thank you, Eurycleia."

The older woman only shook her head, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection. "No need for thanks, child. Just take care of yourself."

Everything else blurred together after that. The world felt distant, as if you were seeing everything through a foggy glass.

You could barely remember how you had gotten here, how you had managed to strip off your drenched clothes and wrap yourself in something dry.

It was all a haze—a strange, disjointed sequence of moments that didn't quite feel real.

And then, the next thing you knew, you were kneeling before your bed, the broken lyre splayed out across the blanket. Splintered, damaged, a shell of what it once was.

Your fingers traced along the fractured wood, the jagged edges where it had cracked beneath Andreia's grip. The strings lay limp, some still attached while others hung uselessly, curling in on themselves.

The sight of it sent another pang through your chest, and you had to swallow hard to push back the tears that threatened to resurface.

You had promised yourself you could fix this. It was more than just a lyre—it was a part of you, a part of your memories with the queen, a part of everything you cherished.

And you weren't ready to let that go.

With trembling hands, you reached for your touch-up kit, your mind focused solely on the task ahead.

You would fix it... You had to...

There was no other option.

A/N: I swear i'm going somewhere with this plot, sry if andreia seems kinda ooc/weird but i promise i tried doing my best leading up to this without sacrificing anymore chapters on her 😩😭; just know the plot twist is pippin 😮‍💨; also trying my hand posting my non-binary/androgynous character(s)/attempts so if you see me struggling, no you didn't (which is actually hilarious cuz i'm actually androgynous asf in real life so why am i making things so difficult???🤣)

[handful0fteeth]

so fragile (it's getting me off)

stranger kinks 3: boot worship

summary: you flirted with a boy at a party in front of billy, and he's going to make sure he doles out the proper punishment.

pairings: billy hargrove x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, explicit language, a lot of dirty talk, heavy degradation, roughness, mean dom!billy, sub!reader, edgeplay, face slapping, safewords, color system, possessiveness, honestly prolly more than a lil toxic but don't worry abt it

words: 3.7k words

You wish Billy didn’t smoke Newports.

You wish he didn’t smoke at all, to be fair – you hate how the stench of it sticks to his curls and clothes, and you especially hate the taste that lingers in his mouth after he finishes a cigarette. You’ve remarked on it many times, usually after you’ve abruptly ended a kiss because it was like licking an ashtray. His response was always the same: a roll of his eyes and a snide, “Don’t be such a baby.”

There’s something particularly foul about Newports, though, at least to you. Their odor is pungent, sharper, more determined to crawl all the way up your nose and get comfortable there so you can’t stop smelling them for hours. You think that maybe if Billy wasn’t puffing away on Newports right now, you’d be slightly less humiliated by your current predicament.

Slightly.

“I didn’t say you could slow down,” he murmurs, barely flicking his eyes in your direction. Like you’re not worth the effort it’d take to tilt his head down to look at you, straddling his leg, skirt hiked up over your hips, cunt grinding down on the toe of his boot. You huff. 

“My legs are tired.” They’re on fucking fire, more like. You don’t know how long you’ve been at this, only that the crickets surrounding Billy’s porch have started to chirp louder from the time you began, and the sky has ripened from a hazy, humid navy blue, thick with the promise of summer rain, to solid black. Sweat beads at your hairline and drips smoothly down the curve of your spine; the spots you’ve been gripping for purchase on Billy’s jeans are dark with your perspiration.

“Don’t care.” He takes a long final drag off his cigarette before stubbing it out in the crystal ashtray beside him. The butt hasn’t been smoldering for all of thirty seconds before Billy reaches for his pack and shakes out a new one, sliding it between his teeth and cupping a hand around the end as he flicks his lighter. 

“I’m sorry,” you say for the millionth time tonight. The cherry of Billy’s cigarette glows as he inhales deeply, and his free hand darts out to grip your face. You gasp, an action you almost immediately regret because he leans down and blows smoke directly into your open mouth. 

His laughter echoes into the night as you sputter and cough, and as much as it infuriates you, your pussy throbs in response to his blatant disrespect, and so you grit your teeth and dig your forehead into his knee as your hips rock faster on his boot. 

This is your punishment. Earlier tonight, at a party one of Billy’s “friends” (you’re not sure if the man could forge a genuine friendship if his life depended on it) was throwing, some random drunk guy made it his mission to get your phone number. Billy hadn’t shown up yet, and frankly, you were mad at him anyway – you can’t remember why now, thanks to the lust and embarrassment forming a near-impenetrable fog in your brain – so you entertained him. You were never actually going to give the guy your number; you simply liked the attention, and the knowledge that you were doing something that would make Billy lose his mind so blatantly was thrilling.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Billy snuck up behind you, a solid mass at your back smelling of Newports and rosemary and musk, one hand tangling itself so deep within your hair that when he pulled, it brought tears to your eyes, and he smiled that smile at you that only meant one thing: You are fucked.

He’d watched you half-assedly flirt with the drunken guy for about five minutes before deciding to interrupt, and that five minutes was enough to get him so worked up you could practically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves as he held you taut, eyes bright and shockingly cold, the curl of his lips feline in its threatening nature. It was like a warning, an assurance that if you weren’t in public, he’d have ripped your throat out right there with those gleaming white teeth.

Instead, he brusquely excused the pair of you and led you outside, his grip unwavering and his forearm so stiff against your back you felt a bit like a ventriloquist dummy being puppeteered through the sparse front lawn. The apologies tumbled from your mouth like rocks down a cliffside, but it was as if he didn’t hear you. Or, more accurately, he outright ignored you. Once the prying eyes of his peers were gone, Billy’s carefully contrived façade melted like candle wax until all that was left was this beautiful, blank-faced column of rage that pinned you against the door of his car so hard you knew you’d have bruises.

“The fuck was that?” he spat, and you opened your mouth to answer, but clearly, it was a rhetorical question because he slapped a hand over your lips before they could produce a single sound.

“I’m not around for five minutes and you’re already trying to give it away to some Hawkins hillbilly? Seriously, Y/N? Acting like you don’t belong to anyone, like I don’t fucking exist? What, I don’t give you enough attention so you wanna slut out for a fucking hick, is that it?”

You tried to shake your head no, and Billy laughed, a humorless, terrifying sound. 

“Really? Sure seemed like it to me. He touch you?”

You made a small, squeaky sound and shook your head again. 

“Good. Glad you at least know better than that. ‘Cause this?” He shoved his other hand beneath your skirt, cupping you through your panties and grinding the heel of his hand into your clit hard enough to make you yelp. “This is mine. Do you understand me? Fucking mine.”

He lifted his palm from your mouth, giving you silent permission to speak again, and, hoping to appease him, you tilted your head down and gazed up at him reproachfully through your lashes. “Yes, Sir,” you said softly, watching satisfaction flicker briefly in his eyes. 

“Oh, now I’m Sir? A few minutes ago it seemed like you barely even remembered I existed, but suddenly I’m Sir again, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, I…it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“No, it won’t. Because I’m gonna spend the rest of the night making sure it doesn’t. Now get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t even get two steps onto his front porch before Billy stopped you, tossed his Newports pack and lighter onto a rounded table, slumped into a wicker chair in front of you, and ordered you to kneel.

“You wanna act like a slut, then you’re gonna be treated like one,” he said, but when you instinctively went for the buckle of his belt, he swatted your hands away and forced you back on your haunches.

“You think you get my cock after how you acted tonight? That’s like rewarding a puppy for pissing on the carpet. And you, Y/N, were a bad puppy, so you won’t be getting a treat. Not for a long fucking time, and that’s if you’re lucky.”

The rough wood dug into your bare knees as you knelt, and Billy took his sweet time lighting up a cigarette and taking a few indulgent puffs before kicking out one leg as an offering. When you stared at him blankly, unsure of what he was implying – or perhaps hoping he wasn’t really saying what you thought he was saying – he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act dumb. Hop on, slut.”

Now here you are – hurtling headlong toward an orgasm just from humping against your boyfriend’s boot. It’s humiliating. It’s the most degrading thing he’s ever had you do, and here you are, whining into his thigh and digging your nails into his jeans, huffing and so close, so fucking close, you’re gonna –

Thud.

Your ass hits the porch, a breeze whispering between your thighs before you’re fully aware of what just happened. Billy chuckles, tapping ash off his cigarette, brow heavy in shadow. His pupils have almost swallowed his irises whole, and his blackened gaze is like fire as it rakes hungrily up and down your body. “Don’t look so shocked. You think I can’t tell when you’re about to cum? Especially when you pant like that?” he asks. He shifts slightly on the chair, and the wet spot on his boot glistens as it catches the porch light. 

You squeeze your thighs together, and your entire body flushes once you realize you have soaked your panties all the way through and your skin is sticky with arousal. “I…I wasn’t,” you lie, knowing full well if he’d given you ten more seconds, you would’ve exploded and probably woken up half the neighborhood.

“Sure. You lost that privilege the second you started talking to the douchebag at the party, slut. Back to work.”

“How much longer?” you grouse, purposefully slowing your movements so you don’t give away how pathetically eager you are to resume your task. Your thighs tremble and twitch beneath you as you situate your drooling cunt back on Billy’s boot, and you suck the gasp that threatens to spill out back in once the pressure and friction you need are restored. He doesn’t even have to tell you to keep going, not this time – your hips move of their own accord. 

“Until I decide you’re done,” Billy answers. “Don’t be such a baby, like you’re not loving this.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, though the assertion rings hollow when Billy hitches his foot up slightly against your clit, and you moan. Motherfucker.

“You think that guy would be very impressed if he saw you right now?” he muses, taking a drag off his cigarette before setting it down on the edge of the ashtray. Smoke unfurls from the corners of his mouth as he grins down at you, making him look absolutely sinister. “Cause I don’t. I think he’d realize what a pathetic little whore you are and he’d laugh.”

The humiliation is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. You duck your head again, teeth grinding behind trembling lips, but Billy snatches you by the cheeks again and makes you look at him. You brace for another cloud of smoke aimed at your face, but nothing comes – he just stares at you, long blond lashes twitching on lowered lids. His hand slides around to the left side of your face, cupping your cheek in his palm almost tenderly. As pissed off as you are, you can’t help but lean into his touch.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks, low enough that his voice is nearly drowned out by the hum of katydids around his porch.

“You.”

Crack!

Billy slaps you so hard across the face that if he weren’t cradling your head, it would’ve whipped to the side. You realize that’s why he’s holding you like this, so he can smack you silly without actually risking injury to your jaw or neck. The tears do fall this time, one or two slipping silently out of the corners of your eyes, and your cheek burns red hot from the force of the slap. 

“What was that?” Billy asks, and you quickly realize your mistake.

“You, Sir,” you amend. The edge of his mouth quirks into a lazy grin, and he brushes a thumb over your stinging flesh.

“That’s right. Even when you’re being a fucking brat, you’re still mine. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Am I ever gonna catch you acting the way you did tonight again?” 

You sniffle, shaking your head vehemently. “No, Sir, never. I promise. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Crack!

You cry out, and your pussy throbs as Billy brushes a lock of hair out of your face and laughs. “I didn’t hear you. You’re what?”

“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” you repeat pitifully. Fresh tears sluice down your face, dragging your eye makeup with them; your right cheek tingles fiercely, and the pain blends with the pleasure radiating from your cunt so sweetly that you almost beg Billy to hit you again. You don’t have to, though – you catch a glimpse of his hand out of your peripheral vision, swinging through the air so fast that it becomes a pale blur against the night, and pain sparks across your skin anew. The presence of your tears heightens the impact of his palm, and you can’t help but openly sob after the blow, eyes squeezing shut.

There’s a release in the pain, an odd kind of catharsis you’d only discovered once you and Billy had started dating. He was always rougher with you than your past boyfriends, but he never truly manhandled you until you’d begged him for it – quite literally begged, on your knees, with tears sparkling prettily in your eyes and your bottom lip pushed out in a pout. Billy teased out the masochist in you, little by little, until you drooled for the pain he inflicted just as much as the mind-numbing pleasure. 

Your safeword is always there, an everpresent and ever-accepted option in case it all got to be too much, but you’ve come to enjoy the thrill of Billy toeing the line of your boundaries; he’s never stepped past it, and the way he rubs a tear away with the pad of his thumb before pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head assures you that he won’t now.

“You gonna be good for me from now on?” he asks, lips moving against your hair.

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper.

The sound of Billy’s zipper coming undone makes your eyes snap wide open. You watch with reverence as he reaches into his jeans, leaning back and fishing his already hard cock out of his boxers. A moan rolls out of your mouth involuntarily as he wraps his fist around the thick, veiny shaft, stroking himself once before settling his grip at the base. He’s flushed dark red with arousal, and there’s pre-cum beading at the tip, and without thinking, without asking permission, you surge forward to lick it off.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Billy chides like he’s scolding a dog, forcing you into stillness by wrapping your hair around his free hand. He laughs, the sound breathy thanks to the steady pace he’s begun to jerk himself off at, and shakes his head.

“So greedy. Get off my fucking leg.” 

You obey, a task which proves difficult to undertake with Billy’s fingers still curled against the nape of your neck, and before you can even think to question his command, your face is rushing down toward the porch. You cry out, convinced for a moment that you’re about to receive a mouthful of splinters, but Billy merely holds you down, back curved painfully and your legs tucked beneath your torso, nose inches from the ground. Then, his boot's brown, glistening toe is beneath your mouth.

“Clean it off,” he says. His voice is gravelly and tremulous, the way it always is when he’s being pleasured, and normally, you’d be the one giving him all that pleasure – but all you’re being offered is to lick your own slick off of his shoe. You want to scream with indignation, you want to rip your head from his hand and plant yourself on his cock, you want to selfishly rub your clit until you cum, you want so much you could cry right now. Humiliation roils in your stomach and scorches your nerves, inspiring tears to well in your eyes again.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Billy snarls. “You wanna lick the soles clean instead?”

Your nose scrunches in revulsion. “No, Sir.”

“Then do as I tell you, slut.”

Your safeword bubbles in the back of your throat, and you sniffle; a tear plops fatly on Billy’s boot before rolling off the edge. Just then, you feel his fingers lax the tiniest bit, and he bends toward you.

“Color?” You relax a little and chance a look up at him through wet lashes. He’s still mad; you can tell by how his jaw is set and the furrow in his brow, but his eyes scan yours dutifully, searching for anything you may not be able to verbalize. You swallow thickly.

“Yellow,” you croak. Please slow down. You hardly ever call yellow and have never had to call red before, but you’re so raw from what feels like hours of edging that everything is getting to be too much; the thrill you’ve come to crave has begun to sour. Your entire body is buzzing, but not in an entirely pleasant way – it’s more like the staticky feeling before you get shocked than it is euphoric tingling. So Billy nods almost imperceptibly and guides you back into a sitting position, fingers loosening until he’s gingerly cupping the base of your skull, and his head lolls to the side as he gazes at you. His cheeks have begun to flush, and perspiration glitters on the bit of his collarbone peeking out from beneath his collar, and he’s so fucking beautiful, even (or especially) when he’s being mean to you.

“You alright?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do we need to stop for the night?”

“No, Sir.” Your cunt aches at the thought.

Billy eyes you for a moment, fist still lazily working his shaft, and when he comes to a conclusion, he sights contentedly.

“You wanna be a good girl and cum on my boot, Y/N?” 

Your heart leaps at the thought, and the irony is not lost on you. If he had asked you the same question earlier today, you’d have turned your nose up at him and scoffed. Now, it’s like he’s giving you the greatest gift you could ask for. 

“Really?”

He nods. “You still don’t get my cock. I’m not budging on that. But I s’pose you’ve proven how sorry you are tonight. So maybe you deserve a little treat.”

His leg has barely brushed the inside of your thigh before you’re straddling it again, grinding with renewed fervor now that you know he’s going to show you mercy. He chuckles at your eagerness before stretching his arm back and pillowing his head with his free hand. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, “make yourself cum for me. You like when I reward you, huh, baby?”

“Yes, Sir,” you moan, your voice already high and strained in your throat.

“You look so fuckin’ wrecked right now. Makeup’s all fucked, and you got that desperate look on your face, fuck. You like when I ruin you, huh?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” He knows how quickly you crumble when he talks dirty, and he always rambles when he’s close, so you dig your nails into his calf and rock your hips more insistently. Tension coils between your hips, tighter, tighter, impossibly tight until you’re right on the edge again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll back and incapable of making a sound beyond pitiful little gasps between clenched teeth.

“That’s right, good girl, fucking cum for me –” 

Just as the first throb of your orgasm reverberates through your core, Billy pushes your head forward and hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it open as thick, hot ropes of cum splatter against your face. You moan loudly and stick your tongue out further, trying to catch his release and only minimally succeeding. You shiver on his leg, cunt spasming and gushing slick into your panties, and Billy just laughs as he deliberately cums all over your face.

“Aww, there we go,” he purrs once he’s milked the last of his load from his softening cock. He shakes that hand out and flexes the fingers, while he uses the other to collect the cum dripping off your cheeks and smear it over your waiting tongue. “You look so much prettier with my cum all over your fuckin’ face.”

“Thank you, Sir.” No sooner have the words left your mouth does Billy stuff three fingers into it, the tips dangerously close to activating your gag reflex. You swallow around the digits and remind yourself to breathe through it, just as you’ve done probably hundreds of times when you take his cock in your throat, and Billy’s smirk makes your cheeks glow with pride. He thrusts his fingers in and out a few times, eyes following the stringy lines of drool that dribble from your bottom lip. 

When he releases his grip on your jaw, he wipes his hand on his jeans and juts his chin at you. “Swallow.”

You do, making a big show of tilting your head back slightly and gulping down all the drool and cum that’s puddled in your mouth so your throat visibly bobs with the effort, and Billy chuckles in approval. He sits a little straighter, scanning the pitch black pressing against the dim light of the porch while he tucks himself back into his jeans. You shuffle awkwardly off his leg when he prompts you, and your body is still buzzing from your orgasm so you almost don’t notice that your legs are numb and burning beneath you.

Almost.

“C’mon, up,” Billy says as he stands, a few notches in his spine cracking as he raises his arms above his head and bends backward in a stretch. He extends a hand down toward you, and you take it dazedly. He has to stoop and drape an arm around your shoulders to help you to your feet, and when you stumble against him on bloodless, trembling legs he laughs; you’re rewarded with a chaste kiss to the forehead for your effort.

“You might need to give me a second,” you warn, “I don’t think I can make it to your car like this.” Billy cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Who said anything about going to the car?” He takes a step back and reaches for the front door, deftly turning the knob and flinging it open. You stare into the black, yawning mouth of his home, cheeks heating slightly.

“I just thought–”

“We aren’t done, baby,” Billy croons, and that wicked, cat-like grin curls onto his face once again. Your stomach leaps, and your mouth drops open to ask what exactly he’s getting at, but before you can get the words out he’s cupping you between your thighs again.

“I haven’t punished this sweet little cunt yet.”

taglist:

@silky-luxe

@celestialwaavelength

@bornslippys

@pettydonuts

@littlered0000

let me know here if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

[seafoamaphrodite]

make a spell bottle for Aphrodite with me!

ingredients

honey

himalayan pink salt

cinnamon

rosemary

sea salt

cloves

olive oil

sea water (i’m using salt water bc i don’t live near an ocean)

pearl beads

shells

prayers i wrote (i burned some and added the ashes, as well as adding a couple whole petitions)

seashells

perfume

a red and pink candle to seal

[whorediaries-09]

don't blame me;

pairing- priest!remus lupin x reader warning(s)- illusions to sex, dark themes. (let me know if i should add more). [this is a dark fic. your media consumption is your choice and i'm not responsible for it. please do not continue under cut if you're uncomfortable.] a/n- i found this in my drafts. i have no idea why this wasn't published yet but okay.

ps- not using my regular taglist since this is a topic many people can be uncomfortable with.

little train inspiration (for god's sake please use headphones) 700 followers celebration post.

' and baby, for you, i would fall from grace, just to touch your face. '

remus slowly read the verse, the thick spine of the bible tucking into the flesh of his thighs.

'amen,' he said, speaking his final lines of the verse. the sound from his lips was blinded over the noise of the hinges of the church door opening. he snapped his head, eyes darting towards the entrance. the soft sunlight peaked through the glass, creating a beautiful kaleidoscopic effect.

'hello?' his voice echoed through the empty church. when his eyes met yours, he couldn't stop but dawn his eyes upon yours. you were clad in the white clothes you regularly wore when you went to the church. but there was something different around it. perhaps an extra sinch at the waist which highlighted the curve of your breasts. or was it the sunlight behind you making a halo like effect which made you look like an descending from heaven.

'oh, it's you,' he gathered, his fingers raking over the bible, closing the hardcover. 'come on in, then,'

'am i interrupting anything?' you asked. your voice was soft, like cool breeze blowing after the first rainfall. he chuckled.

'no, no you're not interrupting anything,' his statement ended, clashed with the sound of the door closing. you walked towards him, twiddling with your thumbs, your eyes transfixed on the statue of jesus.

'do you need something? i can leave you in peace if you prefer.' he said, standing up and dusting his clothes. he wasn't wearing his usual robes. he had opted for gray slacks paired with a soft blue shirt.

'no it's fine,' you walked towards him. 'i actually like some company, when i pray,' he smiled, his gaze smoothening down on your form.

'no no, i understand,' he said walking towards you, his thumb raking over the rosemary beads in his palm. 'lots of people prefer company in the church. physical company anyway. he,' his index pointed towards the stature of jesus, 'is always here.'

'a constant companion,' you said, recalling his words from a few months ago. 'i remember that. you enlightened me with that information during our gospel interpretation session.' he chuckled softly,

'i'm surprised you remember i said that. that was quite a few months ago,' you nodded, twisting your fingers together.

'speaking of which,' he whispered, so as to not let his voice echo. 'erm, you have been missing for a few weeks.' you stare at him, your eyes glossy.

'are you mad? that i've been missing?' he moves forward, waving his hands quickly reassuring,

'no no, not mad at all. i just,' he pauses, as if choosing his words carefully, 'missed your presence. and our discussions afterwards.' you let his words register into your senses. it's quiet as the sun settles, the blue hue of the sky meddling into a beautiful orange.

'there are other people who come to the church, mr. lupin.' he takes a deep breathe. it's serene, the way his name spills off your tongue.

'yes, but it gets quite boring with the same old people and the same old interpretations. you're intelligent...you're curious. i enjoy your fresh air of understanding.'

'you don't mean that.' you laugh. he sighs, letting his tongue dart over his teeth.

'oh no, i mean that,' he twiddles with his thumb, running his fingers through his locks with his other hand. he rubs his neck, drawing your attention to a small patch of ink on his neck.

'may i ask you the reason of your absence? it's none of my business of course,' his stale amber eyes pierce into you, as if trying to scan for answers.

'i got a few days off work. so i wanted to go on a little vacation.' you say.

'oh, i see, i'm glad you're out there having some fun. i'd do the same in your position. especially with the weather we've been having recently,' he emphasizes. his eyes wander about, as if searching for words, looking for phrases to let the conversation continue. 'i understand your need for freedom.'

you let the words hang in the air, tasting the freshness of the newly spoken sentences. you watch his nicely polished shoes, before you bite your tongue, meeting his eyes, allowing yourself to drown in the burnt amber color of them.

'do you mind it? the freedom? the fun?' he stands silent, as if speechless. it was extremely difficult to keep a man like remus lupin dumbfoundedly silent.

'no,' he says, 'i don't particularly mind it. i've...dedicated my life to this... this is my calling.' he laughs a little, a bark like laughter echoing through the walls. 'besides, i live my life through hearing your escapades.'

'i think you should live life a little. i'm saying this because i consider you my friend.'

'you do?' he says, softly biting his beautiful pink lips. 'well i consider you a friend too.' you nod.

'not many, erm, consider me other than someone who's a priest or think of any... friendly interactions, so... i appreciate that very much.'

you twiddle with your thumb, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. your mind floods with screams as you think of the next question you want to ask him. your heart thumps loudly in your chest, the heat of the blood curving through every inch of your body.

'can i ask you a question?'

'of course, you can ask me anything.'

'have you kissed anyone before?' it's vague, short yet straight forward. a slight pink tint overcomes his pale skin, his tongue tying up in knots before he processes his answer.

'oh, i- yes. i have kissed people before.' he licks his lips. 'though, in secret. we're not...uh meant to have relationships but... everybody needs company...sometimes.' you hum softly at his answer, minutely surprised at the lack of a reaction. then, you frame your next question, almost like a child so free of sin. you are, if partly so.

'do you consider it a bad thing mr. lupin?'

'no,' he laughs. 'i don't consider it a bad thing. i enjoy your curiosity.' he moves forward, a few painful inches away from you. it's as if he can feel the heat from your body. he enjoys it. 'and, neither do i think you're going to tell on me or anything, but yes, i have had companies of a different nature, too.'

the gasp ends in your throat. it's as if he reads your mind.

'i'm not such an extremist that i condemn that kind of thing. carnal desires are...human. the lord created us with them. so why should we deny ourselves?'

'isn't it wrong? a sin? perhaps you... don't mean it.' you say.

'no, i do mean it. to want intimacy is such an intricately human thing it isn't...wrong to want it or engage in it.'

'i've wanted intimacy, desired for it. for so long, mr. lupin, but i find myself stranded. because nobody expresses it back. perhaps you can tell me how it feels, with your experience of the humane carnal desire for intimacy,'

'oh.. well we've established that we're friends but... is that really something you should be asking a priest? you're a curious little thing aren't you?' you smile paired with a little nod of your head. you truly are curious.

'well,' he pauses, looking into your eyes, trying to search for something. 'if you must know, i haven't had any complaints. i've been told i give a rather...satisfactory performance.' he laughs. 'but, it has been quite some time.'

'oh. how long?'

'almost eight months so uh..nearly about a year, roughly,' he whispers, as you move closer. you're close enough for his warm breath fan over you, letting goosebumps kiss your skin.

'i think... i'll also be a satisfactory performer in bed,' you say. he laughs his eyebrow tilting.

'oh you think you are? your confidence is very cute.' he says, moving closer. you watch his pupils dilate, as the distance decreases between your bodies. something takes over him, as his breathing turns erratic, his heart palpitating. 'although,' he continues, 'the matter of one's performance in bed is highly subjective.'

'i can show you, the performance. i want to feel the intimacy, how it feels to be wanted, mr. lupin.' you say, almost begging. his hands twitch and your body aches for the touch of someone you've never felt before.

'i guess i'm sure you would like to find out, but...we shouldn't... we really shouldn't,' he feels his nerves turning shoddy as tries to not drown into the depth of your eyes. he says it, trying to convince himself more than you. but how can he when you look so pretty, like dew strewn across fresh grass. you jut out your lower lip.

'don't you find me pretty mr. lupin?' his eyes widen, his palm cradling your cheek. his thumb runs over your cheek and he enjoys the warm flush of your skin upon his touch, the goosebumps on your kissing every inch of your body.

'no, you are very beautiful. i mean it. apart from your intelligence, your beautiful mind is what...drew me to you.' he watches you melt into his touch and words and knits his eyebrows. 'but, we can't, we really can't, someone could just walk in.'

perhaps that's what excites you. the idea of someone walking in, the idea of somebody catching you. perhaps it's the sin that excites you.

'please,' you beg, your eyes glossy with an unsatiated lust, the carnal desire for intimacy, for his touch. 'please, remus, i need to know.' he takes a deep breathe, as the warm blood rushes between his legs.

he grabs your face, touching his temple with yours. 'fuck it,' he whispers, capturing his lips with yours. he's the priest, he needs to enlighten you with the knowledge you beg for, the experience you beg for.

perhaps it's sinful, but when his tongue meets yours, swallowing the sounds from your mouth, there's no sweeter innocence than his gentle sin. he'll be a poison ivy just for you, just to worship you at the shrine of his sins.

[puggnugget]

What Happens in the Underdark

PART FIVE

WARNING: NSFW, SMUT, teasing, angst, mature themes, 18 or above.

Word Count: 1,736

***********************************************************************

A week had come and gone since that all-to-brief moment you had shared with Gale in the confines of your tent.

You had little time for reprieve or relaxation since the creche, nearly losing Lae'zel in the process. The loss of faith for Lae'zel, and another dead end for a cure left your party on edge and desperate.

The next step and only lead you had now was to make it to Moonrise Towers.

Your party agreed to journey through the Under Dark and find passage to the shadow cursed lands as Halsin had instructed. This came with many a distraction and obstacle.

It had been days already since you last saw the sun, and many more days lay ahead of you before you would again.

You assisted in setting up your encampment for your final night in the Under Dark before you were to move on to more dangerous territory.

Like usual, Gale had been the one to offer to make dinner for everyone, for which you were truly grateful. You were hopeful a hot meal and a good rest could lift your parties spirits for the journey yet to come.

You felt a twinge of guilt as you watched Gale from afar, words had been left unspoken between the two of you. You felt as if the world was on your shoulders these days, you hadn't the time to sit and speak with him as of late.

"Do you need any help?" You asked as you approached him.

He wiped beaded sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve as he work tirelessly over a bubbling cauldron.

"You needn't worry about me, Tav. Though, I do appreciate the offer. This much I can handle." He smiled softly.

"Here, have a taste." He said eagerly, dipping a spoon into the cauldron.

He guided the spoon to your lips, his other hand just beneath it lest it spill.

You parted your lips, indulging him, as he gently placed the spoon into your mouth.

Your senses danced with delight at the rich flavors before you. The stew was rich and creamy, and you could taste a hint of rosemary. Gale slowly retracted the spoon once you had your fill, using his thumb to gently wipe away any remains from your bottom lip with a gentle firmness.

Your face flushed at his touch.

"How is it?" He waited expectantly for your answer.

"Devine, you've truly outdone yourself this night," you praised him. His smile widened at your words.

"You flatter me, Tav." He bowed.

*****************************************

After bread was broken and bellies were full, you walked among the glowing fungi that was abundant in this land. You looked up, half expecting to witness the stars this never ending night, but there were no stars to greet you.

"May I steal you for a moment?" Gale spoke, breaking the silence surrounding you.

"You may," you teased, turning to face him slowly. He seemed nervous, struggling to meet your gaze once more.

"Is everything alright?" You asked, concerned.

"Ehm. Tav, I..." He trailed off to gather this thoughts.

"I am plagued with guilt, I must confess." His tone that of a whisper.

"The night before we approached the githyanki creche, I went looking for you." He paused.

It took you a moment with all that had happened since to clear your mind and remember that night. You don't remember speaking to Gale, let alone seeing him.

"I followed the path I had known you to take, and I did... happen upon you." He stammered, hanging his head.

"And you did not approach?" You questioned, you didn't know what he was trying to convey.

"Ehm. Certainly not, you were... Indisposed." His face a scarlet hue, his hands trembling.

It took a moment for it to finally sink in, what he was saying, what he had meant. Gods, he had seen you in the hot spring!

You covered your face with both hands, attempting to shield your expression and flushed cheeks.

"I am - Gods, I am so sorry, Tav! Please, don't feel embarrassed, in fact, it's perfectly natural for one to explore their own -"

"Gale, please stop talking," you pleaded.

After a moment of silence you spoke once more.

"How much did you see?" You asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously.

"A lot". He replied.

You took a deep breath and centered yourself. You weren't angry, you had no right to be after watching him in his tent that night.

"I'm sorry for invading your privacy in such a manner, it was most unbecoming of me," the wizard pleaded to you, cupping your hands in his.

"Gale, you have nothing to be sorry for." You stated.

"I don't?" His face that of pure confusion.

"You don't. I saw you, many nights ago - in your tent." Your skin was burning hot as you admitted your sin for the first time.

"O-oh." Gale stammered. Neither of you could look at one another, his hands still cusping yours with gentle reverence.

"I - ehm. I suppose that makes sense. The d-deal you had, with Astarion." His breath caught in his throat at the idea of you having witnessed him in such a depraved and hungry state.

"Gods," you began to laugh as your forehead pressed to his chest. His body was stiff at first to the contact, but slowly relaxed.

"What's so funny?" He chuckled, slowly releasing your hands to wrap his arms around you.

"We are both such idiots." You sank into him, your voice muffled by his chest as his chin came to rest upon your head.

*******************************************

You were unsure just how late it was, nor did you care, as you sat in a meadow of glowing and humming fungi with Gale. In this moment, you wanted for nothing.

Your hand clutched at the cold, dew slicked grass as Gale placed his hand over yours as his head tilted back to look at the starless nothingness above.

He took your hand and kissed the back of it firmly without thought, eyes still fixated above. You took him in, wishing to remember him this way for a life time.

The way his hair framed his jaw with streams of glimmering silver, the stubble on his cheeks, his deep brown eyes glazed over lost in thought, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

That all-to-familiar fire blazed low and hungry in the pit of your stomach, working it's way down to your center.

Controlled by desire, you swung a leg effortlessly over him and found yourself straddling him, clutching the fabric of his cloak with trembling need. His eyes widened with surprise as a gasp escaped his parting lips.

You wasted not another second as you pressed your lips to his, savoring the sweetness of them as your tongue slithered forward, begging for entry. He granted you permission as his hands ran up your thighs, bunching up your dress with balled fists.

The orb fluttered to life with an intense shine as you continued. Your tongues lashed together with ferocious desire to taste, to feel, to know.

His hardness pulsating just beneath you under the fabric of your panties and his trousers. You ran your fingers carelessly through his hair just as you had always wanted to, breathing in his scent of vanilla, sandalwood, and sweat. Your kiss only deepened as you pressed yourself against him, you needed him closer, you needed to feel him on every inch of your skin that burned with wanton desire. This was the only way you could quell the beast of lust within you.

One of his hands dragged agonizingly up your thigh toward your center as the other grabbed your ass with firm and clear intentions. You were his, you never had a choice.

A moan escaped between fervent kisses as his thumb began to circle your cluster of nerves through your panties, he hummed into your mouth at your reaction. You grinded your hips instinctively, his hardness twitching as the pressure built at your center.

You released him from your kiss, panting, as you pushed him down to lay in damp grass. An animal in heat, you pawed and tore your way to him, ripping off his cloak and casting it aside. Pulling his tunic up and off, the strong lavender blaze of the orb ever present and growing.

You latched onto his neck, sucking, licking, and nibbling. He writhed, pushing his hips up into you.

"Dear Gods," he groaned, his hands searching for your as he cupped your breasts. The sensation of his firm hands grasping you sent shock wave after shock wave of ecstasy up your spine. This was it, it was finally happening after so long. You were working your way down his chest with sloppy kisses just as you had envisioned, you couldn't wait to expose him once you got to the waist of his trousers.

Suddenly, Gale jolted and grasped at his orb, a grunt of pain shot from his mouth.

"Gale? What's happening?" You gasped, the orb flickering and pulsating. His teeth were clenched, eyes slammed shut in heavy concentration, he shook from pain.

You climbed off of him as he sat up, grunting and panting heavily.

Your heart beat was ringing in your ears as you watched him silently for several moments, the orb had fluttered uncontrollably until it finally relented. You placed a hand on his shoulder, you could almost cry at the sight of him, a man defeated.

"Are you... okay?" You whispered softly to him.

He nodded after a moment of thought, his breath still heavy.

"Yes, I'm... I'm fine now". He placed his hand over yours, finally opening his eyes to hold your gaze.

"It's the orb, I got too excited and well... I couldn't control it. That night in my tent, it was the first time I had even attempted anything in nearly two years." He sighed.

"It was difficult to even accomplish, but I only had myself to concentrate on. With you, it's completely different. I cannot focus, I cannot maintain it." He frowned.

"I'm sorry, Tav. I don't think we can..." He trailed off, hanging his head low.

You wrapped your arms around him, cradling him into you.

"Gale, it's okay. I promise." Your body was still trembling, still expectant.

He exhaled deeply, a mixture of relief and disappointment escaping him.

"You are far to good to me."

[countdykulaa]

﹟ ⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀ LOVE GROWS (WHERE MY ROSEMARY GOES)⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ babygay! reader x emotionally unavailable! ellie ⠀ ❫

cw : light smut , body image issues , switch!reader x sub! ellie

you meet ellie one drunken night at a random burger joint. your friends had decided to spend the whole day drinking and you being the designated lightweight was the happiest of the trio. your beads jingle with each drunken sway , a cheery smile decorating your features when you turn to place your order. you lock eyes with her , yours joyous and celebratory while hers remain sunken in a nonchalant annoyance and a switch in your drunken brain orders you to make her yours. your usual seductive cadence imitates a drunk horse as you gait to the counter. you repeat the chosen order , money in hand , intending to pass it over to ellie , only for you to lose your balance and push the money over the counter. somehow even after that flounder , she still gives you her number on your way out.

the first date is nothing short of a disaster. you arrive two minutes late, the apology dying from your lips when you see the other girl no where to be found. your text messages go answered , lips pursing as you wait for a response. five minutes go by before you call your friend abby, she tells you to wait ten minutes then leave. you wait fifteen. she arrives as you’re leaving, rushing an apology out and begging you to stay, promising it’ll never happen again. it does. again and again. and you get rightfully angry . again and again. all tension is usually cut through with humour , shallow conversation about overtly dramatized versions of yourselves being the star of the show. you prove your point by causing a scene at 6 am , demanding to know why she didn’t call you after 2pm the last day. you think that after that scene she’d take off running. she doesn’t. and you can’t fathom why.

you find that ellie is loud with pda where you are still hesitant. a hand is placed at the small of your back at all times , a kiss pressed to your forehead on random occasions. it scares you at first , to be liked so boldly. much too used to the secret advances shared by your “straight” friends . slowly , you start getting so used to it that you find yourself actively seeking her gentle touch.

each time she kisses you , you feel alive . hands gently moving down your moss green dress in a way so sensual , you can’t help the wetness between your legs that she expertly avoids. a way of teasing you , drawing out the control she knows you wish to exert . you respond to her advances , manicured hands shoving her on the couch and climbing on top of her . her skinnier frame shadowed by your curves.

hands desperately grab at the hem of your dress , pulling it over your head . each touch on your skin burns you , a shiver cascading down your back. her hands roam your now bare frame , a rogue hand cupping your right breast and eliciting a small gasp from you as you push your body into her eager hands. pruriency becomes you. patience is but a mystery as you grab her hand glued to your hand and move it to your sex. the next gasp you let out is louder. you buck your hips , eager to chase the feeling . your free hand grips the back of her neck and pushes her head towards your neck . the whimper she emits only spurges you on .

her mouth ducks down to kiss the side of your neck , her hips jutting up with each buck of your own. if it weren’t for the tracksuit pants covering her legs , you would’ve been able to feel the wetness gushing down her thigh.

she tells you you look beautiful as if it were the air she needed to breathe . each glance at your features seem to reaffirm her claims and revive her with a vigor . you thank her … bashful the first two times , but by the hundredth declaration you start to wonder if that’s all you’ll ever be to her. or anyone.

PLUTO SPEAKS : that was my first time writing smut so you guys are legally required to be nice to me

[stalkerofthegods]

Lady Hestia Deep Dive

Lady Hestia is a wonderful goddess, she is always there for everyone, I adore Lady Hestia, I do not worship her personally but I know well that she is Amazing.

Herbs • Chaste trees, Rosemary, Parsley, Basil, Sorrel, vanilla, Cinnamon, coriander, Marjoram, Mint, Lemon balm, cloves, clary sage, Allspice, Angelica, Coriander, poppy seed, chamomile, Angelica, Bay, garlic, mint, peppermint, pepper, marjoram, The lavender, the chaste tree, the datura, the California poppy, the goldenrod, the hollyhock, the yarrow, the purple coneflower, all white flowers, Lavender, White roses, angel’s trumpet, goldenrod, hollyhock, and yarrow, pine, Wildflowers & sunflowers, raspberry leaves, sage, pearly everlasting, yellow rose

Animals• pigs, donkeys, one-year-old cows, a Crane. 

Zodiac & scared number  • unknown, I cannot find out what month she was born on, or the day. But I would associate numbers 1, and 6 because she is the oldest and the youngest (and etc, but who even likes my rambles?)

Colors •Gold, yellow, orange, red,  White, Gold, Lavender, light purple, black, silver, and dark red

Crystal•Carnelian, Garnet, Goldstone, Calcite, Topaz, garnet, amethyst, lapis lazuli, green tourmaline, Vanadinite, Quartz, gold, silver, and brass, Amber colored crystals, citrine, clear quartz, sunstone.

Symbols• a kettle, the hearth (fireplace), torch, candle

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• friendship bracelets 

Diety of• the virgin goddess of the home and hearth fire, cooking of meals, and sacrificial food for feasts, architecture, domesticity, family, and the state, and sacrificial flame

Patron of where the families ate and congregated, hospitality, family.

Offerings• give her prayer beads that remind you of her that are not Christian (or make one, which is better), wooden beads, Oil Lamps, Seven Day Candles (because they burn for 7 days), LED Candles, A Candle that reminds you of home, White or red candles, Apple juice, cider, Wine, Baked goods, keys to the home (preferably not stolen(looking at Hermes devotees))), Small kitchen antiques/objects,  pottery/cups/bowls, artwork of homey things, a meal, your favorite things, poetry, books, items you made, fall-themed stuff, spring-themed stuff, First/last foods & libations from a meal, Candles/flame, Honey, Pork, Cakes or Cookies made to look like one of Her symbols,), Keeping a candle/hearth fire or lamp constantly burning, Pictures of homes you want to live in one day, pictures of homes you have lived in, Pictures of architecture that you like, Teacups, teaspoons, tea towels, Childhood memories (ex- stuffed toys, baby clothes, old photos), Homegrown herbs, Toys or art of donkeys and pigs, Leaves or blooms from a chaste tree, Tea light candles (real or fake), Your favorite poetry or poetry you have written for Her, Your favorite books, Stories you have written, Art of flames, fire, candles, Garmets that you have made such as clothing, blankets, beanies, Homemade lotions, bath bombs, shower gel, bubble bath (You can ask Her to bless them then use them she probably won't say no), Beeswax products, honey, olive oil, pumpkin pie 

Devotional• Pick up rubbish in communal areas, Offer the first or last bites/portions of food your to her, Cooking/baking for yourself or others, Having a candle lit whenever possible (electric or real), playing a video of a fire place, Volunteerring at homeless or DV shelters, donating to homeless or DV shelters,  Setting healthy boundaries with friends and family, reading about Tea/Coffee magick, Getting involved with your local community, Advocating for policies you believe will better the community Allowing yourself to rest,  Do a chore you've been putting off for a long time, organize to hang out with some loved ones, Veil or bind your hair, Wear something red or orange, Make a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or a mood board for her, Learn about kitchen witchery, Cook a meal in her name, Clean the House, Put together a puzzle, Eat popcorn and watch a movie, do Knitting, read about knitting, donate yarn and

knitting supply’s, prepare food for family, make the table before eating, garden, Harvest berries, pick flowers, Donate to food charity/drives, Support people who lost their homes to natural disasters, Welcoming others into your home, Keeping the peace (especially in the home), Donations of time & money to Habitat for Humanity, Do little (or big) acts of kindness, If you have a fireplace light it for Her or build Her altar around it, Meditate next to a fire, Read poetry or a book, play a playlist for Her and play it while you clean or cooks, Clean your house/room and keep it nice and tidy, Take a cooking or baking class, Collect recipes and keep a recipe book, Host celebrations at your home, Remember your ancestors and learn more about them, Spend time with your pets, Take care of yourself and your mental and physical health (Your body is a home for you),  Take a hot bath, eat some ice cream, chill at home for a day, Pray to Her( ex- for protection, inspiration, happiness, guidance, and help getting rid of negative entities in the home, peace in the home, good food, an abundance of food, independence), help to start/tending to the hearth, work on having strong family bonds, Open your curtains and let the sunlight warm the room, Make a potful of tea and keep it in a large thermos, Watch movies that make you feel nostalgic and cozy, Say goodnight and good morning to her, Get an electric blanket and feel the warmth connect you to her, Cuddle a stuffed animal, Make a blog/journal filled with cozy homely things, Keep a few locally baked goodies nearby for when you need them, String up fairy lights and use them as your only light source, Whisper prayers and devotional pieces before you go to sleep, Use a Himalayan salt lamp to connect to feeling of a fire, Invest in little things (ex- pillowcases, photos, curtains) that make your room feel welcoming and peaceful, Make a little bottle filled with herbs and crystals and other things that remind you of her, Listen to music that makes your soul happy and your heart content, Take care of yourself (ex- Brush your hair, use a wet cloth on your face), Keep a tealight on you, Clean one small area of your house, Savor a hot drink, Do small, unnoticed acts of kindness, Always greet animals (both big and small), Do anything by candlelight,  Wear colors you associate with her, Practice your patience (both external and internal), Be a listening ear or shoulder to cry on for those who need it, Make compromises when it is healthiest for both parties, always have a lighter or matches, Listen to music that reminds you of her, Spend time tending to your body, Leave a big tip the next time you have a chance, Practice kindness in all areas of your life (including driving), Take a hot bath or shower with no time limit, Decorate a space, Build a fire, Compliment people (both strangers and loloved ones), Donate something (ex-clothes, money, or your time), Look at photos and embrace the happy nostalgia, Wear makeup or jewelry that reminds you of her, Wake up early to see the sunrise - or watch the sunset, Watch/read about acts of kindness to be inspired, wear prayer beads that are for her, go to a high school reunion, do a family reunion, do budgeting in her honor, do meal planning, set healthy boundaries, have a household notebook, do seasonal cleaning, try home remedies,As you light your gas stove, say a prayer to Hestia, Spend quiet quality time at home, Gather your family (including your chosen family) for a festive candlelit meal, Commit to spending more time with children and old people.

Ephithets•Äídios - eternal, Aïdius – See Äídios., Basileia - See Vasíleia, Bulaea - See Voulaia., Chloömorphus – See Khlöómorphos, Daughter of lovely-haired Rǽa, Khlöómorphos - verdan, Polýmorphos - multi-formed, Polyolbus – See Polýolvos, Polýolvos - rich in blessings, Potheinotáti - beloved, Prutaneia – See Prytaneia, Prytanei, Vasíleia - queen, Voulaia - of the council, Prytaneia -”of the Prytanis.” 

Equivalents• Vesta (Roman), loki (Norse), Brigid (Celtic), Hathor (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• having a strong urge to Vail in her honor, seeing her animals and symbols in your dreams, and seeing her imagery a lot, everything at home suddenly going well.

Vows/omans• that she “would be a maiden all her days”

Morals• morally light/pure

Courting• None 

Past lovers/crushes• None

Personality• She avoids drama, and is generous, but her temper is volcanic in nature, she is slow to anger, but when she gets angry her rage is a force of nature. She is modest, tranquil, and industrious

Home• Mount Olympus 

Mortal or immortal • immortal 

Fact• Historically she is supposed to be the first deity offered to in a ritual due to being the goddess of fire, she's the oldest Olympian, She is spat out last by Kronos so she is also the youngest, she shares her seat with Diyonisus, she did not give it up, she receives a share of every sacrifice/prayer to the gods, and she is commonly seen alongside with Hermes, I would recommend putting their alters close together.

Element• fire 

Curses• a bad family life, food being burnt, having not enough food, being turned away at restaurants, being homeless, your house catching on fire 

Blessings• all domestic happiness and blessings

Roots• Greek mythology….and she was raised in her father's stomach, and at the first years of theogony era.

Friends• all of the gods, but most notably Hermes, but is not friends with Priapus, she dislikes him (he tried to rape her.) 

Parentage• Cronus and Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Demeter, Hera 

Pet• she has no pets.

Children • she has no children.

Appearance in astral or gen• she was typically represented wearing a veil and robe. In some images, she held a flowering branch or kettle as well.

Festivals • None, at every feast and meal a liberation was made to her name first and last, but I associate Thanksgiving with her, but her Roman counter part Vesta has 1-15 June of each year, an then another festival celebrated on 8-9 July.  Hestia is also mentioned on 8 June. But a neo-pagan sets aside 26 December – 22 January as a month devoted to Hestia.

Status• Virgin theoi goddess.

What disrespects her turning away people at your home (she is a goddess of hospitality and it was seen as disrespectful to her to do so.)

Planet• unknown 

Her Tarot cards• the Temperance, the fourteenth Major Arcana card.

Remind me of• Hot cocoa, and Thanksgiving. 

Scents/Inscene • Lavender, Rose, spring water,  rain, Pumpkin, Apple pie, cinnamon, fall leaves, Chamomile, Myrrh, Frankincense, Iris, Angelica, Peony, Angelica, iris, Sandalwood 

My opinion • I like her, but I'm scared of her too. (what a shocker!) 

Prayers• 

Historical-

Holy Queen of Sanctity, we hymn you, Hestia, whose abiding realm is Olympus and the middle point of earth and the Delphic laurel tree! You dance around Apollo’s towering temple rejoicing both in the tripod’s mantic voices and when Apollo sounds the seven strings of his golden phorminx and, with you, sings the praises of the feasting gods. We salute you, daughter of Kronos and Rhea, who alone brings firelight to the sacred altars of the gods; Hestia, reward our prayer, grant wealth obtained in honesty; then we shall always, dance around your glistening throne.

For the lost -

Blessed Hestia, the first and the last, and the always flame. May your light burn bright and strong, May your prayers be those of respect and love, May you guide the lost, And give to those who have nothing. I give thanks to you, Hestia, for all that you have done And continue to do.

For people with intrusive thoughts -

I ask Hestia, the kind goddess, to help those who feel down. May they find comfort and peace inside of their homes and inside their own minds. Protect them for their destructive thoughts, and be the safe place they need so much

A prayer for homeles—

In Hestia’s name, may you always have a home and a roof over your head. May you always be comfortable and warm with a full belly. May you always be in good spirits and good company, never knowing the pervading loneliness that envelopes the soul.

Morning 

Blessed Hestia, Fill this home with your light and bounty, As the day fills it with golden sunshine.

Evening

Glorious Hestia, Let your hearth fire warm this house, As night draws her shadowed cloak over it now.

Blessings of the kitchen-

Hestia bless my little kitchen, I love it’s every nook And bless me as I do my work, Wash pots and pans and cook. May the meals that I prepare, Be seasoned from above, With thy blessings and thy grace, But most of all thy love

Links/websites/sources •

ts-witchy-archive, constantly-disheveled, saryoak, eldritchhorror06, https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amp, https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://www.learnreligions.com/hestia-greek-goddess-of-the-hearth-2561993#:~:text=Keep%20a%20candle%20dedicated%20to,prayers%2C%20songs%2C%20or%20hymns.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.html#:~:text=In%20myth%20Hestia%20was%20the,youngest%20of%20the%20six%20Kronides.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.htmlhttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestia#google_vignettehttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestiahttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/hestia/https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai https://hestiasservant.wordpress.com/2018/05/27/honoring-hestia-a-festival-every-day/https://www.elissos.com/the-family-goddess-hestia-mother-of-all-gods/#:~:text=The%20birth%20of%20Hestia%20dates,to%20his%20throne%2C%20his%20children.https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhea_(mythology)#:~:text=According%20to%20Hesiod%2C%20Rhea%20had,and%20Zeus%20in%20that%20order.https://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/14sy8cj/is_hestia_reaching_out_to_me/https://mythopedia.com/topics/hestia

http://persephoneandhecate.blogspot.com/2011/06/exploring-archetypes-hestia.html?m=1https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://honeyandhestia.tumblr.com/post/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/160613514230/hestiavesta https://constantly-disheveled.tumblr.com/post/156636591525/can-a-hearth-fire-just-be-a-candle-that-you-lighthttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169551188078/devotional-activities-for-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/167758105763/jar-to-help-me-connect-to-hestia-chamomilehttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171225676313/burn-herbs-and-spices-as-an-offering-to-hestia-i https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183383795283/what-kind-of-crystals-would-yall-associate-with https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171208375440/a-historical-prayer-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169394109439/i-ask-hestia-the-kind-goddess-to-help-those-who https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/166938581678/if-youre-still-doing-prayer-requests-may-you-be https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/178225408393/lady-hestia-goddess-of-comfort-and-warmth-to https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183772520921/a-little-kitchen-prayer-for-hestia https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai

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

[toosweetwildflowers]

TURNED

Part Three

Astarion x Reader

............

Finally got around to writing part three and as I had mentioned previously it is quite spicy/smutty. This being the case please DNI if you are a minor. I have never written smut before so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

.............

"I love you. I love this. And I want it all."

Tears prick your eyes and your heart pounds against your chest at his words. You swiftly search his face looking for any sign of dissociation. Any sign that he is falling back  into the same patterns he was forced to learn to keep himself safe. Searching his visage you see that he is fully there and that he really means what he's saying. But most importantly you know that you are truly and devastatingly in love with him. Oh gods do you love him. You love every single part of him. The soft and the silly. The shy and the alluring. Gods even when he's angry you love him. And in this graveyard, with your knees dirty from the wet soil, staring into his eyes, there is no place you'd rather be.

He had shown you his grave. The place he had metaphorically been for over 200 years. His life not moving, not changing, not his own. Stuck in stasis; a feeling you knew all too well. Here he was left to die and here he would begin to live again. In a way, your life too would begin anew at this very site.

Astarion had dragged his knife against the cold headstone atop his grave marking a new date, and with equal precision, you watched as he marked a small flat stone with your initials. You continued to watch as he placed this stone on the edge of the dirt mound marking his grave; his actions showing his commitment to 'forever' before his words could.

Returning back to the present you lean in to kiss him and he meets you with the same force. His lips are soft and supple despite his undead nature. As you cup his bottom lip with yours you can smell his colonel. Bergamot, rosemary and aged brandy fill your senses until all you can smell is him. As he pulls away you see a devious smirk spread across his lips.

You bearly have time to feel self conscious before he is pushing you lightly by your shoulders. You feel your elbows sink into the soil as your legs spread in front of you. Like a cat Astarion crawls above you and his lips are on yours once more. As as he slowly lowers his body further onto yours, you can feel his knee slide lightly into your left thigh, which has the effect of spreading your legs further apart. Like two broken pieces of a larger tapestry you fit together perfectly.

You bring one had to the back of his neck pulling him into a deeper kiss. In turn you feel Astarion cup your jawline and push both of you deeper into the plush soil. You try to be gentle not wanting to scare him off with your overwhelming desire. This requires quite a bit of effort on your part. Gods its as if he envelopes your entire world. His soft lips becoming increasingly desperate on yours, the curls of his hair dangling just a little over your forehead, the weight of his body on yours.

Astarion parts his lips from yours for a moment before suckling your bottom lip and giving it a cheeky nibble. You feel as a drop of blood beads on your lip before Astarion licks it off savoring the taste.  Its all you can do to slightly shuffle underneath him as arousal unfolds between your legs. You begin to feel embarrassed at how wet you already are. Gods all hes done is kiss you and you're already a complete mess for him. You sit up on your elbows and push him slightly off you to gain access to his shirt. As you lift it over his head you can't help but bite your lip as his chiseled torso is exposed to the moonlight. And as he throws the white garb to the side you hear your voice travel softly through the wind.

"You're.....breathtaking", you say with nothing but wonder in your eyes. He isn't sexy, not necessarily hot either, but completely celestial in his beauty. As though he were a painting in the most acclaimed of studious, he doesn't seem real. You reach out to touch his bicep just to make sure. As you do your gaze wonders to his eyes looking for consent.

"Is this what you what? Am I....still what you want", you say with intention.

He matches your gaze and you can see he appriciates you asking. 

"There is nothing I want more in this moment. No one I have ever wanted more". You share a soft smile before his lips crash into yours full of desperation, love....desire.

You trail kisses along his jawline, his shoulders, his collarbones, as your hands commit the entirety of  his chest to memory. You want to discover him all over again now that he feels safe with you. Astarion sighs blissfully against your hair as you trace your hands lower on his abdomen. He begins to careess up your thighs and under your silk dress. But before he can reach your lace panties you stop him. Though you'd love to feel his deft fingers against your clit immediately, you crave to pleasure him more.

You motion for him to lay back and he does so, almost painfully slow as he traces down your legs before resting on his elbows. You straddle his hips and let out a soft giggle as you plant a kiss on his nose and then on the points of both of his ears. You watch as they glow red hot and you could sware you see him blushing.

You trail kisses all the way down his chest until you reach his trousers. Deciding to tease him just slightly you rub your fingertips feather light against his growing bulge. Astarion's breath catches in his throat and he lets out a sound aiken to a small gasp as he lets his head fall backwards. The sound is a stark contrast to his practiced moans. And if you has to admit it this sound turned you on way more than his performative sounds of pleasure ever did.

You continue to rub your fingers and then your palm against his clothed bulge until you can feel the unmistakable wetness of his precum. After several gasps and grunts he speaks.

"Enough teasing darling I can't take much more". His voice is almost guttural as if he hadn't spoken in a millenia. You acquiesque his request and begin to remove his trousers then his underwear until his cock is revealed.

Maintaining direct eye contact you wrap your hand delicately around the base of his erection and begin a steady motion up and down. Astarion groans in response and you watch as his fingertips dig ever so slightly into the soil. You bite your lip, almost salivating, knowing you are responsible for eliciting this response from him. It's both humbling and deliciously sensual knowing no one has made him feel this way. No one had taken the time to focus on his pleasure. To focus on what he wanted. But you would. You always will.

Lost in his pleasure you don't realize you're still biting your lip, until you see a drop of blood land on the tip of his cock. You move to lick it off and realize how badly you want him in your mouth. Teasingly you swipe your tongue from the base of his erection to the tip giving extra attention to the sensitive head. As you do, you feel Astarion's hand caress the nape of your neck before moving to hold your hair up. You smile at him, your soft plump lips a breath away from his cock, as a stray locked of hair cascades over your eye. The site of you in this moment is enough to drive him wild and it's everything he can do not to ejaculate on the spot. If he had to admit it this was all new to him. This type of devotion, as if he were a god and you a follower praying at his alter, was far from what he knew of intimacy over the last two decades. He knew in this moment he never again wished to know what it felt like without you.

You wrap your lips around his cock, pre cum dripping down his length, and take him fully into your mouth. Astarion grips your hair tightly as a most delicious sound escapes his lips. You can't get enough of his sweet little sounds.

"I love the sounds of your pleasure", you say around his cock causing a most indulgent vibration.

"God's you'll be the end of me" he lets out between whimpers and breathless gasps. You note how his ears glow hotter under your continued ministrations. You bob your head up and down on his erection with increasing ferocity, at times choking on his impressive girth. Astarion throws caution to the wind as his moans, gasps and grunts increase in both frequency and volume. He doesn't care if anyone hears and honestly neither do you.

Astarion feels the pressure building and releases your hair to dig both hands into the soil. You can tell he's close which only fuels your ministrations. Without notice, and before he can even think of telling you to stop, he unloads into your mouth hitting the very back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as you enthusiastically gulp down his seed. You continue sucking on his cock to ensure you get everyone last drop, and once you do you finally come up for air.

Astarion continues breathing hard as the small aftershocks of his orgasam pulse through his body. His hair sticks to his forehead, his eyes trained on you with both shock and admiration.

"God's I'm...", he beings to apologize, but is immediately muffled by your hungry lips on his. You kiss him deeply and he finds can taste himself as your tongues partake in an elaborate dance. Suddenly his hands are everywhere. Caressing your thighs, only slightly short of where you want his hands to be. Pinching and palming your nipples through the silky dress. Resting his hands on your ass to pull your hips deeper into him. He's ravenous and only you can sate him.

"Astarion", you breath as his lips wonder to your neck, your shoulders, to the straps hanging loosely on your arms.

He pulls the dress straps down your arms leaving you bare aside from your lacy undies. Astarion lays you done gently and hovering over you, he takes you all in. You feel suddenly shy under his gaze and unconsciously go to cover yourself with your arms. Before you can manage to hide anything, his strong hands are around your wrists as he swiftly loops your hands above your head. Holding both your wrists with one of his hands he lowers himself to you.

"Beautiful", he says against your skin as he kisses over your collarbones.

" Exquisite", he breathes as his kisses trail down your sternum.

"Prefect", he says finally as he kisses only an inch away from the lace of your panties.

You feel your heart race and your breath catch as he releases your wrists to pull your panties off. Like a good girl you keep your wrists in place and bite your lip in anticipation.

He returnes his grip and kisses your puffy lips as his other hand slips between your legs to your wet center. You moan against his lips and you feel as he hums in agreement.

"Good girl", he whispers and gives you a devious smirk. Astarion begins rubbing his middle finger deftly between your folds, giving extra attention to your swollen clit. Your moans travel through the wind and you feel the pressure building in your pelvis. You need more and by gods does he deliver.

Astarion inserts one finger inside your swelling heat and begins to curl it against your walls. You muel in satisfaction and grip on the strong bicep by your face. He looks at you, his eyes blown with desier, as he increases the speed of his ministrations.

You attempt to stifle a moan but Astarion only fingers you faster to deter you.

"You can take another darling. I'm sure of it". His voice is so seductive, and with his stare soly focused on you, you feel yourself blush. As he slides another finger into your heat you let out several lewd sounds and attempted to hide your face in embarrassment.

"Eyes on me darling", he coos as he begins rapidly sliding his fingers in and out of your pussy. You can tell just how wet you are as the air is filled with the sounds of your arousal.

Astarion removes his fingers and you whine in protest. He quickly remedies this however, as he lowers himself to your cunt and proceeds to use the pad of his tongue to swipe between your folds. You dig your nails into his bicep as he watches you come undone for him. His tongue begins to move faster until you're chanting his name like a prayer. You want him inside you and as it so happens his erection is in full bloom once more.

"Bite me", you blurt out and follow up with a soft "please". Astarion removes his tongue from your throbbing cunt and arranges himself on top of you. He locks your lips into a long kiss before placing the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your whole body explodes in pleasure as he simultaneously bites into the flesh of your neck and pushes his cock deep inside you.

Astarion moans against your neck as he begins sipping on your blood. You can feel his cock become even harder as your blood travels through his vains. His thrusts become rapid and sloppy and you feel your orgasm building to a crescendo. The night is filled with gasps, moans and whimpers of pleasure from the both of you.

"Let go for me my love" he breaths against your lips.

"Together", you breath back before ferociously kissing his lips. A few more thrusts is all it takes before you reach your climax, with his close to follow.

Astarion rests on his back beside you, still breathing heavily, as the sweat on his chest reflects the moonlight. You look over to smile at him and he does so in turn. With two fingers he pinches your chin and pulls your face towards him for a soft kiss.

Once he pulls away, Astarion reaches for the shirt he had thrown earlier and goes to drape it on top of you. You smile at the kind gesture and spend several seconds just gazing lovingly into his eyes.

"I love you", he proclaims as if it were a prophecy.

"I love you", you say back as if those simple words could quantify every emotion, every feeling you had for him.

Astarion begins to redress and hands you your clothes to do the same. As he stands he offers you his hand which you take with grace. Pulling you to his chest he kisses your cheek before whispering in you ear.

"Are you ready to join me my love?"

You look up at him, happy tears almost spilling from your eyes, and place a soft kiss to his chin.

"Forever", you say.

"Forever", he repeats as he lowers his neck to your mouth and beckons for you to have a taste.

You stake your teeth into his smoth flesh and begin to drink as Astarion rubs your back soothingly.

'As equals', you think as his blood begins to circulate in your veins.

[skylarsblue]

♡Fields of Mistria; Farmers♡

❀Cordelia Amana❀ Farm Name: Draconus Farm Pronouns: She/Her Identity: Cis Fem, Omnisexual Birthday: Summer 18 (Leo) Loves: Beet soup, Statuette of Caldarus, sapphire, fog orchid, Horn Circlet, crystal wing moth, snapdragon, blue conch shell, pumpkin pie, & pumpkin stew. Likes: Cranberry juice, Unknown Dragon Statuette, hydrangea, daffodil, petalhopper, luna moth, jewel beetle, cherry tart, rainbow trout, koi, salmon, apple pie, roasted rice tea, crystal berries, blueberry jam, shark, night queen, pomegranate, & cherry. Traits: Adventurous, passionate, absentminded, compulsive, frugal, disruptive, cheerful, breezy, & forgetful.

☆Desmond Seymour☆ Farm Name: Apello Farm Pronouns: He/Him Identity: Cis Male, Homosexual Birthday: Winter 16 (Capricorn) Loves: Alda Feather Pendant, tuna, sand dollar, deluxe curry, lobster roll, Giant Fish Scale, apple, crabcakes, Alda Gem Bracelet, & bullfrog. Likes: Apple juice, sage, chili pepper, potato soup, Caldosian Drinking Horn, chili coconut curry, peach, cosmos, Stone Horse, copper ore, Aldarian Sword, Alda Bronze Sword, carrot, Water Sphere, swordfish, Crab Statue, holly, ruby, chickpeas, & giant koi. Traits: Cold, charmless, anticipative, enigmatic, blunt, decisive, hardworking, idiosyncratic, & reserved.

✹Calloway Hamasaki✹ Farm Name: Caelestis Farm Pronouns: He/They Identity: Masc-NB, Demisexual Biromantic Birthday: Spring 26 (Cancer) Loves: Ritual Scepter, Alda Mural Tablet, floral tea, Ancient Crystal Goblet, onion soup, Alda Clay Pot, moon fruit, frost lily, chickpea curry, Ritual Beads. Likes: Noodles, herb salad, iris, Ancient Royal Scepter, Black Tablet, snowdrop anemone, daikon radish, garlic bread, bluefish, freshwater oyster, shards, Weightless Stone, Perfect Sapphire, seaweed, orange, rosemary, fuzzy moth, cucumber, dragonfly, & sea scarab. Traits: Ambitious, skeptical, clumsy, compassionate, eloquent, obedient, anxious, aimless, & honest.

[animalsalvationassociation]

A.S.A. Octonauts Headcanons:

Pt. 8 — Professor Inkling:

Theodore Arthur Inkling was born and raised in the deep waters of the Atlantic ocean. Due to the nature of his species, he once had many thousands of brothers and sisters. Once.

Growing up he only knew a few of his family members, His sister Rosemary, his Grandfather, and his mother. There were others but they never stuck around too long to properly know one another.

Rosemary was his only friend and companion, when they hatched the pair set out together, neither of them wanting to be alone.

Theo only knew his grandfather because he lived near where Inkling and Rose hunted. Their mother was there when they hatched but it wasn’t very often they saw her.

Their grandfather was a very grumpy fellow who spent little time with anyone, but over some odd years he got used to seeing Theo and Rose, sometimes even inviting them over for the evenings. (Of course nighttime in the “Midnight Zone” worked a little differently to ours, but we won’t get into that. It was also very dangerous to be out late and he pitied them)

When Theo was still very young he fell into a heavy underwater current and was swept far away from home. When he came to, he found himself washed up in a tidepool unable to escape. Even if he were to get out he’d have to flee across the shore without getting snatched up by birds or a hungry predator, then there was the matter of which direction he was meant to go.

Understandably, he was quite upset. Seeing no way out Theo just waited (albeit very teary eyed, seeing as he was still pretty young).

The universe must’ve heard him because a little while later there was a curious young girl who showed up and offered to help him. He was startled of course, thinking she would eat him but she quickly assured him that wasn’t true at all.

Her name was Samara, a young Burmese Python that would later become one of his closest friends.

(Although he first introduced himself as Theodore he asked her to call him Arthur. He liked the name a lot better and that’s what his sister would call him. Samara did the same, asking him to refer to her as Sam.)

Sam was very kind and borrowed her father’s book of maps to show him the way to the deep ocean. They said goodbye, with a small parting gift from Sam (a small bracelet made of shells and beads)

Arthur followed her directions, swimming far from the English Channel (where he washed up) to the open ocean. But his journey was far from over.

He was nearly scott-free when suddenly he was swept up in a massive net! A fishing boat had accidentally swept him up alongside their catch of cod. He was lucky to be as small as he was and after some odd minutes of struggling he managed to slide between the mesh just as the net was being heaved onboard.

The next day Sam found him in that same tidepool, in the very same state she had met him in. He told her what he had seen, and Samara was forced to explain her world to him.

Back then, the surface was much different to how it is now. Boats overfished, the shores were crowded with garbage, and factories filled the water with toxic chemicals, poisoning not only the ecosystems but the people as well.

For years the price of housing had gotten higher with wages staggering, people had been forced to the streets, some even traveling to the countryside where the air was at least a little cleaner.

Arthur was horrified and even Sam agreed that it was no way to live. Even children could see how sad the world had become.

That’s what started it all. A single spark of fear and Inkling knew that he couldn’t just leave. He missed his sister and grandfather of course but this was bigger than them. This was bigger than the whole ocean! This was the world they were talking about!

He wanted to fix this, not just for the fish but for the surface dwellers as well. Everyone deserved clean air and water, a place to sleep at night, food to eat. Why should they have to settle?

It began with a pact between two friends. They would start small. Arthur and Sam were still kids, no one would listen to them unless they showed everyone how much they cared.

So they made arrangements. In order to help they had to learn. Sam would go off to school and they would meet a few times each month to study together. Arthur couldn’t go to school so it was Sam’s job to make sure they learned alongside one another.

She brought home books, tests, and pictures. Anything that got him to see what they could really accomplish.

In their time together they scoured beaches and shorelines, with every visit the pair of them did whatever they could to keep their home clean.

When they grew older their traditions continued, they had to. Sam’s father even joined in sometimes, escorting them to places they usually couldn’t go.

(Sometimes Sam would even put Inkling in a tank on a little wagon and run around the shops with him trailing behind. It was the best years of their life.)

Finally school was over and Inkling had not only excelled in Sam’s studies but had found new ways to find information. (He would even go on to teach both his sister and grandfather everything he knew)

But even with school ending, Inkling didn’t want to stop. He wanted to have a full education experience.

Sam loved her friend dearly and knew if their plan was going to work, she had to put her life and education on the line. With Inkling’s encouragement Samara applied to several different schools and once she was accepted and invited to tour the grounds she took Inkling with her.

It was difficult for sure. She applied to dozens of schools, but no one could understand the lengths Sam and Arthur would go to to even get him into a classroom. That was until they met Professor Lwazi Ntuli.

Headmaster at the time, Ntuli was a large creature with a massive heart, and he saw Arthur for what he was, a person. Luckily for Arthur, Ntuli was not only the headmaster of a renowned school, but an inventor too, and he had been working on something that would change the world.

Ntuli saw their potential and was able to give both of them a full ride scholarship. In return both of them would help him reach out to students all across the globe.

Ntuli began to finetune the creation of his specialized suits (thanks to Arthur) for creatures who otherwise wouldn’t be able to breathe/function in places that weren’t their natural territory. And to test them they were given out to those who earned scholarships from out of the way places such as the Arctic, Antarctic, the seas/ocean, etc.

In their college years Arthur and Sam found people who were just like them. Students who needed a community, a village. That’s how they met many of their life long friends.

Arthur found Peggy Scratch, a young woman who had basically given up on everything. If it wasn’t for Arthur she wouldn’t have found her safety net.

Marin Kelp was another person they accepted, closely followed by a young Julias Copper. Marin had a hearty laugh and a strong resolve, he cared about people in ways others struggled to. Always the wing-man, and a bit of a lug-nut when he wanted to be.

Julias himself was a quiet fellow, keeping to himself most of the time. A gruff exterior but was always ready to throw out a well meaning joke to combat others.

All five of them graduated together, and in turn that allowed Sam/Arthur’s plan to evolve. Since it was no longer just the two of them they needed to expand. That’s when Marin had the brilliant idea to create something that helped people all across the world. Ntuli did it with his suits, even cities like Zootopia (a largely populated city, famous for its integration of new technology and efforts towards renewable energy) had begun to change how their city was structured, allowing all kinds of creatures to live there.

They called it the Animal Salvation Association. And after all those years, Sam and Arthur were finally able to fulfill their promise to one another.

Family:

Despite how grouse he was, his grandfather (Ballard) was a good man and a great neighbor. He was the kind of guy that would make an off handed comment about the shingles on your roof or your gutter right before work, and when you’d come home you’d find him fixing whatever was wrong.

With every year that passed Ballard found acceptance with his grandchildren. The three of them worked hard to survive, helping one another whenever they could.

Ballard learned how to read and write (from Arthur of course) a lot quicker than Rosemary ever did. He would go on to publish several books before his passing.

It wasn’t until Arthur was much older that he learned about his Great-Grandfather Averill who was the first ocean/sea creature to write a book. He wasn’t able to learn much except what Ballard had shown him by giving Arthur Averill’s journal.

It turns out Averill had met a lighthouse keeper many years into his young adult life and became good friends with. That friend would go on to teach Averill how to read and write, how to calculate math equations, and even learn to document the world below the water’s surface.

Rosemary on the other hand lived quieter than her brother ever did. She kept to herself but had such a kind heart. She was the only one who could combat her grandfather’s grouchy comments.

She lived well into her adult life, even having several of her own children, including her son Squirt who Arthur was always very fond of. Unfortunately one summer Rose vanished without a trace. Not even Ballard, who had shared his home with her, knew where she had gone.

They searched everywhere for her but to no avail.

Squirt himself lives on the reef where his great grandfather once did. He’s still rather young but he’s learned how to take care of himself well enough. Although that never really stopped Arthur from worrying.

The Inkling family has many other relatives that we see within the show, most of them are distant cousins like Irving. But no matter how far they are on the tree, they’ll always be his family.

Fun Facts:

FaV cOlOr isssssss Cyan?? Teal?? Whatever color his chair is.

He’s sooooooooooo got a crush on Min!

He met Min when the A.S.A. was first being established. He really has a knack for getting stuck in places. (I was never able to watch this episode but apparently he quote, “ Got stuck clinging to bamboo after a storm and Min saved him by carrying him down.”

So . . . Strong wife.

*Starts Chanting* InKy! iNkY! InKy!

Inkling's hobbies include: Reading the newspaper, eating muffins, drinking coffee/high tea, doing research on the Octo-net, blowing bubbles out a pipe, reading in the library, eating sandwiches, dusting his books' dust jackets, baking pies, climbing the playground's jungle gym, studying his travel guide and maps, leading games of Oceans & Ogres (the in-universe Dungeons & Dragons/DnD), reading to the Vegimals, and listening to music on his record player (or “Fish Sounds”). Majority are exclusive to the books. [ Source: Octo-Wiki ]

Inkling’s fav kelp cake is Sauerkraut??? (Also from the wiki . . . dude why)

Fav gup . . . the Octopod . . . No comment

Well actually yes. Comment. And subscribe!

Squirt is 100% on the Junior Octo-Agents and I feel horrible for not adding him to the line up, he LITERALLY in ONE episode! I’M SOWWYYYYY!!!! I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN I SWEARRRRR!!!!!

Who could forget Mortimer the Mimic Octopus??? Apparently I can . . .

Harry the Harbor Seal is also on my list of “oopsie i forgor”

(Idk if it was Harry who was friends/allies with Inkling or Barnacles?? But he seems more of an Inkling friend than a Barnacles one. Although who am I to say? Barnacles can be friends with whoever he wants)

Inkling is the Co-Founder of the Octonauts ~ Who’s the other founder?? Samara ofc duhhh

(Actually no that was rude, ya’ll probably didn’t pick up on the hints I left in my other posts. My bad.)

Mustache.

Monocle.

Grimoteuthis.

Fish Biscuits.

That’s all I have.

(I apologize to my friend @calamaroo for keeping her waiting on this post. I am a terribly slow over-writer, I am so sorry.)

The Inklings:

Averill (Great-Grandfather), Ballard (Grandfather), (Mother’s name unknown), Theodore Arthur, Rosemary (Sister), Squirt (Nephew), Cousin Irving, Literally every Octopus/Squid in the entire ocean.

Other Headcanons . . .

Captain Barnacles ( 1 / 2 ) / Kwazii / Peso / Dashi / Tweak / Shellington / The Vegimals

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]