#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.

[tobuzzu]

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!

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

PREACHERS DAUGHTER- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Best Friend! Peter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: you and peter were complete opposites, you the goodie two shoes preachers daughter, him the bad boy next door. yet fate has pulled the two of you together, and you can’t help but feel a certain lust for him.

Warnings: ORAL (fem), teasing, kissing, marking, pet names, best friends falling in luvvv, swearing, weed involved, booze mentioned, praise kink, masturabtion mentioned, lotsss of dirty talk, peter blowing smoke into reader mouth

based of the album- preachers daughter, by ethel cain

It was mesmerizing- the way his fingers moved. 

You felt as if you were under a trance, the watch on the chain swinging back in forth in front of your eyes, hypnotizing you. 

His rings, silver and shining in the pale moonlight the clock hands, the veins that ran up his wrists acted as the numbers that blurred together after some time. 

Each component drew you in as his fingers strummed each string, moving up and down the fingerboard to play each chord, a sweet melody emerging from the instrument. 

Your mind was far, far off from the homework you swore to yourself you would be doing tonight, despite having your best friend over. You knew you couldn't focus on anything but him, yet you let him slip through your window, with the cracked and peeling paint you refused to paint over- because you and Peter were the reason for its damage. 

You refused to change anything he had touched or wrecked, whether that be the broken dresser handle that was hanging on for dear life, or the jumble of photos the two of you had pasted on your walls while drunk out of your minds.

 They looked awful, all crooked and cluttered to fuck, but you didn’t touch them. 

Refused to. If Peter placed them there, that's where they stayed. 

You looked up at them now, gaze focusing on the smiling faces that stared back at you, that watched over your every move- in a comforting sense. Their presence lingered, as you peered back over to Peter, following the sound of strum from the strings, the sound coming to a screeching halt as he suddenly fished for something in his ripped jean pocket. 

He was so beautiful when he was concentrated. 

The subtlety bite of his lip, pearly whites tugging on the flesh with a sense of urgency as his jaw would clench. The way his messy, slightly ruffled russet hair would fall in front of his eyes, rings glimmering as he slid his hand through the locks to push it back into place. 

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, wanted to tug on them to make him hiss in pleasure, the way he did the one night he had decided to use your thighs as a pillow. Peter's reaction was tenuous, a slight growl escaping from the cage of his clenched teeth.

 You noticed, though. You always noticed, when it came to him. 

“Bunny? You want one?” he asked softly, pre-rolled in blunt twirling between his large fingers, making you stare in awe. 

“Bun?” 

Oh shit, you were staring. 

“N-no Pete it’s okay. I’m good for now.” you smiled, a heat rising to your cheeks as you forced yourself to stare back down at your tattered notebook filled with scribbles and numbers you had no clue what to do with.

 It was better than looking at his fingers and getting caught again. 

Anything was. 

“Alright pretty but you let me know if you want one okay? Your asshole of a father won't find out, if that's what you're worried about.” he chuckled softly, throwing you a wink as he toyed with the drug, a cat with its dinner.

 Of course that's what you were worried about. You were the minister's daughter, a holy saint if there ever was one. The good girl, your father's little angel. 

We have a reputation to uphold Y/L/N. Don't mess it up, or there'll be consequences. Big ones. 

You had followed his words as he did with passages in that dog-eared bible of his, the rosemary beads sprawled out as a bookmark for his pages. 

So, how in the world did Peter Parker- the boy wrapped in sin your father warned you about, end up as your best friend, the man you trusted with your life? You didn't know, but you were thankful for it. 

It made you laugh every time Peter offered you a smoke, he knew your answer had never changed, yet he always offered anyways. He was sweet that way. It was different with weed, you supposed. 

You were always terrified your father would be able to see right through you, be able to sniff the drugs on you like a hound dog. You made excuses for booze. 

Your father provided red wine during Sunday services, the blood of the lord for all to taste, cannibalism in its cleanest, purest form. Counting on two hands the number of times you and Peter had snuck into the old, gothic church your father managed, getting drunk off the wine in the wooden pews under the stained glass windows was impossible. 

You watched as Peter leaned his guitar against the windowsill, grabbing a lighter from his other pocket, the snake tattoos curled and wrapped along his finger seeming to hiss at you in the dim light of your room. 

“Peter?” you called, making his head snap up, the fire from his light diminishing as fast as it came. “C-can I light it for you?” you asked shyly, watching as that boyish grin that you loved so much came to his face, dimples appearing as he took you in, realizing you were serious. 

“You wanna be an angel and help me out eh?” he teased, making you nod frantically. 

Angel. 

The words alone had your toes curling in your thigh-high socks you knew Peter adored, his fingers always seeming to toy with the little black bows whenever he got the chance. He towered over you even more than he already did as he stood, making his way over to where your body was lounging on the ruffled white sheets. 

“Dad’s not home ya know. I forgot about that.” you tugged on your inner cheek, watching as Peter dropped to his knees before you, like a devil about to spread its wings. 

Begging for mercy before you. 

“Does that mean you do wanna hit then?” he asked, blunt between his teeth as your thumb flicked the flame to life, watching the blues and oranges crackle as you lit his joint. 

“Don’t know how.” you shrugged, watching as he exhaled, the sweet sickly smell of weed filling your senses as he exhaled.

 “We can try something if you want bunny. D’trust me?” You nodded, eager to obey his commands. He smiled, rings cold against your chin as he grabbed it lightly, the pads of his fingers slightly calloused from the strings. 

“Say ahh bunny.” You opened your mouth widely, the smoke he had inhaled floating into your mouth as he exhaled, fogging up your lungs. He was so close you could hear the thud of his heartbeat, could feel the soft heat rolling off him in waves to soothe you in a gentle embrace. 

“Atta girl!” he laughed as you felt the sticky taste coat the back of your throat, mouth turning dry as the Saraha.

 “Peter this tastes like shit.” you groaned, coughing and sputtering as he gently slapped your arm. “No swearing. Or else I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” he teased, making you burst out in laughter as he rolled onto the bed, smooshing your lower half with his bodyweight- making you groan as his head lolled. 

You felt your skin warm to the touch with how close he was to you, your legs parted slightly so he could wedge his way between them and rest on you. 

“I gotta do my homework silly.” you smiled as he took another puff, his eyes turning a fair shade of red as he watched the smoke slither upwards.

 “I can be your study buddy if ya want.” 

“I’d get no work done if you were my study buddy. You distract me too much.” you teased, giggling as his hand reached over to tickle your thigh gently. “We’d make such a great team. We could be on the mathletes together bunny.” 

You rolled your eyes at his sly commentary, a hand slipping through the soft, messy tumbles of his hair as he sighed in happiness. Nails began to scratch his scalp soothingly, and his chest began to rumble- purring like a cat as you tended to him. 

Just as you wanted. 

The curtains rustled in the breeze that snaked through the cracked window goosebumps appearing on your bare skin as the papes blew. You looked out through the glass, scoping out the graves that surrounded your house. 

You could map out the entire cemetery as you had lived in this old, creaking house your entire life- could picture every little twisted path and old rusting benches that were scattered. It was peaceful here, the only real company consisted of the ghosts and Peter when he came over to visit. 

Your father was never really present, too busy with the works of the church than his own flesh and blood.

 It was an easy silence between the two of you, one you enjoyed immensely. It was different than the other silences you had dealt with in your lifetime- long and uncomfortable. With Peter, they were pleasant and easy, a place where you could be in your own thoughts and not feel bad about it. 

You were lost in them now, as you looked down at him. 

He’s never looked so beautiful. How did I get so lucky- to score him as my best friend? 

Continuing your head scratches, you let your head lull against the headboard, closing your eyes to tune out the world. He continued to smoke, hand resting on your thigh with each inhale. 

“You got somewhere I can put this angel?” he asked, hand waving as he gestured to the stump of the blunt, the weed diminishing. You hadn't realized how much time had passed, the hands on the clock hoping forward since the last time you had looked over at them. 

“Over there is fine.” you pointed to the little dish on the dresser you had left for him whenever he was over, degrading it whenever your father returned home. 

You didn't comment on how much Peter had smoked, just as you didn't comment on how much whisky your father drank whenever he got mad. 

You didn't care enough. 

He shuffled up, puffing the remainder towards you, the smoke cascading around your cheeks, tickling your eyelashes as the old bed creaked. 

“You’re such a doll, you know that?” You smiled. 

“Maybe. It's not like you tell me allll the time or anything.” you teased, poking fun at how sweet he was to you. No one was as ever kind to you as Peter was. It made your insides tingle, made your skin all sensitive to the touch. 

He smiled that cheeky grin that drove you wild, tapping the ash into the dish before he crushed it with his fingers, rings glittering in the soft candlelight. Your homework was long forgotten at this point, your attention solely focused on the beautiful angel of a man that stood before you at the foot of your bed. 

“Hi.” you waved to him, his hand raising to wave back from across the room. 

“Hi bunny.”

 “Cmere.” you insisted, and he smirked as he crawled onto the bed, the look in his eye hungry as he took you in. You looked at him now, really looked at him as his strong arms slid to each side of you, caging you in his hold. 

He was black and blue, the beautiful melancholy shades in between. The way he loved was different than anything you had experienced before. It was scary, a freefall into the depths of the icy water you were scared to tread. But it was numbing- the way he cared. 

A soft and sweet energy, that pricked you gently like pins and needles. His breath was warm as he refused to break eye contact and you wanted to shrink into the depths of the mattress as you felt yourself cave. 

“I bet you taste so good.” he confessed softly, his words making you shudder with delight. 

You knew where this was going. It was heading down the old beaten path the two of you had stumbled down so many times, when you were both drunk off sin in the walls of the church. 

You liked it. 

“Yeah?”

 “Yeah angel. Mmm god I think about tasting you all the time, your skin, your lips, your fingertips..” he trailed off, head dropping down to your chest, rubbing his nose against the skin of your collarbone. 

You felt your hips wriggle, wetness seeping into your panties. “What do you think they taste like?” you sighed as his teeth gently grazed you, biting into your flesh to mark it as his own. 

“Like cinnamon n sugar. So. Fuckin. Sweet.” he kissed your neck between each word as you gigged softly, his plump lips making you squirm. 

“You’re so addicting baby. The things I wanna do to you…” he smirked, licking a stipe where your silky nightgown dipped, revealing the slight curve of your breasts. 

Heels were dug into the ruffled sheets, the sound of your books falling to the hardwood below echoed as the strong breeze brushed you again. No amount of wind could chill the fire that was burning in your veins right now. 

“But we can’t do them. Cause we’re best friends.” you pouted, running your fingers along the back of his neck, curving them around to trace each vein that pulsed as he shivered. 

“Who says?” he whispered, like he was in a trance, and you felt your dress being pushed up, up, up to pool around your waist, your stomach exposed as his head dipped down towards it. 

“Best friends do everything together bunny. Don't you think about me like I think about you?” he asked mischievously and you nodded frantically.

 “Mmm sometimes.”

 “Cause I think about you alll the time. Think about how good you’d be for me when I’m strokin my dick.” he confessed, shuffling down to trail kisses across your stomach, your legs spreading wider as he found his home between them. 

“Y-yeah?” you whimpered, heart beating so fast you heard the blood racing in your ears, his voice sounding distant. It was hard to focus, but at the same time it was hard to focus on anything but him. 

The human body was a funny thing, sometimes. How yours could bend and contract to his will at the whisper of his voice, at the touch of his skin.

 “Mmm yeah. You make me wanna do such bad bad things. But you’re too sweet for that.” 

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. 

���Peter-” 

“Can I tase you? Please? Just a lil lick, I swear.” 

You moaned at his words alone. How did they sound so sweet, so innocent when there was so much filth behind them? You could never say no to him.

 Never. 

“Please.” you urged, the chill breeze making you tremble as he removed your thong, your knees bent slightly over his shoulders. It happened in a blur, time seeming to jump and snap back again as he had you under his thumb, hanging onto every word he said. 

The first lick sent you into overdrive, body shifting up gears as you crude out his name- hands tugging at his strands of hair as if they were reins. The faint scent of weed trickled through your nose, blemishing your skin and sweat as it trickled. 

You couldn't think. Couldn't move, couldn't speak. 

You and Peter had fooled around before but this…this was new territory. And it felt good. A lick turned into a taste as you heard him growl, tongue stroking through your sensitive folds again. 

“You- you said just a taste-” you panted out, hips thrusting against him as he chuckled.

 “I lied. You should've known.” he teased, eyes meeting yours again- stare so intense you had to look away. 

It was frightening- the eye contact. It was an endless void, a freefall you weren't sure if you'd have a hand to catch you. It was filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a haziness that made you feel sluggish, like you had drank too much cheap booze, and smoked too many cigarettes. 

You were as breathless as the summer's night outside as he dived back in, malnourished and needy as he devoured you. His lips suctioned around your clit, sucking it sweetly as you wethered and moaned. 

“So so sweet…” he murmured. You felt yourself snap under him as his tongue pushed you over the edge, releasing onto his face as you cried out. His hands tightened their grip around the barricade of your thighs, chin gleaming with your juices as your body shuddered from the aftershocks. 

“That's a girl. My sweet sweet angel.” he sang out, shuffling up to kiss your lips gently, the taste of yourself staining your mouth. You savored his affections, wrapping your arms around his neck, desperate for something to cling to. 

You were scared to let him go, scared he would leave you vulnerable and open like all the others. He sensed your hesitation, rolling over to the side of you, nuzzling his head into your neck as you continued to hold him close. 

“Was I good?” you asked meekly, your biggest fear not being enough for him. 

He just smiled. 

“More than good. The best.” he whispered, kissing your skin. You exhaled a sigh of relief, tension seeping from your bones as you cradled him. 

You heard an owl coo out from the branches of the old oak tree that scratched your house, the wind howling against the old siding. You basked in the emptiness of the room, no one here but the two of you and the peeling posters that peered down at you from the walls.

 He wasn't leaving you. He wasn't embarrassed or ashamed and he was staying with you. He wanted to do this. 

It was hard to think about, hard to wrap your head around it as you had been so shameful of your desires towards him for so long. The old wooden cross that was hung above your bed seemed almost mocking as it reflected in your vanity mirror, a symbol of overcoming sin now with a meaning diminished. 

“You awake?” you asked Peter softly, ripping your eyes from the wood, knowing your father's words would haunt you the longer you were left to your own avail.

 There were so many responses you wanted to spew out to him. 

God loves you- but not enough to save you. 

But you didn’t, to save yourself the abuse of his wrath. 

“Mmm.” he mumbled sleepy, the weed putting him a place of serenity and calm as he synced his breathing with yours. “Did you want me to return the favor?” you mumbled, feeling bad he didn't get the same opportunity you did. 

He just shook his head. “Another time angel. Let me just… lie with you. I like when I just get to be with you like this.” he yawned, bed creaking as he slung his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

 “Okay. Whatever you want.” 

Silence. 

You sighed, flexing your feet, then pointing your toes. The red polish glimmered as the shadows of the wax dripping off the candles bounced off the walls, the smell of the incessant to “hide” the weed smelling of sandalwood. 

A truck rumbled in the distance, its tires rolling against the gravel. Peter sat up, eyes flickering to the headlights that beamed towards the house, making you feel anxious as you clung to the bedsheet. 

Was your father home early? He wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow night, and you knew if he walked in on you and Peter- you’d never hear the end of it. 

“Is he home?” Peter shook his head as he moved towards the window, and you readjusted your nightgown. His hair was messy and rumpled as he stood, hands resting on the windowsill as he peered down.

 A grin was on his face as he turned back to face you, your heartbeat slowing its dangerous pace with an exhale. 

He wasn't home. Or else Peter wouldn't be smiling. 

“Well? Who the hell is at my house at-” Your eyes flickered back to the clock. “Eleven at night?” 

Peter just shrugged, a cheeky look on his face as he walked towards the bedroom door, grip on the brass handle tightening as he swung it wide open. 

You heard the front door open, two familiar voices echoing from down the hallway. 

Bucky and Steve. 

“Look who decided to pay us a visit!” Peter laughed, making you shake your head with a smile. 

Look who decided to visit indeed. 

[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!

[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.

[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.

[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

[telekinetictrait]

"I was pretending that I did not speak their language; on the moon we spoke a soft, liquid tongue, and sang in the starlight, looking down on the dead dried world." (We Have Always Lived In The Castle – Shirley Jackson, 1962)

the 1960s were also known as the swingin' sixties, and that name could not be more appropriate. while some other decades had moved towards comfort, the 1960's truly embraced it. some of the youth simply threw on a tunic and stepped into some pants and walked out the door! the popularity of television broadcasted different styles and trends across the country and the world. new materials like acrylics and polyesters were cheap to produce and to buy, and made fashion more accessible than it ever had been. the swingin' sixties brought the youth miniskirts, striped sweaters, the boxy "mod" look, and the bright, fun makeup associated with famous artists like twiggy. some older women tended towards the skirt + suit jacket combination worn by first lady jackie kennedy, but the comfort of the youth was appealing to all ages. beatnik fashion was also popular, with trim black trousers and dark sweaters. in 1964, hairspray was the most popular beauty product on the market – and it showed in the elaborate updos of the era. as the decade drew to a close, the "hippie" style was a popular look among the youth, with loose fitting tops and baggy pants, as well as maxi skirts. many of the hippies incorporated crafts into their fashion, with patchwork and beadings becoming popular.

this is only a very brief summary – the trends and influences of the 1960s are vast and complex, just as the 1960s themselves were. the social revolutions mirrored the revolutions in fashion, and i could write essays about it. but i am tired and i moved in today.

1800’s / 1900-1909 / 1910-1919 / 1920-1929 / 1930-1939 / 1940-1949 / 1950-1959

cc links under the cut!!

see my resources page for genetics

rachel : birksche's pam hair / fuckyeahunbichobolita's valentines dress / laundry day socks / renorasims' not so flat flats

remington : cats and dogs hair / dissia's retro fur coat accessory (tsr download) / get famous outfit / discover university socks / linzlu's 1960's shoes (download here)

rhiannon : buzzardly28's linda hair / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / gilded-ghosts' simply sweet dress / blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings / paranormal shoes

river : jools-simming's deborah beret / simadelics' curtain call hair / cottage living sweater / linzlu's 1960's pants (download here) / base game stockings / get together loafers

rjúpa : historysims4's 1960's coiffure / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / nords' retro reboot 60's hoop earrings (tsr downloads) / dzifasims' daisy dress / base game stockings / linzlu's 1960's shoes (download here)

roxanne : simduction's karen hair (updated by cyclopfrog) / fukkiemon's star pin / georgiapeachsims' mod madness makeup / get together outfit / base game bracelets / renorasims' leather wedge boots

ruslana : ravensim's terri hair / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / cottage living earrings / happylifesims' short one piece with scarf / get famous socks / serenity-cc's back to the sixties shoes

r'veena : kismet-sims' rosemary hair / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / get famous earrings / mysteriousoo's bright pants + tunic set (tsr download) / jius-sims' flower mary jane pumps

ryan : simduction's twiggy hair (updated by cyclopfrog) / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / liliili-sims' earrings #19 / marsmerizing-sims' lesley sweater / linzlu's 1960's skirt (download here) / base game stockings / cottage living lace-up heels

rzenia : marsosims' hita hair / brianitesims' nicks sunglasses / paranormal top / huiernxoxo's roxy pants / jius-sims' retro flower boots

thank you to @birksche @fuckyeahunbichobolita @renorasims @dissiasims @linzlu @buzzardly28 @needleworkreve @gilded-ghosts @blueraptorsden @jools-simming @simadelics @historysims4 @nords-sims @dzifasims @simduction @fukkiemon @georgiapeachsims @ravensim @happylifesimsreblogs @serenity-cc @kismet-sims @jius-sims @marsmerizing-sims @marsosims and @huiernxoxo !!

[legendsgalore]

Dropping Vegetables, and Blushes

A short oneshot where March helps you out with some heavy produce.

You thought you had gained more muscle by this point,  after two seasons of farming, but still, the bucket of fall produce you were lugging around was so heavy you felt your forearms burning with the effort of holding on. You couldn’t tell what would give out first, your grip strength in your fingers, your forearms failing on you, or your biceps from squeezing the basket to your body so tightly.

You really hoped you could make it to the Inn in time, Reina had asked for some of your pumpkins directly, and you weren’t going to say no to that. And if you happened to toss in some other items, like some onion and rosemary, which coincidentally were the ingredients to making a delicious Pumpkin Stew, well, you were just being generous right?

Your ‘generosity’ has left you a sweating and panting mess, struggling to get more than ten paces away from your farm, because your basket is too heavy!

The bridge is up ahead, and then Celine’s house, and then likely you will see someone who can help you carry the basket..which you will likely refuse because wouldn’t that be embarrassing, not being able to carry this small amount? Not that anyone would really make fun of you, maybe some light-hearted teasing. Hmm..except maybe March. He would make fun of you.

Thinking of the red-headed blacksmith makes you stumble, and you catch yourself before stumbling into a hardwood stump. Thinking of him makes you burn up, and not just from the exertion of carrying your produce. He is, unfairly good-looking, and seems to know it, if the way he throws looks over his shoulder indicates. Especially when he is smithing, and his shoulder muscles and chest bulge in the right way as he swings his hammer down, and the beads of sweat drip down into the valley between his pecs…and maybe you have a problem.

Not a maybe, you knew for sure you were crushing hard on March, and for some reason his aggressive warnings and “call-out” the day he invited you to talk didn’t deter you. In fact, it just made you think of him even more, wanting to prove him wrong and make him admire you and your hard work.

Which brings you to the now, gripping the sides of the basket as if your life depended on it, as you prepare yourself to walk across the bridge and not fall into the water. Thank you very much.

 Not that you were bringing pumpkins to Reina because you wanted to impress March, you wouldn’t be that sort of person. But (you stumble a little as your grip fails for a moment, needing to squeeze the basket tightly before you drop it) everyone in town loves when the soup of the day is Pumpkin Stew, and if you happened to buy everyone a round of beer and March happened to be there….wouldn’t that be a coincidence? Wow, you are hopeless.

Just as you come to that surprising conclusion, you feel the foot you just placed falter and twist, with your weight landing on your ankle rather than the foot. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to shout as you feel the world tip. Realizing your impending doom in the form of the cold river in Autumn, you close your eyes to your fate.

But before you can hit the surface of the water, you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around you and stop your momentum.

“Are you okay?!” Your savior says, and you open your eyes to meet the harsh gaze of the man you were just thinking about, March. His dark eyes are searching you, presumably checking for injuries.

“I’m fine!” You squeak out.

His arms are wrapped around you, stopping you mid fall so that you’re still slightly angled, just the strength of his arms keeping you from letting you plop into the river. The basket is safely between you two, you having fallen with it in your arms. But the blacksmith is squeezing so hard, you can see some of the onions getting crushed from it.

The warmth from his large hands wrapped around the small of your back seems to heat up your whole body, and you’re sure your blush is telling. March definitely picks up on this, and  his face makes an aborted twitching motion, his own blush coming forth, before he pulls you onto your feet-wow he’s strong-and takes a step back, now holding your basket of produce.

“Good.” He says, and then folds his arms, and glares at you. 

“What were you thinking?”

“H-huh?” You stammer out, heart still racing.

His eyebrows furrow, and he says, “You obviously can’t carry that much produce, why didn’t you ask for help, or carry less?”

The flush grows hotter, as you retort, “I was carrying it just fine! I’m strong enough!”

March blinks at you, “I literally just saved you and your pumpkins from falling into the river, how can you call that ‘just fine?’”

“Ah, just, agh!” You cry out, upset that March had to see you in this moment of failure.

You look at the redhead, his mouth pulled down in surprise. You don't really react like that, more soft-tempered and amiable. You thrust out your hands.

“Thank you for your help March. Give it please.”

His eyes flicker down to your hands and back up, and his eyebrows furrow again.

“What?”

You shift on your feet, looking to the side and back at the blacksmith. “I mean my basket, can I have it back please? I need to deliver it to Reina.”

March makes a face. “Why would I hand it back to you, you’re just going to drop it again.”

“I swear-March! I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me, I’m strong enough to do this by myself, okay?”

You take a step closer, and meaningfully thrust your hands out again.

March just stares down at you, him being a decent head taller than you, and the basket being the only distance between you two, as you stand on the bridge. The wind blows, and despite yourself, you feel a shiver run through your body. 

His eyes catalog the miniscule movement, and he sighs, shifting the weight in his arms. Which makes you realize he has been holding the basket this whole time, no big deal. Unfair, good looking and strong?

“You’re strong enough, you know?”

“What.” You immediately stammer.

March seems to build up courage as closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and then breathes out heavily. His eyes open and capture your’s, and you feel frozen by his gaze, warmth sliding over you as if you had been pushed into the river and it was so cold you felt warm.

“You are strong, a strong farmer, so let me carry this for you? It’s too heavy, so,” Here he makes a twitching expression, aborting a scowl, and stopping at neutral as he tilts his head to look at you.

“..so let me help you, okay?”

Your knees feel weak. You stare at him, gaping dumbly. March deals with the silence for a second before huffing again.

“This isn’t really a request now. Let’s go to the Inn.”

With that he turns to continue down the path to Mistria, and you scramble to walk by his side.

“What do you mean I’m strong?” You demand, bent forward as you stare up at March.

He keeps his gaze resolutely forward, and replies, “Exactly what I said.”

Narrowing your eyes, you press him, “But you said this basket is too heavy for me, what do you mean I’m strong?”

Here the blacksmith gives you a side eye, and says, “Maybe I’m giving you too much credit here.” 

At your indignant squeak, he smirks, and boy does that do something to your heart, and you can’t help but smile back at him in response. The blacksmith’s mouth opens a little as he sees your smile, and then he turns to look the other way, where you can’t see his face.

“You’re strong in other ways, so let me help out with lifting the heavy stuff, okay? You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

“March, that’s…”

Just as you start to say something stupid like, “that’s really sweet,” the muscular blacksmith stops, causing you to bump into him.

“Well, we’re here.”

Indeed you had both arrived at the Inn, the walk wasn’t that far, and you felt disappointment strum through your body. You look up at March to maybe invite him in for a drink, but the blacksmith isn’t even looking at you. 

“I need to go finish an order at the shop, see you around.”

Your mouth closes, and you blink your eyes as March makes a speedy escape from you, but…you can see the blush that covers his neck to his ears. It almost makes you hopeful…

You smile to yourself, and bend down to pick up the basket of produce, you can definitely make the few steps into the Inn here. You had gotten enough emotional intelligence out of March for a day, you were satisfied by that.

And if later that evening, when everyone was hanging out in the Inn, the blacksmith pulls you over, with a solid arm around your shoulders, bringing you close, and then whispering into your ear pressed right into his face, 

“You’re strong in your own way, you know?”

Well, no one could blame you for your whole-body blush and undeniably dopey grin as you stare up at your blacksmith.

[bucketsofmonsters]

Where the Light Enters - Part 5

cw: unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual sex, enemies to lovers, past childhood sexual assault, past sex trafficking, referenced noncon, past nonconsensual body modification, happy ending, the tags look scary but this is mainly a story about recovery

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 4k

ao3 link

Masterlist

With their spat mostly over, Rosemary was back to dragging Cole along with her on their missions.

She was still pouting, of course, but in her defense he was the only person she could show her anger to. She had a lot of pouting pent up and she’d jump at any excuse to use it. 

Cole didn’t mind. He could clearly tell it was being done good-naturedly and watched her huff and puff with the closest thing to amusement Cole could muster shining in his eyes. 

One time he blurted out, “The inside doesn’t match the outside. You’re happy.” His voice was tinged with what she might confuse for glee if she didn’t know him better than that.

He showed up ready to head out with her after she hadn’t so much as told him they were leaving and she didn’t address it, preparing to head out alongside him. 

They were off to meet some mage who had sent them a letter. At least she thought the mage had sent a letter, she hadn’t been fully paying attention. 

Her name was Vivienne. She was sure of that much. 

She wasn’t sure of a lot of things about this new mage, but she knew one distinct pro that she had. She was not Solas. 

She wasn’t sure who to bring in the attempt to recruit her. They were going to a fancy party so she assumed this Vivienne was higher class, but that didn’t tell her much. 

So she did the safe thing. She grabbed her two other mages. At the very least, she’d gathered that there was a tumultuous relationship between mages and non mages so they probably wouldn’t hurt on that front. 

But Josephine had made it incredibly clear that Vivienne wanted to speak with her and only her, so when they arrived at a massive house that sprawled over a lush landscape with masked party goers drifting in and out of the doors, she allowed the doorman to lead her to the room she needed to be in and she planted all three of them outside it.  

She said, as clearly as she could, “Stay here. Listen for me, if you hear anything that sounds even slightly awry come inside but otherwise, just stay.” 

And then she went inside, all alone. 

The woman inside turned immediately to greet her. 

The room was meticulously furnished, all done in shades of silver and light blue. They matched Vivienne’s clothes perfectly, like the house was built around her. 

Vivienne had an elaborate dress on, covered in beads and embroidery and a thousand other things that gave her a headache to look at. The set of fabric horns atop her head matched it perfectly. The smile she wore was meticulously practiced, perfectly polite. 

“Inquisitor,” she said, and gave her a gracious nod. 

Rosemary smiled, a mirror of the one Vivienne had given her. “Madame Vivienne. I’ve heard you’re interested in aiding the Inquisition.”

“I am,” she said, and her voice exuded both elegance and snobbishness at once. Rosemary thought maybe that was the most honest part of her. “I admire your cause and I think you could use my expertise.”

“Of course we could.”

Before she could get another word out, Cole was standing between them. 

Vivienne reeled back. “Who is this?” she demanded. “I asked for a private meeting.”

He looked at the door, and once more she could get no read on his emotions. He was such a mystery to her, it was endlessly frustrating. “Their thoughts were too loud,” he announced to them, “and it was tiring to make eyes brush past, calm, unconcerned. I don’t need to make her forget. You can see me.”

He was mostly addressing Rosemary as he spoke, and she wondered what was wrong with him. He almost seemed overwhelmed, eyes a little cloudier than what she was accustomed to seeing from him. 

Vivienne’s eyes roved over him. “Eyes brush… What are you, young man? Are you some sort of spy? Where were you hiding?”

Rosemary was ready to agree with her as quickly as she could. She was beginning to see that it was certainly a better assumption than the alternative. 

He turned to Vivienne, his gaze curious. “You’re both lying, layers and layers and layers, the real words buried too deep to mean anything. You can’t speak that way. Nothing gets said.”

She evaluated him coldly, worry lines creasing her otherwise flawless face. “Are you in my head? Inquisitor, tell me you did not bring a demon into my home.”

Rosemary said “I did not,” at the exact time that Cole said, “I’m a spirit.”

She seemed taken aback by their insolence. “But you did bring him?”

Before she got the chance to respond, Vivienne was speaking again. 

“He should be put to death.”

“What?” Rosemary asked, reeling back a little. 

“You heard me. I will not work with an organization that works with demons.” 

Cole seemed hurt by the word demon more than he was concerned with the demand that he be put to death. He repeated once more, “I am a spirit.”

She scoffed. “If the Inquisition believes that is enough to make this creature docile it must be staffed entirely by fools.” 

“Well maybe if you joined,” Rosemary said softly. “We would have a better head on our shoulders.”

Her tone was softer than it should have been, a little out of place in the argument that had begun brewing. It had to be to fight down the bile that had begun rising in her. 

This never used to happen. She never used to react emotionally to things like this but even as she put on a calm face, she felt the beginnings of anger curl in her. 

It was this horrible creature. He’d done something to her, somehow shoved her back towards humanity.

All of this would have been so much easier if she’d just been able to slit his throat back when they’d met. 

“Have him killed,” Madame Vivienne insisted.

If only she knew that if that was a choice, the spirit would have been dead long ago.

As she went to speak, to respond with something, anything, to smooth this all over, the door flew open and Solas and Dorian walked in, clearly looking desperately for Cole. 

Vivienne took one look at them with their staffs on their backs and then turned her nose up at the pair of them. “You have mages in your employ too, alongside a demon, with seemingly no safeguards. My advice is clearly needed.”

Dorian groaned. “And what safeguards do you think mages should be constrained under? You know, in Tevinter, mages would never allow themselves to be subjugated like you are.���

“In Tevinter,” Vivienne retorted, “corruption runs rampant. Here we are not quite so barbaric.”

He scoffed, “Barbaric is what you do to misbehaving mages.”

“Better than allowing them to become possessed by demons like this,” she said, gesturing over at Cole as she spoke, “with no consequences. The templars are not always correct, but your idea of circles is ineffectual at best.”

“Cole is no demon,” Solas decided to chime in, cutting off the venom that was clearly about to exit Dorian's mouth. “He is a spirit, and he deserves the same respect as you or I. He is no threat to mages.”

Vivienne laughed, a high, condescending thing. “No threat? You’re a fool, you all are.”

Rosemary wondered quietly if it were even possible to have picked a worse team for this mission. 

“I assure you, the only fool here,” Solas practically hissed. “Is you.”

“I’m sure the people will be glad to know that the ones trying to protect us from the fade have a pet demon running around, unchecked, with their mages. Do the templars know about this, Inquisitor? It seems like something they would very much be interested in.”

“The templars are wrong,” Cole snapped, and it was more emotion than she’d ever heard from him before. “The ones who remember you are people are not templars for it. They say you can’t be a templar and be kind. Cullen had to leave.”

“What is the mad demon blathering about now? Words like this, against your allies? You treat this demon like a pup and yet you have not even properly taught him to heel.”

“They have trained me,” Cole insisted. “I move silent, shrouded, but together. We move as one when the knife sinks in.”

“Tell me you have not armed this thing,” she said, sounding more and more outraged by the second. “I demand you have it taken care of.”

Solas reeled back. “Taken care of? Tell me that does not mean what I think it does. You cannot be entertaining this nonsense.”

“Solas,” Rosemary said, fighting to keep her voice measured, “We need her.”

“We do not need someone who lacks humanity like this. Your soul is lined with rot, Madame de Fer, and I am no longer left wondering how you could thrive in those wretched circles.”

Solas grabbed Cole’s arm and attempted to pull him out of the room. Cole fought against it, planting his feet. 

“She’s afraid,” he said, tugging against Solas’s hold. “Seeing me causes the hurt. I would not hurt her. I only harmed mages when I didn’t know, when I thought taking them away was the same as helping.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened and Rosemary suddenly wished Solas could pull harder. 

Vivienne showed few signs of being ill composed, still carrying herself with the same carefully considered weight she always did. The only sign that something was wrong lay in her breaths, how they had started to come just barely quicker. It was hardly enough to notice, at least to most people who weren’t focused on reading every little tell every other person displayed. 

“He admits it,” she said, and her tone was haughty. “He admits he’s hurt mages. Will you still do nothing?”

“He hasn’t hurt anyone,” she insisted, wishing with all her might that she could scream that she wished she could have killed him. That yes, spirits were manipulative, he’d manipulated her into letting him stay and then manipulated her once again, without her so much as realizing, into having her emotions bubble back up to the surface. 

“They did that themself,” Cole said, and she wished they were alone and she could snap at him that this most certainly was not the time to be rooting around in her head. “They wanted to see the air again. You let them with me and they remembered what it was like to be restless.”

She shot Solas a pointed look, incapable of tamping it down any longer. “Please remove yourself and Cole from the premises. You too, Dorian. Your presence is no longer necessary.”

Dorian moved towards the door, where Solas still had his hand firmly gripping around Cole’s forearm. 

“Does he really hurt mages?” Dorian asked as he headed for the door, and Rosemary didn’t know what the truth was.

“He does not,” she said with confidence. “He is kept on a short leash. It was let out today when it should not have been, and now he is being removed. The consequences of this will be discussed.”

Solas managed to pull Cole out the door. He’d mostly stopped fighting it, just staring at her from below that stupid hat with those massive eyes that peered right through her. 

She sighed, desperately attempting to adjust her plan to the disaster that had unfolded. 

Vivienne let out a laugh devoid of any humor, one that seemed to announce how absurd all of that had been and how above it all she felt. 

“Well,” she said. “You most certainly have developed a fascinating little army, haven’t you.”

She shrugged. “The templars are our army. Them, I chose. Solas and Cole I was strongarmed into keeping. I am not the all encompassing ruler the rumors make me out to be.”

Vivinne evaluated her carefully. “No?”

“Absolutely not.” And then, in the name of salvaging this relationship and collecting the mage that she had heard was the strongest in the land, she did one of the only things she could rarely bring herself to do. She told the truth. 

“I have no love for mages. I was victimized by unrestrained mages, you know. I didn’t always look like this.”

Vivienne scoffed a little. “What, young and beautiful?”

She nodded and fought the urge to throw up. “It was an awful thing. Blood magic, I believe you call it here. They twisted me up, molded me into what they wanted me to look like. Men, mages, whoever you’d like to blame it on. I know how dangerous they are and if I had my way, we’d have our own circle to prevent anything like that happening here. I chose the templars. I understand every word you say. I know templars could never incite cruelty like that, could never live up to the wretched actions a mage, unrestrained, is capable of. I have no love for mages and I respect your thoughts on the subject. I think you could be a guiding force for us, even if I have been pushed into housing a spirit in order to learn the enemy’s mind.”

Most of it, of course, was nonsense. Most of everything she said was nonsense. 

In all honesty, she couldn’t have cared less about mages, and what those mages had done to her was far from the worst thing that had happened to her. She would have taken in every rebel mage and allowed them to learn every bit of blood magic they wanted if she thought it would keep her safer than she would have been without them. 

But there was enough truth shining through, enough of a sliver of vulnerability, that she could see it shift something in Vivienne. 

“I am sorry to hear that, my dear. In a proper circle, that never would have been allowed to happen. It is good to hear someone speaking sense.”

“Will you join us?” she asked gently, trying to not push too much. “I only want what is best for Thedas and I think we need you.”

“I will. And tell your spirit that if he comes sniffing around me he will be put down.”

She nodded, and as she did it felt almost like a bow. “Of course. There’s nothing else I’d like more.”

She left Madame de Fer’s mansion feeling exhausted. 

Dorian, Cole, and Solas were all waiting just outside the grounds. She nodded at them and the two mages looked incredibly displeased, Solas raising his hands to rub at his temples as Dorian rolled his eyes. 

Cole’s head perked up when she approached, blurting out words as he pulled them from her mind. “The truth shines through like sun through leaves, but it burns. It hurts even when you say it doesn’t, the face in the mirror being wrong. They say it’s a mercy, that no one ever touched the you that was. You wonder what she would think of the girl they formed.”

Solas and Dorian glanced between the two of them, trying to decipher the words. 

She was too tired to try and spin them into anything. 

And then an arrow landed between her feet and she was back in action, her exhaustion falling away. 

Solas had a protective spell around them in an instant as Dorain positioned himself to attack and Cole stood absolutely still, not making so much as an attempt to draw his weapons. 

“It meant to miss,” he said. “Sent between the heels to announce her way.”

As he spoke a blonde elf with short, choppy hair emerged from behind a bush, bow in hand, positioned perfectly so no one from the mansion could spy her from a window. 

“The Red Jenny’s send their regards,” she said with a smile. “We want to know why you people claim to want to help and yet you keep going to the richy riches of the world instead of talking to the little people. We could do you more good. Could tell you what the actual people living here need too.”

It had been too long of a day for this. She could not bring herself to pretend to care about the ‘little people’ or whatever else this weird girl who had shot at her was talking about. 

But manpower was manpower, and at least she didn’t need to grovel to get this one to stay, so she said, “Sure, come along, join the Inquisition. I’m sure we could find a place for you.”

The girl seemed confused by how smoothly this was going. “What, just like that? Now I’m a member of your little army?”

“If you want to be, sure. And I’m sure Josephine, she’s one of my advisors, would love to hear what the people of Thedas think.”

She was, in fact, not sure Josephine would care about this at all, but she was looking for anyone she could pawn this incredibly irritating girl off to. 

The girl puffed out her chest a little, a smug sense of pride painting itself across her face. It wasn’t that far from what she’d seen in Vivienne, to be honest. She just hadn’t trained any display of real emotion out of herself the way Vivienne had.

“Brilliant. My name's Sera, by the way.”

She heard Solas do his incessant long-suffering sigh next to her and wanted to shake him by the shoulders and ask what he wanted her to do and if he cared about winning this fight at all. 

Instead she just listened as he said, “You do have a fondness for strays, don’t you?” and forced out a bashful smile. 

Then, hiding her level of malice as deep as she could, hoping Cole wouldn’t just blurt it out, she said, “You always tell me I don’t consider elves enough. Here you go Solas, this one’s for you.”

Sera scoffed. “Yeah right, I’m not an elf. Not really.”

Solas shot her an exasperated look as she smiled at him, sickly sweet. “Something for you two to discuss. Now I have important things to do, surely you can show our new recruit to Skyhold.”

Solas might well kill her in her sleep at this point, no matter how many smiles she threw his way. He’d never really fallen prey to them anyways, even before she’d begun antagonizing him as subtly as she could. 

It made her a little afraid to see that she was getting bolder. She could feel it in the way she talked to people, more willing to antagonize, honest laughs and sighs escaping more. 

She blamed Cole once again. He was ruining her perfect training. 

Solas left with Sera, despite his obvious disdain for her. Dorian wandered off too, clearly in no hurry to spend more time with the Inquisitor who had unceremoniously thrown him out and had recruited both someone he hated and a spirit who may or may not have hurt mages. 

She considered asking Cole about what he’d meant when he’d said that before realizing she didn’t care.

As they wandered into Skyhold, Bull tried to flag her down, waving at her from across the courtyard. 

Cole’s head darted around as she began to resign herself to having to go over there. 

His presence disappeared from her side and she realized he’d completely abandoned her. 

It was fair. He could probably hear all of the things she’d thought and said to Vivienne. In his position, she would have abandoned her too. 

Varric’s voice cut through her thoughts from behind her, shouting, “Hey, Rosie, come train with me. It’s been too long since you picked up anything resembling a bow.”

She saw Cole lurking behind him, staring out at her, and considered being upset at him for revealing anything to Varric. 

But then again, she was exhausted and she wasn’t sure how much of Bull she could stomach right now, so she shrugged in Iron Bull’s direction and ran over to meet Varric. 

He thrusted a bow in her hand and she sighed at the realization that despite it being a ploy from Cole, she would not be getting out of training. 

Varric gave her a pat on the back. “Cole said you needed to unwind a little.”

“He did not say that,” she said, knowing the spirit far better than that by now. 

“No,” Varric said with a laugh, “he did not. But he said something and I gleaned at least that much from it. Why, was I wrong?”

“The truth makes things worse,” Cole said. “Starts to unravel knots you thought were tied. I unravel them too, that’s what happens when I can see through them. Vivienne was right. Dead things can’t unravel knots. The string pulls tight. Things don’t count when they’re lies. They can’t hurt when they don’t happen to her. If they can’t count, why do you cry?”

She looked down at the bow, refusing to acknowledge what Cole had said. “You were right that I haven’t picked a bow in ages.”

Varric, always her favorite, chose to ignore Cole too. “Well, it’s never too late to learn. How about it Cole, you want to be the target?”

His eyes lit up as much as they ever did, shining a bit, at least the bits of them that she could see behind his hair and hat. “Yes please.”

It was a shame she wasn’t a better shot, she thought as he disappeared and then reappeared beside the targets. This whole problem could be solved right now. 

“I could not,” he said, speaking at exactly his normal volume from across the range, and she could barely hear him. She wondered if he knew he could change how loud his voice was. “I told you, I am too slippery for you.”

She notched an arrow and fired it at him as quickly as she could. 

It went nowhere near him. He disappeared and reappeared anyway, making it land even further from him. It almost felt like he was taunting her. 

When it became apparent how truly awful of a shot she was, he started doing what she could only call teasing her, disappearing as she released the bowstring and appearing barely to the left or right of her shot. 

It should have been aggravating. She couldn’t understand why it wasn’t. 

Once more he disappeared, though an arrow had not been fired. She also couldn’t tell where he’d gone, seemingly leaving the range entirely. 

A bit of shade encompassed her and she turned around to find herself under the brim of his hat. 

He looked like the cat who got the canary, inexcusably proud of himself. 

“You like me,” he whispered, a fondness in his eyes that made her sick. 

“Shut up.”

He shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face, and then disappeared. She realized too late, as the remaining wisps of green curled around her, that he’d taken her bow with her, Varric laughing at her side.

[fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency]

*there’s a silver dagger at his door. there seem to be rosemary beads around the handle, and there’s a small bottle of holy water next to it. there’s a note.*

“ONLY USE AGAINST @whentheclock-strikesislash ”

*he calls her and informs her he has information about Kris*

[followingtheladyofthesacredflame]

Tools That Feel Important in My Practice

Candles

Considering I'm a Catholic and I also work with a fire goddess, it's completely unsurprising to me that candles are a big part of my craft. I've always used candles in veneration, so candle magic was a natural next step. I absolutely love using tealights and birthday candles as well as dollar-store pillar candles - cheap, accessible, and easy to use.

Rosaries

Again, Catholic. Rosaries are a great way to do contemplative prayer and/or meditation, and they help me add power and intention to my spellwork. They can be made of all kinds of stones and crystals, too - my current favorite has amethyst beads.

Tarot cards and runes

I've been working with tarot and runes for years, originally under the guise of "just for fun" and "it doesn't do anything but it's interesting." I've since fully embraced them as tools for communication with my deities and representation in my workings. I have a lovely little pocket deck and rune set, but I'd someday like to get/make another deck and set.

Herbs - specifically rosemary, cinnamon, and rose

Green/kitchen witchcraft felt right at home when I started my spiritual journey last year. I already loved herbal tea blends and gardening - incorporating these things into my faith has been fun! Rosemary is a wonderful multipurpose herb, cinnamon is so warm and comforting for abundance and wealth, and roses have always been my favorite flowers - I'm pleased to work with Mother Mary, who loves them as much as I do.

Salts

In the same vein as above, salts seemed like a natural addition to my working. Table salt is a great base for lots of different kinds of magic (and can be used in kitchen witchery with ease!), and black salt is wonderfully protective (don't use this one in kitchen witchery, though).

Cauldron

My cauldron was an unexpected add to my working tools - I found it, a little brass thing, at my local antique shop, and felt so called to it that I went back to get it after deciding against it the first time. I have interacted with Lady Cerridwen, who brought cauldrons to my attention, and to be honest, I love their classic witchy image. It's convenient to have on hand when I want to safely burn something.

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/765108368051421184/i-am-obsessed-with-nicholas-alexander-chavez-as-a

Greens on top anon,

I’m so happy everyone liked him as a Hightower. He is just the perfect snobby rich lord!!! 😉

We should give him a name, perhaps Edmund Hightower. My Narnia side is showing 🫣

But he thinks he’s better than everyone. Better than Aegon or Jace and Aemond but they’re both little divas. The only reason he may ever consider joining a tourney oops

Other au’s:

Priest!nicholas corrupts Alicent’s daughter during her stay at old town to become a septa. The power imbalance when he becomes high septon…

Doctor!nicholas is modern Hightower son who married Rhaenyra’s girl. Making the it girl of Westeros his pretty little housewife;)

UM YES PLEASE!!!!!!

oh he is so smug and believes he is better than anyone else!

Priest: Oh the poor sweet girl is so innocent and he has her wrapped around his finger and rosemary beads. He has her kneeling with ease as he speaks the prayers.

Doctor: The idea of the former IT GIRL behind his housewife is delicious, oh he breeds her so good and she visits him at his work for lunch