#stern grove

[themonsterthing]

[rptv-photos]

Alabina in concert at the Stern Grove Festival

San Francisco, California

Photo taken on 35mm film (Fuji Superia 400)

[aboutmusiic]

Weitere Bestätigungen für das Obstwiesenfestival 2023

Vom 17. bis zum 19. August 2023 wird in Dornstadt bei Ulm auf dem Lerchenberg das Obstwiesenfestival 2023 stattfinden. Bereits vor einiger Zeit hatte das Festival als große Headliner die Beatsteaks veröffentlicht welche nach 21 Jahren auf das Obstwiesenfestival zurückkehren werden. Nun wurden weitere Acts bestätigt. Unter anderem die großartigen Temples, die erst vor kurzem ihr neues Album…

[skbeaumont]

Five for Five | Joel x Reader Oneshot

“I ain’t stupid.” His tone is heavy now, words grating out of his throat like rusty razor blades. “Last I checked, we had one hundred and two. There’s ninety-seven here. That’s five missing.”

Summary: It was probably a stupid idea to trade five ration cards for a tiny bottle of perfume, and it's not surprising that Joel is angry, but you think it might just be worth it. Tags/warnings: fem reader, smut, dubcon, spanking, punishment, dom!Joel, sub!reader, first time, oral (m receiving), fingering, pet names, unprotected p in v, aftercare. Word Count: 4k

A/N: Forgive me father for I have sinned. This is pure filth. Please mind the tags/warnings.

“Where are the rest?”

Joel’s voice cuts through you as soon as you step inside the apartment. It’s late, already dark out, and the dangerous edge to his words makes you jump as you step inside, shoulders aching, feet numb from the long walk back home through the QZ.

“Jesus fuck, Joel. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer, just holds up his hand and shakes the stack of ration cards that are clutched in his fist. The only light is coming from the wonky reading lamp in the corner and it casts an amber glow over the apartment and Joel’s stern face.

“I said,” his voice is steady, clear, but you can already hear the frustration that’s buried underneath it, the anger that’s so quick to rise in him threatening to bubble over, “where are the rest?”

“They should all be there,” you reply, letting your eyes fall down to your boots, toeing them off so that you don’t have to look at his face.

“Well, they ain’t.” He takes a step toward you, his own boots heavy on the worn linoleum floor. “And I wanna know where they are.”

“Did you check under the floor?”

Of course he’s checked under the floor, and of course they aren’t there, because last night you took a handful – five, max – and traded them for a tiny bottle of perfume that’s now stuffed under your mattress. Joel rarely checks the ration cards – he lets you deal with that side of the dodgy business you’ve been running together for the last year and a half – so you’d thought you could get away with it. That he wouldn’t notice. But this is Joel, and he’s noticed.

“I ain’t stupid.” His tone is heavy now, words grating out of his throat like rusty razor blades. “Last I checked, we had one hundred and two. There’s ninety-seven here. That’s five missing.”

With this last he slams the pile down on the kitchen side next to you, stepping right up into your space so that you feel his breath – hot and tinged with the scent of cheap bourbon – on the side of your face. You’ve seen him angry so many times, but it’s never been directed at you before, and you’re starting to understand why most people avoid his gaze in corridors, why men cross the street when they see him coming. 

“Did you miscount?” You ask, fighting to keep your voice level, light.

“Did I miscount?” He repeats, slow, each word enunciated like it’s a full sentence on its own, and you realise it was probably the worst thing you could have said.

His fingers are hot on your chin when he grabs it, tilting your reluctant face up, dragging your eyeline to meet his. His face is a sight to behold: eyebrows furrowed, deep groves carved out in the lines that surround them, his jaw tense, a muscle twitching as he grinds his teeth. There’s danger in his eyes; a fire behind them that burns as he stares down at you.

“No, I didn’t miscount.” He spits the last word out, eyes tracing the blush that’s crawling up your throat, the way your eyes dart away from his, the flicker of your pulse – fast, rising – in your throat. The trace of the misdirection, the lie, so obvious.

He can read you like a book, always could. But you’re stubborn. You’re not giving anything away if you don’t have to. Those cards are yours as much as they’re his, and this one thing you’ve allowed yourself in eighteen months is worth the way his fingertips are digging into the sides of your face.

“What did you trade ‘em for?” He asks.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs at this, lets your face go and takes a single step back, swings his arm to his side and lets it carry him into a half turn. You slump back against the door, peeling paint sticking uncomfortably to your back. But it’s a short-lived reprieve.

“Fuck me?” He repeats, turning back to you. “After all I’ve done for you, all the shit I’ve taken for you-”

“I didn’t ask you to!” Your voice is shrill compared to his gruff curses, but you continue, adrenaline spiking, “And you’ve been the cause of at least half of that shit, Joel. Don’t make out like you’re some knight in shining armour when we both know the truth!”

The truth: that he’s brutal, feared by almost everyone in the QZ;  that people only trade with the two of you because of your hard work and negotiation skills. Joel’s good for enforcing things, for smuggling things in and out, and for sending a message when anything goes wrong, but he’s also a broken man whose anger has got him into more than a few scrapes that you’ve had to get him out of with nothing more than your sharp tongue and quick thinking.

He lets you rally this outburst at him, doesn’t blink in the face of it, until you’ve finished. Then he’s striding back to you, slamming the hand holding the cards hard against the door behind you. It makes you flinch away but his other hand’s back on your jaw, grip tighter this time, forcing you to look up at him.

“Where are the rest?” He repeats, brandishing the ration cards so that they’re inches from your face.

“They’re mine as much as they’re yours.” You say, quietly defiant despite the way your voice shakes.

“You trade them?”

“What does it matter?”

“Nuh-uh,” He twists his hand, turns your face away so that you’re forced to look to the side instead of into his face and he can say the next words into your ear. “This ain’t how this works. I ask the questions, you answer ‘em. Did. You. Trade. Them?”

His face is so close to yours now that you can feel spit landing on your cheek as he speaks, his breath hot in your ear. It shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. You can feel yourself getting wet, slick pooling unbidden between your thighs. It’s hard to ignore a man like Joel, but it’s even harder to get close to him. You don’t think he’s ever been so near to you before, not even when you’ve tended each other’s wounds after a run went south.

You’ve always wanted him to; held a secret flame that’s grown brighter and hotter over the last few months. There’s something undeniably attractive about Joel. The way he moves, the quiet confidence he exudes and the brutal, coiled power of him. You’ve watched him set his fist into another man’s jaw and wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his temper, his passion.

Now, with his face so close to yours, his thick fingers digging into your jaw, you feel yourself sinking into it, relaxing despite the tension of the situation. You want this, you want his anger and razor-sharp focus. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and you feel tears burning at your lower lashline.

“Yes. I traded them.”

A tear slides down you face and Joel’s eyes trace its path as it glides over your check, pooling in the corner of your mouth, salty and unrepentant.

“What for?”

“Perfume.”

He laughs again, but this laugh is full of derision, not mirth. It’s a punch of a laugh, straight from his chest, catching in his throat and distorting into a growl that sends a shiver up your spine and a bolt of lightning through your cunt.

“Perfume.” He repeats, turning your face in his hand so that you’re looking at him again.

His pupils are blown wide, his face a mask of fury and something else that has you pressing your thighs together, seeking friction. He notices you doing it, lets his eyes follow the movement of your hips, the desperate, needy breaths you’re sucking in. He grins, teeth bared.

“And what, exactly, do you need perfume for?” He asks, not giving you time to answer before he’s bending down and pressing his nose into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply, stubble scratching your throat. “Smell sweet enough to me already.”

“Joel, please,” you say, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, because he’s licking a thick stripe up the side of your throat and you think if he stops you might scream.

“Buy it for those boys I see sniffing around you sometimes? Huh?” He asks, drawing back from you and shaking your face in his hand roughly. “Knew you were nothing but a fucking slut.”

“I just- I wanted something nice.” You try to explain, the words catching in your throat as he slides one thick thigh between yours.

“Something nice? What makes you think you deserve something nice, hmm? Ain’t nothing nice in this place, you should know that as well as I do.”

And you do, God knows you do. The QZ is dark and twisted and fucking soul-crushing, but you’d wanted the perfume, wanted it with a deep yearning that matches the way you want Joel to keep going now, to push you and punish you and take what he wants.

“I think you need to learn a lesson, baby.”

You’re nodding into his hand, tears rolling down your face, splashing onto his thick fingers. He lets go of your jaw, takes you by the wrist and pulls you into the room, toward the sofa, over his knee when he sits. Your stomach is pressed into his thighs, face buried in the dirty sofa cushion and he’s got one hand pressing into your spine, the other searching out the button of your jeans. He undoes it, wastes no time in dragging the worn denim down your shaking thighs.

“You’re gonna lie there and take it, you hear me?” He says, splaying a hand over your bare ass cheek, moving the line of your knickers out of the way so that he can squeeze the meat of you, fingers dipping between your thighs, finding the slick liquid that’s leaking from you.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked already. Fuckin’ filthy little thing, aren’t you?” His accent is somehow thickening, vowels lengthening, the twang of his consonants increasing.

“I asked you a question.” He says when you don’t immediately reply, and you nod your head, wipe your wet eyes against the sofa.

“Count for me.” He says, and before you can take a breath to prepare, his hand is coming down sharply on you.

The sting is sharp; delicious.

“Count.” He hisses, and you whisper a faint one, breaking off into a moan when he lets his fingers graze the side of your puffy lips.

You wish you could see his expression, see if this is affecting him as much as its affecting you, if he’s watching with something like ecstasy on his handsome, haunting features.

The second smack is harder than the first, sharper and sweeter for it. It makes you jerk against him but he’s holding you down firmly with one solid hand in the middle of your back, pressing you into his thighs, into his lap. The denim of his jeans is rough against your bare stomach, scratching you skin where your shirt’s risen up. The third slap makes you yelp, harder again, but he soothes it immediately with his palm, rubs the flesh of your ass.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Enjoying being bent over my lap and spanked like the dirty whore y’are, huh?”

You can’t believe the filth that’s dripping from his lips. Sure, he curses plenty, and you’ve heard him cuss out entire rooms full of angry men, but this is something else entirely. This is animalistic and derogatory and indecent. And God help you, its sending rushes of hot liquid practically gushing down your thighs.

“Be so easy to slide myself inside you, you’re so goddamn wet.” He says as he sends another harsh slap onto your ass. “Open you up and press myself inside this soaking cunt, hmm? Bet you’d let me, too, let me do fucking anything to you.”

“Yes, Joel, please, anything.”

His third laugh of the afternoon is throaty and coarse, full of self-indulgence. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, makes you clench your thighs together and grind your teeth to stop you from crying out again.

“You gonna come like this, baby?” He asks, sliding his hand over the meat of your ass, down between your thighs to press at your entrance, slipping beneath your ruined underwear. “Come on my lap like the dirty fucking slut I know you are?”

The sweet sting as he pushes two thick fingers inside you almost pushes you over the edge there and then, but you bite into your lip – probably drawing blood, but you’re too distracted to notice. He curls his fingers, drags the pads of them over the soft flesh inside you, seeking out that spot that makes you almost black out, pleasure ratcheting up so suddenly that you gasp, coming hard in his lap, muscles shaking and contracting, cunt squeezing his fingers tight.

“There she is,” He hisses, curling them again, chasing you as you shift against him, overstimulated.

How is he so good at this? You’ve never seen him with anyone – he’s always given the impression that he has no interest in sex, in relationships, friendships, even. But the expert way that he’s playing your body like an instrument, chasing your moans and gasps like they’re the air he needs to stay alive, tells a completely different story. And when you jerk in his grip and he presses you harder against him, shifting on the sofa, there’s suddenly a very clear indication of just how much of an affect this is having on him, too.

“Shit,” His voice is ragged now: This outburst isn’t controlled in the way that the rest of the curses he’s been spewing into your ears have been. It’s unexpected and bitten back behind a grunt as your hip comes into contact with his cock – a solid, hot weight that fills the front of his jeans, pressing the button of his flies into you, his pocket a line of stitches on your stomach.

The next smack is all the harder for the tiny huff of a giggle you let out, which turns quickly into a hiss of pain when his palm comes down hard against you.

“Concentrate,” He warns when you don’t immediately count the spank aloud. “’m teaching you a fuckin’ lesson, here, remember?”

“Four.” You say, pressing your face harder into the cushion, rolling your hips just slightly so that his cock twitches against your stomach.

“Five for five.” He says, soothing your heated flesh with the palm of his hand before bringing it down one final time. “Five. Think you’ve learnt your lesson?”

You twist round in his lap, eyes dancing when you see the flush that’s tinted his cheeks, the way his gaze is lingering on the swell of your ass cheek in his hand, perspiration beading on his heavy brow.

“I don’t know, Joel, do you?” You say, voice teasing, and he snaps his eyes up to your face as he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Fuckin’ mouth on you, you insolent little slut,” he curses, fisting the collar of your shirt and pulling you upright, opening his legs so that you slide between them onto the cold lino floor.

“Think we can find a better use for it, hmm?” He leans back against the couch, pops the first button on his jeans. Your eyes follow the movement hungrily, unable to look away as he slide the zip down painfully slowly, tooth by tooth, the clicks loud in the silent apartment.

He doesn’t take the jeans off, just pushes them far enough down his thighs that he can fist his cock where it sits, heavy and thick, in his underwear. There’s a dark stain at the tip that makes your mouth water, and when he drags his briefs down, too, you lick your lips greedily.

He’s painfully hard – head flushed a deep red, veins standing out boldly against his thick shaft. There’s a thatch of dark hair at the base, and his balls are heavy and full when he tucks the waistband of his briefs underneath them.

He strokes himself lazily a few times and you let yourself look up to his face. His eyes are dark, pupils eating into the deep brown irises, brows furrowed slightly. The amber light of the lamp is casting his face partly in shadow and it only accentuates the strong, curved line of his nose, the deep creases that lines his eyes and forehead. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists, his gaze so sharp and focused it makes you dizzy.

“C’mon then,” he says, running a hot hand up your jaw to grip the back of your neck, pulling you in towards him. “I got no doubt you know exactly what you’re doing here.”

The scent of him is musky and something distinctly masculine, and you bury your nose in the thick hair at the base of him, place a heated kiss to the side of one thigh. This alone make him moan, a deep, throaty sound that lights you up from the inside.

You press your lips to the tip of him, flick your tongue out to kitten lick at the slit.

“Fuck,” he curses.

He’s sensitive. When you wrap a hand around the base of his cock and place your lips around him he hisses, fingers tightening their grip in your hair, free hand fisting the loose cover of the worn couch. You take him further in, suck your cheeks in to caress him, work your tongue over the delicate ridge at the head of his cock. He tastes like salt and sweat and something distinctly Joel, masculine and heady. When he hits the back of your throat you try not to gag, try to swallow him down, throat contracting around him so that he groans and curses.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Your mouth is fuckin’ filthy.”

You grin around his cock, work your hand over the part of him that won’t fit, then pull back and lick one long strip up his shaft, letting your tongue follow one of the thick veins. He presses himself back into your mouth, tightens his grip on the back of your neck and raises his hips off the sofa.

“You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth, baby?” He asks, and you nod, feel hot tears prickling in your eyes when he starts moving, dragging his hips back and then forward, forcing his cock into your mouth, down your throat so that you feel like you’re choking, like all that exists is Joel and his hard cock, his breathy moans and filthy mouth.

“Got such a clever fuckin’ mouth, baby. Just needed to find a way to put it to good use- shit, yeah, that’s it.” He pushes you down once more, groans as he bottoms out on your throat, then releases the back of your neck so that you can pull back.

You’re a mess, tears rolling down your face, saliva pooling in your mouth and joining your lips with Joel’s cock in long strings. Joel’s looking down at you with fire in his eyes, his dark gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes to the open buttons of your shirt and the swell of your ass.

“Get up,” He says, wrapping his hand around your upper arm and pulling you to your feet.

Before you’ve time to get your balance he’s bending you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees on the sofa. He lines himself up behind you, drags the blunt head of his cock through your soaking folds and presses himself inside your cunt.

The stretch is intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, press yourself back against him as he inches inside. He pauses for a split second when he’s sheathed himself fully inside, then pulls out and begins a punishing pace, fucking you into the sofa, his hands gripping your hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave marks in the shape of his fingertips.

“Pussy’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight, darlin’” He says, and something in your chest swells at the sound of ‘darlin’’ rolling off his tongue like that, full of something that’s dangerously close to fondness.

He’s a cacophony of contradictions, greedy hands gripping your hips possessively, then smoothing up your back under your shirt before sliding back down to slap the soft flesh of your ass. His thrusts are hard and intense, cock hitting that spot inside you that makes electricity jolt in your stomach with each movement, but then he bends over you, slows his hips so that he can kiss the skin of your throat. His voice – deep, husky, reverberating in his chest – keeps up a filthy chorus that has you whimpering into the couch, but he’s praising you, offering you gentle encouragement, his words warm and dirty and entirely overwhelming.

Being so good for me, baby, pussy’s so fuckin’ wet and tight around me. Can feel you getting close, you gonna come like this, huh? With my cock buried deep inside this pretty little cunt?

Without waiting for an answer he wraps an arm around you and finds your clit with two of his thick fingers. He starts rubbing confident circles over it, bringing you closer and closer to your inevitable climax. You grip his arm with your fist; fingernails digging into hard muscle.

Then suddenly you’re coming apart, white noise blocking out the sound of his hips slapping into yours and his voice and the low level hubbub of the other apartments, until there’s nothing left but your pleasure and his cock and his clever fingers, his nose pressed into your throat, teeth nipping the tendons there.

The world fades back into existence as you come down, muscles jolting. You feel yourself clenching around him with the aftershocks. Joel gasps into your neck, squeezes your tits over your shirt.

“Fuck, just like that, gonna come in this sweet cunt. Shit, that’s it.” His thrusts falter, hips slamming into yours.

You feel him twitch inside you as he comes, ropes of hot cum painting the inside of you, his stuttering breath at your ear.

You stay as you are for a moment, both gasping for breath, hearts hammering in your chests. His embrace is suddenly tender, muscles shifting as he relaxes against you. You don’t say anything, but he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and that simple gesture opens a floodgate in your chest.

He pulls out of you but keeps his arm around you, guides you both down to lie on the couch, your back pressed to his front. The light in the apartment feels different than it did earlier, the orange hue warmer, kinder than it was.

Joel peppers kisses along the back of your neck and over each shoulder, his strong arm keeping you firmly against him. He wraps a thick thigh over both of yours and tightens it, anchoring you in place. You sigh in contentment, head quieter than it’s been for months, years, possibly.

“I didn’t hurt you?” He says into your hair, voice low.

“No, Joel.”

“You sure? I’m sorry if I was too rough. I don’t- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I liked it, Joel.”

He chuckles darkly, hooks his chin over your shoulder and teases the skin under your ear with his teeth.

“Fuckin’ filthy, aren’t you? Always knew you were.” He presses his nose to your neck, inhales deeply. “Perfume’s nice, by the way.”

[feyascorner]

8 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. a little peek at what this guy is thinking before i move onto act 2 of this fic!! <3 also this specific flashback is not the usual pre breakup flashback it's right after the blushing mermaid incident !!

His nightmares have long stopped making him sick.

The same dreams where Cazador would have shackles around his neck and wrists, laughing maniacally while he carves runes into Astarion’s flesh, no longer bring him the same dread the morning after. Instead, he feels a kind of numbness that spreads past his physical being into the mindless stare he bores into the ceiling. Even before the birds awaken outside the city, it's quiet in the morning. This eerie sense of stillness used to be his favorite time of day.

Because when there’s nobody outside, there’s nobody to bring to Cazador.

Now, it feels too empty. Too alone. As if he’s the only person left in Faerun.

With nobody but his own mind, he begins to replay the events of the last few months. No matter how many times he does it, it doesn’t seem quite real. The nautiloid, the grove, the underdark—all of it. From the second he first bathed in the sun’s glory to the second he lost it all anyway, it doesn’t seem real.

It doesn’t seem real that he once had someone to care for him.

But he supposes he’s mistaken. He’s had plenty of affection throughout his centuries lurking on the city's streets, albeit rare for something genuine. Regardless, it did happen. Like Sebastian or other fleeting victims of Cazador who weren’t as crude as his usual prey. Genuine people whose biggest crime was falling for Astarion’s charms at the wrong time and place.

He doesn’t remember most of their faces anymore. He’s given up on trying to.

And like clockwork, his mind fades to the moment he first tasted humanoid blood as he begins to zone out from a particular part of the ceiling. A proper meal, rather than those disgusting rats on cellar floors he’s been allowed for most of his vampiric life. He remembers the liquid gold sliding down his throat and the sheer energy that came with it—some of which he hadn’t even known he had. He recalls the heavenly metallic taste of your lifeline. How, despite all the blood, all he could smell was your soap. How hot you’d felt against his own cold and unforgiving husk of a body.

Astarion swallows, forcing himself to focus on the chipped wood on one part of the ceiling.

While on any other occasion, he’d remind himself that he’d never have a taste of you again, you had given it to him. Even though he swore all the gods above were against his odds, you’d offered him your blood as he lay pathetically against the walls of the Blushing Mermaid.

But it had been different this time. Instead of that soft smile you’d give him when he’d drink from you in the past, all that remained was a stern frown. You hadn’t run your fingers through his curls and instead chose to grit your teeth, forcing your eyes away from where he bit into your wrist. Your generosity hadn’t been one stemming from affection but one of necessity.

You had flinched away from his touch.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he should’ve expected you to shove him away the second his mouth neared your skin, and he did expect it. But instead, all you’d done was brace yourself—as if you hated his touch—and forced yourself to stay still for his sake. It was akin to watching himself endure the skin of so many strangers in hopes of convincing them into Cazador’s dungeon all those years ago. He knows it’s not the same. He knows this, but hells, did he hate how dry his throat felt after, despite feeling satiated.

He would’ve preferred if you’d just left him there to bleed.

He hates that you hadn’t done so.

He hates that you hadn’t let him ascend.

He hates that he’s forced to live alongside you.

He hates you.

Before he can tell what he’s doing, he’s standing in front of your bed. How he got here is a blur, but he has a dagger in one hand and a fist in the other. You lie blissfully asleep, unaware of the blood-red eyes that stare down at you in a daze, illuminated by nothing but the moonlight peering through the windows. He takes a moment to take in the state of your room–and though he’s not shocked at the mess scattered around the ground and desks, he’s not pleased by it either.

“Gods, how do you even live like this?” he asks, as if you can hear him.

He glances at the glint of his blade and then at your sleeping face. The same face once peppered at least a hundred kisses against his cheek, laughing loudly when he’d feign annoyance at the marks left behind. You’d only snickered then, tackling him into an embrace and allowing him to return the sentiments. Those same lips of yours are now chewed raw, almost a bloody red.

“I could finish this endless fight right now,” he whispers, his grip tightening around the handle of your blade. “I could wake you with this knife at your throat, and you’d have no choice but to kill me. I’d return the violence, of course, but only one of us would live. There would be no use fighting any longer.”

Your chest only rises and falls steadily, and he notices he hasn’t seen you at such peace since he last slept beside you all those months ago. He doesn’t see the same expression anymore because when you look at him now, it’s always accompanied by furrowed brows or a downward quirk of your lips.

He wishes you would respond.

“Ha,” he scoffs pitifully, dropping his hand. He places the blade in its rightful place on your bedside table again and sighs. “This is much too pathetic of a death for either of us. If we were to kill one another, it should be done properly—not in this mess of a room.”

With one last pathetic scan at the details of your face, he turns to leave. But before he can even reach the door, he hears a soft gasp from your bed.

For a moment, he thinks he’s been caught.

When he whips around, all he sees is your clearly asleep form, yet this time, there is no peace in your expression. Instead, it’s scrunched up into a painful grimace as your fingers grasp at your sheets and your mouth falls open to take in breaths of air that don’t come to you. He thinks you might be choking on god knows what until one of your hands flies to your throat. Your nails claw at a collar he can’t see.

He glances at his own hands.

Oh.

Astarion slowly paces back to his spot beside your bed, watching as you writhe against nothing but the air. He realizes you’re not suffocating, but it sure looks that way. He doesn’t know what to do besides watch blankly with wide eyes, but fortunately for him, the moment doesn’t last long. In seconds, your hand falls from your throat, and you continue to grimace painfully. Still, you’re no longer choking.

The bruises have faded, but only physically.

The vampire feels his hand inching toward you but freezes, unable to bring himself within a foot of your restless body without doing something he’d regret. His mind flashes back to how you’d flinched away from his touch, and it’s enough to make him drop your hand again. And being unable to decipher what he’s supposed to feel, he just stares at the wetness of your lashes, his jaw tight.

His voice is rough as he speaks.

“You foolish bard.”

“You’re one of the Gur children.”

“So what if I am,” the small child, too frail for her age despite the fangs protruding from her gums, crosses her arms, huffing. It’s been mere minutes since you managed to sit her down on the forest grounds, bent down on one knee to reach her eye level, but she remains positively stubborn, glaring at the other vampire spawn who stands idly by your side while twirling a comb in his fingers. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It’s important. You were turned recently, then, weren’t you?” you frown, and a flicker of recognition passes her before it vanishes again. “Why are you alone? Where are the other kids?”

“That’s what you want to ask?” Astarion hisses from your side, his hands stopping. “Stop indulging such trivial questions and demand to know whether the little brat was the one to kill that poor husband. The clock is ticking, and I still have to hunt.”

You snap in his direction. “Will you stop it? She’s a child.”

“A spawn—she’s a spawn. Get it right, darling, she’s no child.”

“You’re acting like a nine-year-old yourself.”

“Ha! As cute as it is that you’re attempting to insult me, let’s leave the lines to me, hm? Your delivery couldn’t be less enthusiastic if you tried.”

“This isn’t a joke, Astarion.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

You glare at him, and he glares straight back. The smallest of snorts, stifled by a hand, comes from Berry, and you both turn to look at her in an instant. By the time you do, she’s already back to huffing, her brows furrowed.

With an exhausted sigh, your shoulders slump. “So, did you kill Roger Highberry? Was everything an act?”

She hesitates, and though you dare to believe that what you see is sorrow, she wipes it away with a blink of an eye, gaze glued to the ground before her. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t lie.”

“Do you think we’re idiots?” You nearly roll your eyes at his voice. “You’re telling me a spawn—one that’s been newly turned, might I add—wouldn’t go ballistic at the sight of fresh blood sleeping soundly just a room over each night?”

“I didn’t!” she spits, baring her teeth. “And I’m not talking to you! I don’t want to talk to you, you—you—asshat!”

It’s apparent that it’s her first time using the word, but you don’t bother mentioning it.

“You wretched little–!”

“Berry,” you sigh for the umpteenth time, ignoring the fuming elf behind you. “I want to believe you, but I need you to be honest. And when I say honest, I mean absolutely everything. Including why you followed me out here and tried to attack me earlier.”

She falters. And almost shamefully, she looks down at her hands again. “...I ran away from the other spawns. I didn’t want to be with them anymore, and I pretended to be an orphan to stay with Cora and Roger.”

“What?” you blink. “Why would you do that?”

“Ulma taught us vampires are evil for the blood they take from people,” she mumbles. “I didn’t want to be evil too. Even if it means leaving my friends.”

As she speaks, her face dawns with a wave of solemnness–one too familiar to yourself.

“If you’re not with the others, why did you send me to the Blushing Mermaid knowing that there’d be an ambush?” you finally ask, gentler than you should be with how Astarion impatiently taps his foot behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “It could’ve killed us.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she blurts, searing eyes darting to your silver-haired companion. “I was trying to kill him. He tried to perform a ritual and kill the rest of us with the power he’d get…I might not be with my friends, but I don’t want them to die either. I don’t want to die.”

You feel your breath still. Astarion does the same, now unmoving from his spot. However, his shock stems more from offense. “Cazador would have rid of you anyway. You were doomed from the start.”

You glare at him, still maintaining a soft tone toward the girl. “He can’t harm you anymore, Berry. Nobody can.”

She points a finger at Astarion. “I can’t be sure until he’s gone!”

“Berry–” You reach toward her hand.

“I let you see Dalyria so you’d turn him in! Not to keep him!” she hisses, slapping you away with a snarl. “And the worst of all, you let him drink from you! You let someone who wants to kill the rest of us drink from you while the rest of us have to pay greatly just to survive! If you’re his friend, then I have to hate you too!”

Eyes going wide, you find yourself standing again, cheeks tinging red. “I—that was just–”

Astarion’s attention still seems elsewhere. “I don’t want to kill you, as appealing as it sounds at the moment. Even I don’t indulge in harming children, despite how annoying I find brats like you.”

“Stop lying!” she shrieks. “Petras said you’d kill us all! That the second you finish the ritual, you’d kill the rest of us to make sure you have no competitors. That there isn’t another person like you who’d go against the will of their very master—”

“Though it sounds positively delightful, I wouldn’t be the one doing all that bloodshed,” he snaps in return, fangs visible through the grit of his teeth. “It seems my dear brother has misinformed you. The ritual itself would’ve wiped you all—which would’ve been far better for the city, clearly—but I would only be making a choice. A sacrifice.”

While the two are too caught up in the wrath of their distaste for one another, realization quickly flashes across your eyes. Suddenly, you’re standing between the two, one hand inches from Astarion’s chest as a warning, while you keep Berry shielded behind your free arm. The act catches him off guard, and you think the downward curl of his lips should scare you. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Go hunt—or whatever it is that you do,” you demand, fingers inching closer to your weapon. It feels too dramatic, but you decide you can never be too safe. “I need to talk to her without you here to bicker and argue with a child.”

He scoffs. “Talk about what exactly? What more is there to know? You do realize that if I were to leave now, the brat would take another attempt at your life.”

“She’s a kid. I can take care of myself.”

“When you cowered behind me just minutes ago over a damn squirrel?”

Hells. You should drive a stake through his heart just for that.

Your eyes narrow. You might’ve entertained this quip on another occasion, but that moment is not now. “Go.”

His gaze flits from you back to the child, his expression indecipherable. You want to look away from his harsh stare, but your pride doesn’t dare allow you. And you’re thankful for it. “20 minutes then. 20 minutes only, and then I shall return.”

You nod.

With one last fleeting glance and a hesitant footstep, he turns on his heel, stalking to disappear into the darkness of the woods. It doesn’t take long because, after only a few dark strides and the rustling of leaves, he’s gone, leaving only you and the blazing vampire spawn behind you.

“Is that what Petras told you?” your brows furrow at Berry. “Is that what he told everyone else? That Astarion would’ve killed you once, he became an ascendant?”

She stares up at you, gaze blazing with rage. But there’s more to it. Loneliness, longing, and the most prominent: grief. Grief for the life that’s been taken away from her and reciprocated her payment in the form of fangs. She adjusts uncomfortably in her cloak, her tiny fists clenched at either of her sides.

Her silence is the answer you need.

This must be why the other spawn isn’t against the ascension. They can’t be against it because they don’t know how it works in the first place. Just as Astarion’s siblings believed the ascension would’ve rebirthed them alongside Cazador, the remaining 7000 spawns believe the same—almost ironic, in an endless cycle that repeats itself no matter what. They aren’t even aware of the ticking clock attached to their lifelines.

“Astarion wasn’t lying,” you say softly. “He wouldn’t have killed you after becoming an ascendant. He would’ve killed you becoming the ascendant. It’s the price of the ritual.”

She releases a frustrated grasp of her nails digging into her palm. “No, you’re just saying that because you’re his friend!”

“I’m not his friend,” you admit.

And despite expecting a pang of regret pulling at the strings of your heart as you say the words. No tightness in your chest, no dryness in your throat, and no shame for the lies pouring so effortlessly out of your lips. It makes you think that perhaps it’s not a lie. You dearly hope that’s the case.

“Then what are you?”

"I'm like you,” you say. "He tried to kill me too."

She frowns. “You let him drink from you. Nobody does that. Not for something like us.”

Your heart cracks a bit at her words, but you shake your head. “It was to keep him alive. To save him, as I intend to do for you.”

“You? You’ll save us?” she scoffs, clearly unconvinced, as she picks at the makeshift bandages wrapped around the wound on her arm. It’s a flimsy piece of cloth you tore from your cloak, but it’s better than risking it against whatever natural elements the forest offers. You gently pry her fingers away, preventing her from agitating the split skin.

“I did last time,” you remind her. “I’m the one that stopped Astarion from ascending—did Petras tell you that too?”

She falters. And while there’s an apparent hesitance in her eyes, there’s something behind all the rough exterior she’s built up from an undeniably traumatic experience of becoming a spawn. She looks up at you when you squeeze her tiny hand, almost hopeful. Because despite what irreparable damage the past few months have done to her, she remains a child. An innocent caught in a war of bloodshed. And what more can you gather from a child but hope?

“You want to stay with Cora, right?”

She nods sheepishly.

“Then you’ll stay with her,” you smile. “I’ll lend you my trust if you lend me yours, and you don’t run off anyway.”

“Promise?” You hold out a pinkie. She stares at it, but when she meets your eyes, she lifts her own hand to interlink with yours. For a moment, she almost looks like she's forgotten about the reality of her situation. That even if she were to live, she wouldn't be able to stay with Cora for long, given her inevitable nature.

How childish. Innocent. And you’d do anything to keep it from becoming more sinister.

“You let the girl go?” After ensuring Berry returns to her room, Astarion repeats the question for the third time as you turn away from the Highberry household in utter disbelief. The cold night air sends chills down your skin, and you wrap your torn cloak tightly around yourself, walking straight past him. Despite your apparent intentions of ignoring him, he trails after you urgently, following no matter how quickly your steps take you through the dead stillness of the city. “And what if she decides to kill the wife?”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he hisses. “What makes you so sure she can go against her very nature to kill just so she can stay in a bedroom she shares with four other kids? All of which are very appetizing meals to her, by the way.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m sure you would know.”

“I do. Which is all the more reason for me to step in so we don’t have to deal with yet another dead body on our hands.”

“I don’t need advice from someone who wouldn’t hesitate to use a comb as a weapon.” You rub the side of your head to soothe your headache.

“Seeing as you set a spawn free into the city, I’d argue differently.”

“Will you just shut up?”

“I didn’t accompany you to be a pretty toy piece at your side, darling. With the foolish choices you’re making, I have no other choice but to nag,” he rolls his eyes. The snarkiness in his voice is enough to snap what remains of your already worn patience.

“And you think you’re allowed to give me advice?” you spin around to face him, stopping dead in your tracks. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re basically a hostage! You don’t get to make decisions on what we do!”

“Well, who else will you get advice from now that all your little friends seem to have lost all respect for you?” 

Your jaw unhinges. He stands firm, arms crossed, and it’s enough to make your blood boil. “Gods, you’re—you’re such an asshole.”

Astarion laughs bitterly. “Care to tell me anything new?”

“About your personality? We’d be here all night. You’re also forgetting that I fought with the others for your sake, you bastard,” You step closer, teeth gnashing together. “I saved your life.”

“I would’ve survived with or without your help, darling.”

“You only got this far because our friends helped you!”

“Would you like me to be grateful?” he guffaws, and your chest tightens at how condescending it sounds. “Because must I remind you that you also stole the only chance of me escaping this filthy life where I rot away on the streets and feed on lowly criminals? You’ve forced me to be what I am, and now you think I’m indebted to you?”

Why does he keep saying that? You fight the urge to just punch him.

“I’m not saying you owe me anything, you fool!” your eyes meet his in a blaze of fire. Your heart beats rapidly, and you sincerely hope it’s gone unnoticed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I never forced you to do anything—I was stopping you from becoming like Cazador!”

He’s suddenly looming over you, his gaze sharper than before in a frenzied manner. Just mentioning his old master’s name is enough to push him on the offensive. “I never would’ve become like him…not after what that bastard did to me. I would’ve become stronger and been able to help you. Us. So why in the bloody hells you ever stopped me–”

The words pour out like a mountain of sand held by a twig, and you reach to grab the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t need help! Neither of us did, Astarion. It would’ve been hard, but we would’ve made it out like we always do if we just tried!”

You’re unsure you’ll make it out this time, but does it matter anymore?

His frown creases as if none of your pleas are getting through his thick skull. And while you have half a heart to keep blurting out whatever comes to your mind, his sudden silence and the smallest of steps he takes away from you make you seal your mouth shut. Like he’s closing the door again. Like he’s leaving you all alone again.

Your voice drops, and you bring your hand back to your side.

“You’re not being fair, Astarion.”

“Darling, I’ve followed all your stupid rules and remained on my best behavior till now, even when I could’ve caused more than a few casualties. Hells, I even watched that girl go back to the orphanage alive,” he says, quieter. “I’ve been more than fair.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What is it, then?”

“It feels like you know everything I’m constantly thinking of, whether it be you or something else,” you mumble. “But you won’t let me know what you’re thinking. I’m not asking you to tell me your deepest secret…I just need to know what I’ve done to deserve the bullshit I have to put up with. I took away the ascension from you; I get that, but is that really it? Is that really why you hate me this much? What’s worse, is that very time it feels like we can finally talk, you just—you tell me that you hate me again and then leave it there to fester even more anger on both sides.”

Astarion stares at you, his expression impossible to read. Horrified but unrelenting of the mountain of unsaid words, you continue. “Just talk to me.”

Why, you want to ask. He knows you only did what you thought was best at the time, so what have you done to deserve such cruelty?

Why do you hate me so much?

He gives you a long, hard look. It was surely only a few split seconds, but it seems like hours as you don’t even dare to breathe, rooted in place as you await his answer. It’s infuriating that you can’t tell what he’s thinking even now. He’s always been far too good at masking his feelings, and while he’d used it against you once, you never thought he’d have to again. And finally, when he moves, he doesn’t move to speak.

He shuts his eyes, and when they open again, he’s grinning. That fake, beautiful grin that brings you so much anguish and conflict simultaneously that it makes the sides of your head pound with the beating of your heart. “Fine, darling. Let’s talk if you want to so badly.”

It's so artificial that it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You wish he’d just tell you he hates you again.

He’s blocking you out again. Again and again, no matter how many times you take a step forward, he takes a few back, and the distance between the two of you grows larger. It’s just so exhausting and repetitive. You’re sick of it. 

“Why do I hate you? Where should I start?” he hums. “Ah, perhaps when you took it upon yourself to be the one to stab a knife through Cazador’s heart. I’m rather curious myself, darling, how did it feel? Could you feel his screams through your dagger, or were you too occupied watching the life drain from his face? Was it hard to reach his heart? Did he struggle? Oh, do tell, I’d love to know how that bastard suffered.”

The words feel like a knife to your own chest.

“To think that could have been me if I hadn’t seduced you when we met…You could’ve pierced a stake through my heart when you first caught me longing for your blood. Can you believe it? If you’d just killed me then, you wouldn’t be standing here now. You wouldn’t have let me bed you in that dirty forest clearing, and you would have never felt my lips upon yours. I could have chosen anyone else---anyone in the camp---and we wouldn't be standing here, but Gods was it easy to seduce you."

He stops, and his next words make the blood drain from your face.

"Just like the thousand other victims I brought to Cazador. You're no different from them...all you want from me are my weaknesses. You kept me this way to keep me fragile, and pathetic."

Has listening to someone's voice always been so difficult?

“I didn't—”

“But I suppose you’re the victor in another sense, my dear,” he sneers, his face impossibly close to yours, but he’s never felt so far away. “You should count yourself lucky. Few can say they’ve managed to bed me and survive to tell the tale. You even managed to make me fall for you! You, a simple naive bard, managed to seduce me! And Gods, did you put up a glorious show, darling, betraying me like you did. It was an ingenious move on your part, preventing me from reaching my full potential—the hero of Baldur’s Gate wouldn’t want anything tainting their beloved city with blood, after all–”

No, this is all wrong. This does nothing but make things worse. You wish he'd just stop.

In the blink of an eye, Astarion stops speaking. With expecting eyes, his attention flickers to the knife now pointed at his pale throat. You practically gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you inch the knife just a few centimeters from breaking skin. “Shut up.”

Astarion’s glare narrows on your hand. “Enough talking for you?”

You see that whatever man you fell in love with in what feels like another lifetime was a mask. Deep down, you’ve known that the face he wears is nothing but a facade ever since this entire fiasco started and he’d situated himself into your home. Yet, the cruelty still hurts. It hurts how much he detests you with the very same face that once worshipped your very breath. Gods, you’d been so foolish, thinking a damn vampire spawn could feel anything other than hunger….much less love.

He’d likely prefer to eat out your heart than hold it in his cold, dead hands. He’d watch you with those sultry eyes as he sinks his teeth into what remains of your heart and feels nothing but his own thirst being satiated.

So you won’t give him the opportunity. You won’t give him your heart again, even as the sky falls and the ground dissipates.

You’ve done it once, and you’ve never regretted anything more.

“You’re turn, my dear,” he says. “If you wish to say something, feel free to do so.”

He steps closer, and the tip of your blade draws a small bead of blood. He doesn’t seem to care.

Red, red, red. Your vision is growing blurry.

You inhale sharply. Breathe. You can still breathe. Words that had been bottled up inside dissipate the longer you watch him, as you understand that no matter what you say or do, he will remain as he is. While you want to tell yourself it’s because time itself has ceased for him, you know he doesn’t want to change in the first place.

“I should kill once this is over,” you mutter calmly. His blood now falls down the side of your knife. “But I’m not like you. I’m not as pathetic or petty as you are, even though I’ve been through less than you probably have. I don’t attempt murder just because things don’t go my way.”

His smile twitches.

“If you like being alone so much, then I won’t stop you. Once this is all over, I never want to see you again. I don’t care what you do, but I just want you to disappear. I want you gone, forever, in whatever shadows you hide in during the day.”

It only seems like yesterday when you begged the moon to see him one last time.

Even though he’s speaking through his teeth, he nods as you bring your knife back to your side. “I’m glad we have something to agree on.”

You want to laugh, but you fear it’ll come out as cracked.

“And you’re right,” you wipe his blood off the dagger on your sleeve, not bothering to spare him a glance. “I should have let the others behead you when we met.”

If he wants to sabotage the little good left in his life, let him. If he wants to be miserable for the rest of his undying days over what’s already been done, let him. You don’t care anymore.

Amusement drips from his voice. “A shame.”

His finger tilts your chin upward, his thumb rubbing at the side of your cheek. It’s then that you realize there’s a whiff of blood coming from a wound on your skin—a result of the forest, you’d guess. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

He takes his time to respond. 

“I know.”

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[theherohaven]

— FALLING IN LOVE WITH NARUTO CHARACTERS

FEATURING gaara, kakashi, neji

genre: light angst, but happy endings!

— gaara

falling in love with gaara is:

reaching out to him, but never far enough. watching him from a distance, but being too scared to close the gap. it’s the waning, sapping sun that disappears behind the sandstorm, and it’s the smooth marble skin of his hands and the bitter stars that make his hair less red.

it’s his surgeon eyes and the barren air and how his voice is always so soft. it’s his healing heart and his calm smile and how you’ll never truly be able to understand him. falling in love with gaara leaves your heart bursting on the sand.

but when you watch the setting sky you’ll find solace in his hands (he’ll muster up the bravery to interlock it with yours—because with you, gaara has finally found a home!)

— kakashi

falling in love with hatake kakashi is:

being teased, relentlessly. constant confusion, dancing around the truth, pushing boundaries and then disappearing. it's blushing furiously and scrambling for a retort; his lazy blinks, his smutty novels, the squareness of his jaw through his mask.

it's being devoured in a single glance, being left breathless and confused. his paradoxically lazy arrogance which makes your heart race. its the wide expanse of his shoulders, the dexterity of his hands.

sometimes you'll hate him, you'll want to punch that stupid sharingan right out of his face. but then you find a bunch of your favourite flowers left on your windowsill, with a note bearing handwriting that is all too familiar.

— neji

falling in love with hyuga neji is:

lingering feelings of inadequacy compared to him, sparks of competitiveness, however futile. it's his elegance, his grace, and your consequential awe. falling in love with neji is like walking through a grove of cherry blossom trees.

those wide, endlessly searching, lilac eyes, that solemn mouth, that beautiful voice of his: he is stern, classically handsome.

although his contemplative temperament gets you disheartened sometimes, he is truly a gentleman. before you even have time to feel sorry for yourself, he is kissing your hand, touching your cheek, forever looking out for your well-being.

like my work? consider supporting me on kofi :) <3

[gaysindistress]

Can I request headcanons for Gale, Wyll, Astarion, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with shy gn s/o who would go out of their way to help others whenever they can please?

This request is so cute and sweet 🥹 I hope you enjoy it my love💓

Bg3 masterlist

Gale

I think he would be the least surprised that you’re the one who always helps others. After all you did pull this mans from an unstable magic black hole without a second thought. He’d also probably get the most excited because he gets to spend time with you and watch you in your element!

He’d tease you about being shy but in a very gentle way with the most loving shy. Please don’t imagine him smiling down at you whilst brushing back a strand of hair and gazing into your eyes as he tells you how kind hearted you are.

On the flip side he’s going to be stern with you if you take on more than you can handle. He will be canceling all plans and making you stay in bed all day if you wake up worse for wear after neglecting yourself in favor of helping others.

Wyll

Wyll would be the most charmed by your selfishness. He prides himself on being the Blade of the Frontiers, the man who signed a pact to protect his city. It would only be natural for him to be someone who matches his level of generosity.

As for your shyness, he would find it enduring that you’re able to sacrifice everything you have for others but you can’t bring yourself to say hello first. Wyll isn’t shy himself but he’s more on the reserved side especially when he’s not ‘working’.

Say that you helped some kid find their parents again and the kid is excitedly telling them how a hero helped them. The kid is gesturing to you who’s standing back and almost shrinking back into the shadows but Wyll won’t let you. I can see him subtly drawing closer to you and whispering into your ear words of encouragement, telling you that you should accept their praise. He knows how much you hate being the center of attention but he also thinks that your actions deserve to be acknowledged.

Astarion

I’m going back and forth between him being drawn to you for this or being lowkey annoyed about it. A part of me thinks your selfishness would be an attracting factor because you have done so much for him. On the other hand though, astarion has a lot of trauma and might see as a threat to your relationship.

At first he would be very upset if you helped others because he doesn’t understand how you can care for him and others at the same time. He’s so used to kindness being a double edged sword that he can’t see how you’re not that way.

After some time (and therapy) he’d be able to understand that this is just how you are and it doesn’t mean you love him any less. Obviously there are days where this is a struggle for him but overall he’s less threatened by it the longer you’re together.

You bet your ass that this rouge shit head will tease you endlessly about being shy especially if you make him help Dribbles the Clown. He’s out here convincing people that you have the cure to smelly armpits because he thinks it so funny to see your reaction when they ask you about it.

Halsin

you can’t tell me that this Druid doesn’t find your selflessness the most attractive part about you. Not only did you save the grove but you also helped him lift the shadow curse. He refused to put himself above the shadow curse until it was lifted but that entire time he’s P I N I N G over you. When he is able to confess his feelings to you, he’s down bad for you and the shy little smile you have whenever someone thanks you.

Since the request didn’t ask for suggestive hcs, I won’t go into full detail about this one but you’ll get the point. Anytime Halsin sees you doing something kind for a stranger, he’s whispering into your ear that you need to return to camp with a strained voice.

Your shyness isn’t something he even thinks about most of the time. He’s reserved much like Wyll but he’s also an observer. He’d rather be in nature or simply away from people so he’d be the type to ask you if a day at home would be okay rather than going into the city.

Dammon

Dammon radiates blue collar golden retriever energy to me and maybe that’s because he’s a blacksmith or maybe it’s because he’d be making you anything you asked for. You need some iron rods to reengineer your neighbors’ chicken coop so predators quit getting in? He’s on and it’ll be ready by noon. Your dagger is dull because you’ve been too busy helping the older lady across the street to even think about? He’ll wait until you’ve fallen asleep to sharpen it and you’ll find it all shiny in your sheath the next morning.

Out of everyone hes the most concerned about your safety. We know that he’s not the strongest or even a fighter so he’d be worried about you helping people without much hesitation.

Your shyness may also make it harder for you to deny people if they ask for help which only adds to his concern. There may or may not have been a few times where you’ve agreed to lend a hand when you really should be staying home and relaxing.

Rolan

anytime you tried to do something for him prior to your relationship, he took personal offense to it. I honestly don’t think he would be react well to someone like this. I think he would get upset if he noticed you going out of your way to help someone but would also get upset with himself for feeling this way. He wants people to mind their own business however it’s very kind of you to do so selfish even at your own expense.

He might see your shyness as a weakness and think that that is the reason why you’re out ‘doing other people’s dirty work’ as he puts it. At first he might be a little too harsh about it and would unintentionally hurt your feelings but over time he’s come to understand that this is simply who you are.

Secretly he thinks you’re brave for being this way but he’ll probably never tell you outright. He’ll be subtle and try to drop hints by complimenting you or telling others about your good deeds.

Zevlor

*dreamy sighing* the paladin is constantly in awe of your quiet and calming presence. He admires how your shyness doesn’t stop you from being a good person and helping others. Often times he’s congratulating you after all is said and done with a proud smile and kiss to your forehead.

This is also how you met so I think these attributes of yours are among his favorite. Without your willingness to stick your neck out like that, you would’ve never met and he doesn’t want to even think about that.

again since the request didn’t ask for suggestive hcs, I won’t go into full detail. Zevlor is good with words, he was a commander after all but they do fail him from time to time. So when this happens, you will be spending the foreseeable future in your bed being worshipped by this paladin.

[merrinla]

Poking around in the EA build and indulging in nostalgia. What else I love about Halsin from EA. He was more confident in himself and he always had a witty answer ready. His lines when Tav argues with him are hilarious. I miss it.

Halsin: I am a healer of some renown, if I can cast aside modesty a moment.

Player: If you can help me, you should do it now! Halsin: There is an order to things. First, I need to safeguard my grove from these butchers. Then I shall see to you. [devnote: Stern, his way or the highway]

Player: Not my problem. I saved you - you will help me. Now. Halsin: Please, spare me your efforts at intimidation. No more effective than those goblin children's taunts. [devnote: Stern and unimpressed]

Player: Enough delays. I want to be cured. Now. Halsin: Then go forth. There are no easy paths to what you seek. If you seek my aid, you must show patience. [devnote: Stern. 'Show patience or you get nothing']

Player: Why do I sense more delays and excuses incoming? Halsin: Because you're a realist, I'll wager. Or a pessimist. But yes, I'm afraid there is still work to do.

Player: You've said little I couldn't figure out for myself so far. Halsin: And yet here you are, desperate for help. Hold your tongue until I'm done.

Player: You can't just cut it out? Halsin: I could, but I'd be cutting it out of a corpse. We'll have to try a different approach.

Player: I didn't agree to your company. Halsin: You didn't agree to host mind flayer spawn either, but sometimes your fate is wrested from your hands.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

So you know the scene where Halsin is lecturing Kagha after you save the grove?

And he’s so stern and almost snarling a bit?

Did that do anything for y’all too? Or is that just me?

Also the druids referring to him as “Master Halsin”? Yeah, definitely want to write something where Tav is calling him that to tease him and it certainly does something for him. Like he wasn’t a fan of the title at the grove, but Tav using it?

[silken-moonlight]

Older Alpha and Human Waitress / Moodboard and playlist

Desmond Lyall

We already had an introductory post for Desmond; however, I wanted to write a little more about him. Desmond's family had been...tense. His father was a man of sternness and coldness; weakness was not tolerated in his house. In the werewolf community, this is viewed as toxic Alpha family behavior. His mother was no different. With both his parents alphas and raised with the same mindset, it had been a difficult environment to grow up in. Desmond was the golden child; he was expected to be perfect. He managed to become a somewhat good person still. His younger brother, William, was not as fortunate. He suffered under the reign of his parents. Back then, Desmond had viewed him as weak. Like his parents, he was disappointed in his brother and his rebellious behavior.

Nowadays, Desmond has matured as a person. Being the Alpha of his pack has made him view things differently. Many challenges and changes have occurred for him over the years. He has come to put his own needs behind everyone else's. He occasionally takes time for himself, but that has become rare. He overworks himself to the point that his beta, Isaac, is concerned about his physical and mental health. He has changed, becoming awfully similar to his father, and he hates that but cannot help it. He is complex and has so many layers that somebody would need to free him. He himself would never find peace on his own; somebody has to guide him.

His greatest and deepest desire is to feel cared for. He wants to be weak, even if he could never admit that. He yearns for something, something that is just his own. He yearns for love and warmth, gentle touches and silly moments. These songs shall display him a little better

The reader/ you

Disclaimer: This is how I imagined the reader. How you imagine them or if you imagine yourself is your Business. This is just 'my' view, please don't see this as Set thing how you should imagine the reader/you.

A little background for the reader: She still lives with her parents, who are both chronically ill. Her parents need her in their lives, and the reader loves her parents; however, their care and constant needs can be suffocating. Sometimes she feels like there is no way out, and she feels guilty for thinking this, since she would do anything for her family. She has lost many friends over this, and the friends that have stayed use her as a free therapist. She has sometimes lost her sense of self, and a deep exhaustion has settled into her. While she always tries to be happy and carefree, sometimes her exhaustion and sadness peak through. She loves to care for others, but it will be her eventual end if no one begins to take care of her.

She is happiest outdoors with her dogs, loving nature and books. She goes skinny-dipping in any river or pond she finds, unafraid of any animals and wanting to befriend every animal in her path. A wild child, as her parents call her, she is difficult to catch. A soul pure and good, her energy is addictive, but many drain her energy.

A/N: This was a lot of fun to do. I love making stuff like this. I hope you liked it too! I thought at first to make a pintrest Board and Spotify playlist. Though I find this solutiin a bit better. How did you like it?

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 8)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Lots of Dialogue, Age-Gap, Infidelity

Words: 1,670

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

Previous Parts: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7

THIS PART IS DIALOGUE HEAVY AND PART EIGHT WILL BE SIMILAR, BOTH PARTS ARE NECESSARY THOUGH TO EXPAND THE STORY.

Two weeks later...

Two weeks had passed and, still, there had been no word from Robert. He had not contacted you and no one at the science faculty knew where he was. Haakon, too, had not heard from him and you certainly did not want to ask his wife Kitty about his whereabouts, no matter how worried you were when it came to his safety.

Over the past week, however, governmental security at Berkley had been ramped up and, in particular, Robert’s office as well as the two physics labs across the hallway from it, were guarded by army personnel.

No one was allowed to enter and, even though this impacted the research for your thesis, you did not dare to argue with these intimidating men, carrying guns and grimacing looks on their faces.

One man, in particular, stood out to you. He was tall, arrogant, and even more intimidating than the other. He was only there occasionally to check on how matters were progressing and it was this very same man who pulled you aside on a Friday afternoon and asked you to join him in Robert’s office.

“My name is General Lesley Groves” he introduced himself before gesturing for you to sit down on the chair across from Robert’s desk while he took a seat on Robert’s chair.

“Y/N Y/LN, pleasure to meet you” you said, attempting to shake his hand, but he would not allow it and gave you a stern look instead.

“I know who you are” he then said before placing a file with your name written atop of it on the desk, close enough for you to read the sentence “Security File” but far enough away from you for you not to reach it.

“Okay, so why am I here, in this room, with you, General Groves?” you asked nervously but politely, seeing how intimidating this man was for you.

“You are here because Dr J Robert Oppenheimer thinks very highly of you and I need to determine why” he told you sternly and hearing those words from the General came as a relief to you as, at least now, you knew that Robert was thinking of you.

“It’s about his project then, isn’t it?” you asked, wanting get some more information from this intimidating man who, unbeknownst to you at this point, was not going to give anything away.

“The project?” he thus asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “Now tell me, Miss Y/LN, what did Dr Oppenheimer tell you about the project?” he then wanted to know why giving you another intimidating look over.

“Nothing much. He just said that he would like me to join his team and that it would be a good career opportunity” you lied, causing the General to furrow his eyebrows again, this time more evidently than before.

“Well, he actually asked for two of his students to join this highly secretive government operation and, in both instances, security clearance was denied” the General pointed out, causing your heart to sink. You expected this to be the case since, after all, your parents were well known communists and, yet, you had been somewhat hopeful for a miracle.

“Now, with respect to the other student, my staff’s decision to deny him clearance was accepted by Dr Oppenheimer. There was no issue whatsoever. With you, however, Dr Oppenheimer held firm to his belief that your involvement in the project is vital. With your status as an undergrad student however, I cannot, for the life of me, understand why your involvement is so important to a man of Dr Oppenheimer’s intelligence. So, perhaps, you can shed some light into his reasons me?” the General then asked you in the most intimidating manner and you really did not know what to say and how to answer him.

“Did you ask him about his reasons?” you thus asked without receiving any sort of reaction from General Groves. “Because, if not, I suggest that you do that rather than interrogate me. Now would you excuse me” you then told him while standing up. You were ready to leave and, since the General did nothing but stare at you for the past two minutes, you were frustrated by the situation. You knew that there was nothing you could do about the army’s decision to deny your security clearance and, thus, simply wanted to put this matter to rest.

The General, however, would not allow you to go just yet and ordered you to sit down, which was a request with which you reluctantly complied.

“I asked Dr Oppenheimer about his reasons and he seems to think that your approach to quantum physics is innovative and new. You are an A grade student and your work at Harvard was exceptional and so is your work at Berkley, which is why I am considering his request to review your security clearance rejection which, was actioned by one of my senior staff members last week” Lesley Groves explained and you thought that, perhaps, there was still a chance for you to get on to the project.

“What do you want to know?” you thus asked while leaning forward and pressing your hands together nervously, fidgeting and sweating all at the same time.

“I want to know about your communist associations” General Groves then requested and you chuckled.

“I am not a communist and I have cut ties with everyone who is a party member so, really, there are is no association” you told him with quite some confidence in your voice and, the truth was, that you had nothing to hide.

“Your father was recently arrested for suspected treason. What do you have to say about that?” the General then went on to ask while taking some notes and, again, you managed to answer him confidently.

“Suspected, yes, but I doubt that he actually committed an offence. He is not that stupid. In any event, I have not spoken to him in over a year so I my thoughts on this matter are neutral” you explained as you had no intel on your father’s party involvement these days.

“Are you a communist party member?” Lesley Groves then asked which, again, earned him a chuckle.

“You already know that I am not and never was, myself, a party member. I am sure that information is in your file” you informed him and, for a moment, he chuckled himself. He knew that you were right. This information was, indeed, in his file and, yet, he asked you about it nonetheless.

“What is your relationship to J Robert Oppenheimer?” was the next question he asked and this question caused you to lie.

“He is my professor and thesis supervisor” you told him which, of course, was the truth.

“Is that all he is to you?” the General then wanted to know and you nodded.

“Yes” you lied, which is when the General retrieved two letters from your security file.

“Would you like to reconsider your answer?” he then asked as he handed you the letters which, clearly, he had already opened and read.

“What is this?” you asked before puling them apart and commencing to read them slowly while General Groves remained silent, giving you some time to digest the content of them which, to your surprise, was largely romantic in nature.

Both letters were from Robert and included poems as well as accounts of your sexual encounter. The letters were explicit in nature but also highly passionate which was something that surprised you. He clearly missed you and he most certainly had already developed strong feelings for you, using phrases like “my love” and talking of your future together which, in your mind, did not even exist.

“Oh my god, did you read these?” you eventually asked with blushing cheeks, seeing how personal these letters were.

“Yes, I did” the General answered you bluntly and you broke out in anger.

“These letters are personal. You had no right” you began to say angrily which is when General Groves interrupted you.

“This is a national emergency Miss Y/LN. We are at war with Germany and I am here to ensure that a project like the one being implemented right now isn’t subject to treason. The last thing this country needs is information being leaked to the enemy” he told you with a voice stern and authoritive.

“You mean the allies” you chuckled, causing the General to give you a look of confusion.

“What?” he asked and you ought to clarify.

“Your concern is that someone like myself would leak information to the soviet-union. This is why you are doing all this, is it not?” you asked while rolling your eye in disbelieve.

“Perhaps. So, let me ask you again, what is your relationship with J Robert Oppenheimer?” the General then repeated and you answered him again, this time more truthfully than before.

“I am his student. He is my professor and thesis supervisor. We had sexual relations once” you admitted while crossing your arms. “Now are you satisfied?” you asked and, indeed, he was.

“Yes, I am. I am satisfied that my colleague has made the right decision to deny your security clearance” General Groves announced and your heart dropped. “You can keep the letters, noting that I have asked Dr Oppenheimer to refrain from contacting you again. No doubt you will be attending his lecture at Berkley next week, which will be his last, following his resignation as professor at this facility. But other than that, I expect there to be no further contact moving forward. Do you understand?” Lesley Groves then asked and, whilst you tried hard to hold back your tears, you could not and stood abruptly before barging towards the door, thereby ignoring his question.

“Miss Y/LN, I would suggest that you choose your intimate partners more wisely moving forward. The rejection of your security clearance will be noted on record, thus impacting future employment opportunities” the General then said as you had already turned your back to him and this, itself, hurt even more, knowing that you would now struggle finding employment in the field you were so passionate about.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[rptv-photos]

Alabina in concert at the Stern Grove Festival

San Francisco, California

Photo taken on 35mm film (Fuji Superia 400)

[captain039]

Devil in me

Raphael x reader

Warnings: pure smut, first time, devil things, devil form, sensitive wings, tav instert, oral f and m receiving, light dom/sub, gagging

I just need Raphael smut and I can’t find any. Please send some my way lmao.

Devil in me…. Heh get it? Kill me ty 😂

Being transported to a feast in a mansion was not what you were expecting. Tav was speaking with Raphael having met him just moments ago on the way across a bridge in the middle of no where. You were confused as were the rest of your companions, he was offering a solution to the tadpoles in your companions minds.

“You however, why are you travelling around with this lovely party of parasite holders, hm?” The devil Raphael gave you his attention making you freeze. He was handsome for a devil, gods what the hell was wrong with you.

“Uh-“ you gulped feeling small under his gaze.

“She’s a friend” Tav suddenly defended with a huff and cross of their arms.

“A friend hm? Does this friend have a name?” Raphael grinned.

“Friend” Tav said gaze going stern as they protected you.

“Oo protective, I enjoy a good mystery” the devil chuckled giving you one last up and down look which made you flush.

After being teleported back to where you were you sighed in relief sitting on a rock nearby.

“Shop around he says” Astarion sassed making you smile lightly.

“Don’t trust him he’s a devil” The vampire scoffed.

“Obviously” Tav sighed at the vampires statements.

“Though he was rather interested in you” Astarion said sitting by you on the rock with a grin.

“Gods sake, Astarion” you huffed making him laugh.

“Just a friend though Tav? You seem rather protective” Astarion piped up.

“We have a lot of history” you said glancing to them and they gave a small smile. It’s true you practically grew up together, they your constant protector against bully’s in the street to bandits. You felt useless at times your magic not strong like others in the group. You never got a chance to tame it, to learn how to use it, after the fire you caused that killed your parents you hid from it, even if it hummed in your veins.

You didn’t see the devil for a while, thinking you were finally rid of him till you hit the shadow cursed lands. At the last light inn there he was playing with Mol a young teifling from the grove. While Tav interacted with them you found yourself wandering the last light inn, it was still standing even with the shadow curse.

“There you are” you jumped a bit turning to the devil who had a smirk on his face.

“Raphael” you greeted a little skeptical as to why he was talking to you.

“You’re a curious thing” he said suddenly circling you.

“How?” You said with a raised eyebrow.

“That potent magic flowing through those veins of yours” you froze at the voice by your ear suddenly and the small chuckle that followed it.

“Come” he said suddenly snapping his fingers. You flinched suddenly in that house again, house of hopes if you remember.

“Take me back!” You snapped as he huffed.

“Always so attached to Tav, honestly” he huffed with an eye roll.

“They don’t know everything though do they?” He grinned as he came into your personal space again.

“Your tragic past, tragic magic flooding your body” he said humming.

“Poetic” he grinned stepping back and you huffed.

“What do you want devil?” You said.

“No, what do you want?” he said turning the question back making you frown.

“To go back to where I was!” You huffed at him.

“The inn? Or that night?” He said and you froze, how did he know about that.

“The inn, I’m not playing your games” you said crossing your arms in defence.

“No games darling, just simple transactions” he said shrugging.

“Then get to the point!” You huffed at him annoyed at his handsome grin.

“You have powerful magic in you, more than you realise, you only need tame it, but you shut it out, I can help” he said.

“What do you want?” You asked knowing none of this would be free.

“A night” he said grinning and you frowned.

“I can’t give you a night what even is a night you want the night, lemme just take natural order” You scoffed.

“Let me rephrase, a night with you and that lovely body” he gestured to you with a finger and you froze body going hot.

“You can control your magic just like that” he snapped his fingers a small flame coming from them and disappearing. You froze feeling something surge through you, you looked to your hands seeing the light glow.

“Let me give you a taste” he whispered suddenly by your ear. The room changed and you were in a battlefield looking area, small flying devils around.

“Go on” he said by your ear his arms raising your hands, his body close to yours.

“Try it” he said breath against your cheeks your body shuddering. You felt magic course through you as you sent out a chain lightening the four flying devils falling instantly in a cry as the disintegrated. You frowned at the control you held as you glanced slightly to the devil behind you, he was in his devil form a grin on his face as he snapped his fingers and more of those flying devils appeared.

“Again” he said as you conjured ice in your hand sending it out in a flurry of ice like blades stabbing each devil multiple times. The power felt amazing and free flowing, you’d be helpful on the quest finally, reality set back in though as you thought back to your parents and shrank a bit. You saw his wings shielding your sides slightly as the devil frowned.

“Take me back to the inn now!” You said hand on your dagger.

“Very well” Raphael said snapping his fingers. You sighed in relief feeling the cold air on the last light inn and no devil behind you.

“Where were you?” Tav called rushing up the stairs as you glanced around seeing Raphael truely gone.

“I was here, just viewing the ever gloomy horizon” you lied and they frowned glancing out the balcony before nodding slowly. You sighed following the group again. Isobel had blessed you before a man named Marcus came, he sought to take Isobel. You held your dagger when you felt magic course through your body. You saw Isobel surrounded, you muttered a spell raining down radiant fire on each creature around her. They cried and turned to ash, she gave you her thanks and you nodded as you felt eyes on you. You glanced to Tav seeing confusion on their face as the continued to fight Marcus. You avoided Tav knowing they’d have questions, you stayed in one of the half ruined rooms, looking to your hands, Raphael hadn’t taken the magic control away. You had fallen asleep on the bed you laid on to clear your mind. You awoke in a different bed though, a much comfortable one. You frowned lifting your top half seeing Raphael staring at the fire with a drink in his hand. The bed was large with red sheets. You thought if you just went back to sleep you’d go back to the inn.

“Ah you’re awake” too slow. Raphael looked to you with a fanged grin.

“Why didn’t you take it away?” You asked feeling the magic.

“Seeing you disintegrate things is rather entertaining” he said taking a sip from his goblet.

“I didn’t agree to the contract!” You said not feeling any effort to move from the comfortable bed.

“Oh I don’t need you too” he smirked placing his goblet down on the bedside table before climbing in the bed. You froze as he climbed over you and you shrank down to your elbows seeing him smirk and his tail swish behind him.

“Not agreeing” you said barely above a whisper feeling your body excite and nerves thrill in your stomach.

“Let me give you another gift then” he said voice low and teasing and you found yourself nodding. He grinned as he pressed a hand to the middle of your chest to push you to lie down. You went down easily head hitting the pillows easily, feeling him shuffle down your body. You covered your eyes with your arms biting the inner of your cheek. He snapped his fingers your pants disappearing suddenly, the warmth of the fire hitting them more. His hands were hot as he lifted your legs, you suddenly realised he snapped your underwear off too. Your hands instantly went to covering yourself and sitting up, his eyes snapped to yours through hooded lids.

“What’s the matter?” He grinned lifting his body up and crawling up your body again. You flushed looking away as hot lips pressed against your jaw. You felt like shrinking into the bed till you disappeared the embarrassment filling you full.

“This is-“ you began to mumbled before cutting off as he stopped nibbling at your jaw. He pulled back and laughed deeply making you shrink.

“Oh my, an unflowered delicacy” he said voice smooth.

“Not even self pleasure?” He asked and you shook your head quickly trying to ignore his grinning face.

“How even more delightful” he whispered and you finally looked to him, a smirk plastered on his face.

“This is much more than I asked for, how exciting, how would you like to indulge yourself with a devil?” He grinned as your heart pounded, you thought back to your group, your quest. Tav had indulged themselves in pleasures with more than one companion, why couldn’t you? Raphael wasn’t exactly a companion, he was a devil, one providing information about Astarions scars for a price, offering a deal with the tadpoles, he seemed exclusive to your group.

“I can assure you, you will be most satisfied” his tone whispered in your ears floating around your head as you nodded again. His lips pressed to yours, a seal being made.

“Excellent” he said going back down your body, lifting your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Move those hands, Darling” he grinned and you did slowly returning them to your face to cover your eyes. You heard him chuckle his warm breath fanning you. You jolted a bit in surprise before a forked tongue licked a hot stripe through your folds. Your back arched and you held your breath pressing your palms to your eyes. You struggled to breathe as his tongue teased along your entrance and clit, you gripped the pillow behind your head other hand fisting on your stomach. You felt your hand slipping to hold his hair only to grab a horn by accident. He growled and you moved your hand away gripping your shirt instead. He continued slowly coyly a smirk on his lips as he only teased with his tongue. You were squirming partly wondering if you should knock him off and run away, partly wondering if he would truely have you. He stood suddenly and your heart sank quickly all the while he smirked snapping his clothes off. Your room changed too to somewhere different, same bed though. He sat down on a chair by the wall smirking as he beckoned with his finger. You found yourself naked fully also and flushed covering yourself grabbing the sheet.

“I don’t like asking twice, dove” he said eyes going stern as you gulped but stood and walked to him trying to hide your body.

“Kneel” he ordered pointing to the spot between his legs. You did as you were told earning a satisfied hum, the devil leant forward holding your chin a little roughly.

“You’re going to suck my cock like a good little dove till I’m satisfied” he ordered and you tensed lightly. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip his claw gently tracing along with it. You felt your mouth open with a soft gasp, his thumb going in your mouth as you gently sucked, the devil smirked removing his hand and leaning back motioning to his hard cock. You took a small breath unsure of what to do entirely, sure books can only help so much. You simply followed a scene in your head from a scene in book you remembered, you held his cock gently before beginning licking the underside of him. Raphael hummed watching you intently head resting in his hand as you slowly licked around the tip.

“Use your whole mouth dove” he said and you nodded slightly sucking the head flattening your tongue against the underside. He groaned approvingly and you felt confidence fill you as you slowly sucked around the head continuing what you were doing.

“For someone who hasn’t even touched themselves you seem rather good at this” he said and you felt yourself eating the praise up as you took more of him in your mouth. His fingers tangled in your hair his claws scraping your scalp lightly as he held you against his cock. You tried not to gag as he pushed your head down more, tears stung your eyes as you let out a small noise.

“Relax your throat” he said and you whined, but tried your best as slowly bobbed your head up and down his cock a small groan leaving his lips again. You glanced to him seeing him looking at you with a smirk you hoped he take some pity on you as tears slowly rolled down your face. It only spurred him on though as his hips slowly thrusted upwards making you gag. He continued though even with your whines of protest his head leaning back slightly as he sighed. He finally took pity as he allowed you to catch your breath. You coughed swallowing harshly at the pain in your throat, going to wipe your eyes till hands caught your wrist. Raphael tugged you into his lap your knees by his hips as he wiped your eyes warm hand going around your throat. You held your breath as he hummed a small warmth filling your throat and the pain was gone. You frowned slightly swallowing again feeling no pain. He wiped your eyes and you found it strangely comforting that he maybe cared in this situation.

“Better?” He asked removing his hand and you nodded feeling embarrassed.

“You’ll learn” he whispered in your ear with a smirk and you flushed feeling yourself tense. His hand went to your hip while he held his head in the other looking at you. His gaze went down your body like he was mapping, you squirmed a bit in his intense stare.

“Are you ready?” He said and you frowned slightly before you realised and found yourself nodding a little too eagerly which made him laugh.

“Eager little dove, lift your hips” he ordered and you did sitting more on your knees. He lined himself up hand still on your hip as he pushed down slightly for you to move. You felt him enter slowly, you had held your breath before you panted feeling the stretch and pain. You whimpered as he guided you with his hands till your ass was on his thighs. You made a small noise resting your head on his forehead. You hadn’t meant to, it was just the closets. Your breath was frantic as you felt his cock fully. His hand snaked up your back, gripping your hair and tugging your head back harshly making you gasp and look to him.

“Ride” he ordered and you made a small pout, pressing your hands to his chest as you slowly lifted your hips. You closed your eyes slowly beginning to set a pace, his hand still holding your head back. His lips went to your neck sending hot kisses along your neck, teeth scraping at your throat as he began to buck into you while you moved. You moaned brokenly bracing against his shoulders as he tugged up into quicker than you could bounce. Your legs burned and you couldn’t move very quick.

“Did I say stop?” He snarled against your throat giving a rather harsh bite.

“Hurts” you whined and he laughed making you whimper softly.

“Always doing everything myself” he tsked, but you were suddenly on the bed, Raphael on top of you setting a hard pace that knocked the air out of your lungs. You gripped his arms as he snarled softly in your ear his tail swishing behind him every now and then. His wings stuttered with his movements and for some reason you found yourself reaching for them. You ran your hand over the leather skin and felt him shudder above you and stop. You froze thinking you did something wrong as he panted in your ear. You raised your eyebrows slightly before you began stroking down the wing and his body shuddered in response, his wings fluttering slightly, it felt good to him. His hips continued their hard pace from before and you moaned arching your back as you continued touching his wings, his harsh pants filling your ears. You suddenly felt an invisible force against your clit though and you let out a strangled moan at the sudden pleasure coursing through you. Your stomach tightened and you gripped the sheets under you as he chuckled in your ear softly.

“Come on pretty dove, come” he snarled softly and you cried out as you did, your body twitched with shocks and pleasure. His hips moved more desperate as he groaned quietly. You reached your hands up again touching his wings again his hips stuttering and stopping as he shuddered and came growling softly. Your hands fell back to the mattress as you panted as he pulled out and moved off you lying on his stomach beside you.

“Quite the show” you screamed at the sudden voice as you saw a figure in the darkness. Raphael growled as you saw another devil with similar looks.

“Fuck off Haarlep! Know when you’re needed!” Raphael snapped nothing like his dignified self, his wing going over you, covering you from the other devils eyes.

“So boring” the devil pouted and disappeared making you stare at the spot he was just at, how long was he there.

“He just arrived he didn’t see anything I made sure of it” he said grumbling. You glanced to the devil, not his usual self almost his wing leaving your body. You rolled over hand hesitating as you reached out to touch his wings again, they fascinated you. His body shuddered as his head snapped to yours and you held your hand back.

“I like them” you said embarrassed as he frowned slightly glancing back to them before smirking.

“I’ll have to keep you my little dove” he said and you frowned.

“This was transactional” you said tugging at the sheets a little, what a way to loose your virginity.

“Who doesn’t mix pleasure and business” he grinned coming to lean over you again.

“Besides-“ he began kissing you with hot lips and you moaned.

“Our journey has only began” he smirked and snapped his fingers. You found yourself back in the run down room, clothes on like nothing had happened, time hadn’t moved, you were in the devils clutches.

[poetryvampire]

✨A Healing Touch ✨

Summery: You and a few fellow druids join with the teifling refugees as they make their way to the Emerald Grove. Zevlor has fallen for you completely but will he ever be able to overcome his anxieties and accept the love you have to offer him?

Pairing: Zevlor x Fem! Reader/Tav

Words: 3,886

Contents: druid! reader/tav, mutual pining, self-esteem issues, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap, nsft, making out, masturbation, p in v sex, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation

Notes: I wrote some angsty headcanons for Zevlor dealing with is feeling for reader (original Here). I wanted to add to it and make it more explicit. There will be an least another chapter. You can read on a03 Here or below! 💚

 It would have been a lie to say that you hadn’t been on Zelvor’s mind from the moment of your meeting. As much as he hated to admit it, it had been seared thoroughly into his mind. 

 He remembered his apprehension at the idea of accepting your small party of land druids to join his group of refugees.The hours of talk with your Archdruid- a stern but sensible elf- lead to a peaceful agreement. She talked of her handful of druids being forced to flee their forest from hostel creatures and now sought a new home. Zevlor had planned to lead his people to the Emerald Grove to settle at least temporarily. It only made sense to join forces.

What eased his mind most was the diversity of your party; four elves, two tieflings and a human. It was an odd grouping to say the least, but genuine. Friends of his kind were friends of his. Plus Zevlor hoped that being in the company of elves may help their chances at the Grove. That evening, once the negotiating was said and done the commander did his usual walk through the camp, taking care to note the new faces. He had one remaining elf and the human still to meet. 

Then he saw you. A human woman, sprawled in the grass, laughing with your elven friend. Your antics had left you trying to adjust the flowers that had been braided into your hair. Your smile struck him; it was so warm and joyous. He was gripped with the sudden urge to have it turned on him. As if you had read his mind your bright eyes snapped to him. Smile ever on your lips you rose and made your way straight to him. Zavlor’s heart skipped a beat. You were a vision, one that could be easily mistaken for a  fairy maiden from a romantic tale of old. 

 To Zevlor’s surprise you bowed to him offering many thanks for his kindness in taking you in. He attempted to wave away such words, truly it was hardly a sacrifice. But you insisted that you would work hard to do anything you could to help. Your noble worlds and closeness of your beauty sparked something in Zevlor he thought long dead. Something akin to a boyish crush hit him like a hoof. He stumbled his way through a response, too taken by the warm light of the campfire dancing with the flowers in your hair. 

 That was to be the first of many interactions the tiefling would play over in his head endlessly. Your presence did wonders to slow his thoughts and make himself act a clown. It had been easy to dismiss at first. It was simply nature at play. You were young and gorgeous, a common bane to reason and sensibility. Zevlor marked the undeniable tension your presence brought as a passing interest he would soon forget about entirely. This was not the case. 

 As the weeks went by and your travels pressed on, your place in Zevlor’s mind only grew. Instantly you became an active member of the camp, ready to lend a hand to anyone. Without fail you always greeted him with a smile and a kind word, a simple action that Zevlor found himself looking forward to. Just as he would look forward to your daily conversations, the way they turned from awkward to easy. How they’d grown to be hours in length and moved over meals, cups of tea, long walks in the woods. In any form they were unquestionably the best part of his day. 

 Settling in the Emerald Grove was chaotic to say the very least. The tiefling commander was painfully aware of how precarious their new lodgings were. As he had predicted the accompaniment of the fellow druids had helped their case for their settlement. Though there are many among them ready to throw the tieflings away without a second thought. Another correct prediction, the druids of the Grove had offered permanent placement among them to all of your circle but the tiefling druids. The offer was hastily turned down to Zelvor’s great surprise. Your loyalty and care for your companions regardless of race moved him deeply. Plus,he thanked the Gods for you still being a part of his life.   

 As much as he had tried there was no longer any point of denying it. He was going half mad with yearning for you. Day and night he was consumed with visions of your beauty; from simple dreams of your perfect lips to impressions of how your face might contort in pleasure underneath him. It had been almost decades since the commander had felt such strong emotion for anyone. Your young, vivacious spirit was contagious and had rekindled things long forgotten in Zevlor’s soul. He was suddenly aware just how long it had been since he had felt the warmth of another’s skin on his. It was a craving growing stronger in him by the day. 

 In his Hellrider days he had seen and participated in his share of lustful adventures. He was no stranger to such things nor would he call himself a prude.That version of Zevlor felt a lifetime away. He had lost everything since then, his confidence included. In his mind there was no chance a creature as lovely as you would ever have eyes for someone as loathsome as him. It made his desire for you feel even more despicable. 

 Shame weighed heavy in his chest when he caught his eyes lingering on you. In typical druid fashion you weren’t shy about your body. You didn’t have a second thought about hiking up your skirt to climb through bushes to collect berries, or how you licked their juices from your fingers as you brought back a basket full. Zevlor hated himself for the lewd thoughts that plagued him. 

 Many sleepless nights had passed before he gave in. Before he pushed his tangled blankets off in the darkness and finally brought his hand to his painfully hard cock. Swiping his thumb across his soaked head, he conjured the image of you earlier that day. You had taken your time serving him tea, leaning across the table before him. With a lower cut dress then normal you went about your actions not noticing- or caring- for the full view of your cleavage you gave him. Zevlor bucked his hips frantically into his hand. He would have pulled you into his lap right then if he could; would have ripped your dress away and lavished every inch of neck and chest with his mouth. It only took the vision of Zevlor’s hands on your hips as he guided you down on to his manhood to push him over the edge.        

  He scolded himself for the old pervert that he was, hating the idea that he was using you for his wanton desires. Yet, the commander half wished those were the only feelings he held for you. To imagine his life without your friendship seemed too much to bear. Had the both of you not been stuck in such a stressful situation Zevlor would have courted you properly, as you deserved. But for the time being he was determined to keep his emotions to himself.               

                                                            -   

  Once again Zevlor found himself at your side. After running into each other time and time again in the surrounding forest you began planning outings together. He shared your love for the quiet peace of nature. As the tiefling sat in the grass writing in his journal you were perched on a rock trying to sketch the landscape. 

“I feel like a person could go mad staring at anything for too long.” you huffed, breaking the silence.

Zevlor snapped back to himself, his mind having been deep in thought over the tension with the druids of the Grove. Had he been staring? 

“Your muse isn’t speaking to you today then?” He smiled. Even when frustrated you were breathtaking.    

 “I suppose not. They’ve been a terrible tease lately.” 

 “How boarish.” Zevlor sighed, closing his book. “If you like I could knock some sense into them.”             

 You mock a gasp and press the back of your hand to your forehead. 

 “Would you defend me so, my brave paladin?”

“I would like nothing more, my lovely druid.” the words left him before he could stop himself. Perhaps that was a slight overstep. 

 Your eyes met his and held his gaze, a warm smile ever present on your lips. With the greenery of the woods around you, you seem the very model of enchantment. How could Zevlor even consider courting you when you deserved so much better. His hands tightened around his journal wherein he had penned several poems professing his devotion to you. He would never let you see them but his heart had always held a soft spot of the genre. It was a captivating means of embodying the truest forms of beauty and raw emotion. It was perfectly suited for you. 

 Zevlor lowered his eyes first, clearing his throat and flipping through his book. He pretended to look for something all the while feeling your eyes still on him.There were times he could have sworn that your eyes held something akin to -no he couldn’t think that. He pushed it from his head. Holding on to false hope would only make things more painful. 

 You stand and hold your sketchbook out in front of you, eyes darting between it and the land itself. 

 “Something just seems off.” You move back and forth trying to find just the right angle. “Zevlor, could you come here?” 

“Of course,” he stood to join you and to his great surprise you lightly placed your hands on his shoulders to adjust his position. 

“Right, so now,” you turned and held out your book once more. “You see how you can tell the natural depth of the trees? I feel like I’ve mucked up the shading somehow. Mine just looks all stacked over each other. What do you think?” 

Zevlor moved slightly forward, careful not to actually touch you, his head hovered just over your shoulder. He squinted, moving his eyes from the scenery to your sketch. As always he was impressed with your work and could make out no significant difference between the two. 

 “I may not have the skill to offer much help, to me the likeness is impeccable.” Zevlor turned his gaze to you and was suddenly hit with an intoxicating scent. Something fresh and sweet as an orange blossom filled his lungs. Had he never noticed or was this the closest he’d ever stood to you? He watched your lips- your full, perfectly shaped lips- curve into a smile. 

 “You’re too kind. I should probably leave it  for now. I’ve been staring so long my eyes are beginning-” Abruptly, you turned and lost your words. Your faces were no more than an inch apart.    

Zevlor froze, his eyes darting from yours to your still parted mouth. The paladin’s mind screamed at him to back away but his body was rooted in place. You let out a shaking breath before you closed the space between you and pressed your lips to his. A wave of shock snapped through Zevlor like a bolt of lightning. He had barely processed what was happening as he felt your hands press against his broad chest. How had he fallen into a dream without even realizing?

 Ever so slightly you pulled back to search Zevlor’s face with wide eyes. He cannot make sense of all the thoughts racing through his mind. Dream or not he can’t stomach the loss of contact. Curling his hand around the back of your neck he takes your lips hungrily with deep frantic kisses. You surrender to him happily as you fully part your lips welcoming him in. You both can’t help but moan at the taste of each other.    

  Tongues dancing, heads dizzy, Zevlor barely noticed he was moving until he had you pushed against a tree. He could barely think of anything apart from the warmth of your mouth. His body now fully pressed to you, he was half expecting for you to push him away. Again to his surprise your arms locked about him, your hands grabbing his armor as if to keep him as close as possible. Despite his blood running heavy with desire he kept his hands in place; one tangled in your hair, the other pressed firmly on your waist. 

The clash of metal on metal shot through the trees. Zevlor broke away from your embrace, mind snapping to action in case he had to defend you. Luckily the sound of multiple footsteps was followed by some familiar voices. 

“Those are brand new! Could you try being careful?” said one. 

“I am!” another answered. “I’d like to see you lift this much.” 

 It seemed their friends that had set off to barter down at the market had some success. Their voices echoed through the quiet woods as the party broke into two. One headed to the Grove the others settled in the grass not too far away.

“They’re back already?” the woe in your voice was apparent.  

  Zevlor casted his eyes away from your blushing faces. His senses were coming back to him and he was shocked by the brashness of his actions. The shame was drowned in an instant as your hand caressed his cheek, turning him back to you.                   

 “They’ll be looking for me. I promised to meet them and help with supper.” you sighed. “We should get back.” 

Your words though sensible were a knife to the chest. Despite his conflicting emotions he didn’t want the dream to end so quickly. He licked his lips trying to draw words but none would come. Confessions of love and longing thundered in his chest and he didn’t dare to let them out. 

“Zevlor,” his name had never sounded so honeyed. “Come to my tent tonight.” Your words are soft yet earnest. 

Zevlor’s flaming eyes studied you carefully. 

“You…” he speaks lowly. “You want this?” 

“Yes.” you placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

                                                               -

The preparations for dinner were a haze. You’d be methodically chopping carrots then suddenly be overcome with laughter. Your fellow cooks blamed it on too much sun, to which you gladly agreed. Being with Zevlor certainly felt as warm as sunlight. Once everything was ready and everyone gathered you sat as far from him as you could. The nerves and excitement tangling into you left you practically trembling. His closeness would only make it worse. That didn’t stop either of you from stealing glances throughout the meal.

Parting early you rushed to get back to your tent. You wanted to take your time bathing and fretting about what to wear, like some high lady. What were you in that moment if not a princess waiting for your valiant knight. Finally you were to be rescued from your aching loneliness and desire for the man that had done so much for you and your people. Painstakingly you smoothed the blankets over your bed roll, a smile on your lips. Zevlor was going to take you here, the very place you had pleasured yourself so many times to the thought of him.    

Night came and you waited nervously pacing the small interior of your tent. After much debate you had chosen to don a plain but revealing night dress. You hoped to make your affection for him very clear. Just as you began to question whether Zevlor would keep his word you heard his low voice break the silence.

 He was more dashing than you had ever seen him; dressed down, out of his armor, in a simple white ruffled shirt and brown trousers. Ever the gentlemen he held out a bouquet of wildflowers to you.    

 Trying your best not to swoon you took them and breathed in their sweetness. 

 “I did not want to be the only one surrounded by beauty tonight.” Zevlor offered. 

“You’re as humble as you are kind,” you smile, placing the flowers in a water jug. “Perhaps even too humble, if I may be so bold.” you move close to him. 

 “You may.” Zevlor breathes. He was awestruck at the sight of you, at the thinness of your gown, at everything you inspire in him. 

  Not wanting to waste another moment with the tiefling you adored, you pulled him into a kiss. As before you could feel passion coursing through him in seconds. His arms were tight around you pressing you to him, drawing a soft gasp for you. You could feel his warmth, his infernal ridges that decorated his chest rubbing against your hardening nipples. Creeping a hand up his shirt you savored the rich texture. Your desire for him stoked his courage as Zavlor explored your mouth with a ferocity you’d only dreamed of. He moved his hungry lips to your neck kissing and licking every inch he could get. 

A loud moan escaped you as he finally sank his teeth into you. Harder than you expected but not enough to draw blood. He sucked the skin, setting every part of you aflame. It was maddening, you were clinging to him but Zevlor had yet to move his hands from where they lay on you back.     

 With clumsy impatience you moved backward, pulling your knight with you down on the bed. Overcome with ever growing need you ripped away your night dress entirely and laid back completely exposed before Zevlor. You pressed your legs together, your wetness pooling as his infernal eyes raked over you. Certainly he would pounce, ravish you, take you as his own any second. To your dismay he pulled away a sudden concern washing over his face. 

 By the Gods Zevlor ached for you. But to see you like this, you were almost too lovely. In soul and in body. How could a fallen paladin like him be worthy of you?

“Zevlor?” you reach for him but still he makes no move.  

 He cursed himself, as always he’s making things worse. There's hurt building in your eyes, as if he could ever be displeased with you. Quelling your fears he lightly stroked your calf and planted a chaste kiss to your knee.

 “You’re perfect.” Zevlor smiled sadly. “You deserve better than an old man like me.”

 You let out a warm laugh. 

"Zevlor," you plead. "Touch me, please. Just look at what you do to me" 

You spread your legs before him, pulling a hungry moan from his throat. Your sex  glistened in the low light, ready for him. He can’t remember the last time he’s been so enchanted or afraid. Lovingly you take his hands in yours and kiss his palms and pressed them to your flesh. Soon they're moving on their own, spreading reverent caresses over every inch of you. His rough fingers toyed with the sensitive buds of your breast ripping a wanton moan from you. 

  Zevlor pressed flush against you, causing you to whimper at the sensation of his hard bulge on your thigh. His mouth is praising you with the fervor of a paladin. Kissing your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. Automatically you opened your legs wider, hoping to spur him on. He takes a moment to admire you, his fingers running over your sex. Ever so gently he spreads your folds and groans at the sight of you fluttering with excitement.  

 His cock was so full, aching for relief but his discomfort was outweighed by his desire to taste you. He dragged his tongue over you painfully slow, methodically working your lips and clit. You were whining and trembling for him in no time, begging for more. There was nothing he could deny you. Zevlor gripped your thighs tight trying to keep you still as he worshiped you with his mouth, lapping you up like a man starved. It was dizzying, you writhed loving how firmly he had you spread, how powerful and thorough his strokes had become.  

 Zevlor breathed you in. You were delicious; nothing short of addicting. He was overwhelmed by it all. How impossibly soft you were, how ardently you moaned his name. No longer able to stop himself he began rutting into the bedroll feverishly. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you no matter how badly he was dying to be thrusting into you. 

 “Zevlor-Gods please, please I’m so- I’m so-” your words turn into unintelligible sobs under his ministrations. Before long the heated flicks of his tongue push you over the edge, making your whole body shake, your hips grinding against his mouth. Your pussy’s sudden pulsing and wetness under his tongue was electrifying. White hot pleasure shot through Zevlor, before he could even think to stop himself he came hard groaning against you. 

You fell limp, still panting his name. Zevlor stayed pressed to you lightly tracing your folds. He was mortified, shame bubbling in his gut. Unsure of what to do he slowly pulled away from you and released his grip on your legs. You let out a sharp hiss of pain, making the paladin freeze. His concern turns to horror as he looks you over only to see the fresh red cuts his nails have left on your thighs. You passed your hand over the markings, wincing.

A pained gasp leaves him as he backs away from you. He hadn’t been thinking. How could he have let himself be so foolish, let his infernal nature get the best of him. One of the fears that had driven him away from you for so long had become reality. Somehow he had failed you as a lover by cumming so easily and he had hurt you from lack of care without even having been inside you.                                                                                                                       

“I-I, I didn’t-” He could barely get the words out, a mixture of panic and anguish seizing his heart. 

“Zevlor, it’s-” 

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to act so recklessly.” His words are laced with distress. Zevlor lowers his head, practically bowing before you. “Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.” 

“Of course,” You reach for him but he stands, stepping away, eyes casted downward. 

“I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“It’s not- ahh- too bad.” you wince again as you stand to follow him.

“This was a mistake.” he shakes his head. “It won’t happen again,” 

 His words pierce you like a cold chill. 

 “What?” Your breath quickens, heat rising to your face. “No. I’m fine, it’s fine. Zevlor, please.” 

 Again you try to touch him but he moves away, eyes still not meeting yours. 

 “No. This-” he gestures between the two of you. “This shouldn’t be. I’m sorry.” 

 Before you can say anything Zevlor marches out of your tent into the night. You call after him, pleading for him to return. A part of you wanted to throw a blanket over yourself and run after him but you didn’t want to risk making a fool of yourself or of him. 

 You let out a cry, suddenly bursting into tears. The emotional whiplash of the day hit you hard. There’s a thousand desperate thoughts running through your mind. Overwhelmed, you curl up on your bed and sob softly into your pillow until sleep takes you.     

Thank you so much for reading <3

[soft-for-them]

Palm readings and tulips - Roman Godfrey x plus size reader

Summary: You and Roman are close, best friends even. You think he doesn't love you despite everything pointing to him loving you.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Before writing this I hadn't watched Hemlock Grove since I was like fourteen so at this point in time I've only re-watched the first few episodes so the characters are probably way ooc. Not proof read.

-

Since turning eighteen, aka a legal adult, you’ve realised that you still don’t have the power to do much at all. You’re still learning to drive despite knowing that you won’t be able to afford the cost of a car on your own. You’re working part time and you’re still somehow waking up every morning to go to school which seems to never end.

Then there’s Roman.

Best friends since your family moved to Hemlock Grove when you were twelve, the promise of a job at the steel mill shattered as soon as you arrived leaving you to play outside alone whilst your parent(s) worked over jobs. Roman's always been generous with his disposable wealth when it comes to you because of your family situation.

Roman Godfrey with his fancy little red car always filled with fuel, his house always open to you when you don’t feel safe at home, his disregard for the price of anything, him choosing to always pay for your shopping the rare time he stalks around a shop with you when he’s not busy bedding other people. With a flick of a wrist he can get anything he wants no fake ID or drop of his prestigious name needed, though he does the latter one regardless, Roman Godfrey has the world at his feet.

Maybe that’s why you’re forever thinking up reasons why he’s still friends with you.

As you bang you head on your dull green locker, no one around the hallways to stop you doing so for most if not all the students have been killed in gruesome bloody ways only leaving the younger students and the less than savoury upper-classmen left. To think, if you didn’t have someone like Roman following you around like a shadow then you’d probably be mauled to death and left in a ditch somewhere.

What a lovely thought indeed.

Raising your head you look down the hall, only small clumps of people mulling around, a larger group of tall teens clad in baggy clothes huddled around some lockers probably looking at something indecent catching you attention.

“I am an adult for crying out loud.” you mutter to yourself as you check you book bag filled with heavy textbooks and your large novelty pencil case, “I should be out of this fucking town.”

Then a loud obnoxious laugh, one that sounds more like some exclaiming ‘HA!’ rather than a proper laugh echoes down the hallway reminding you that nothing good ever comes from such fake sound.

So with a reluctant sigh you mosey over to the group of boys, not caring that you look half dead in your oversized baseball jersey and baggy mom jeans, your bag clutched in your hands ready to use it as a weapon if need be.

“Alright fuckers what you looking at now?” you holler as you squish in between two towering boys who smell like B.O and dress like nul metal band rejects.

The best outcome is that they’re all ogling at a magazine of scantily clad women or huddled around a small screen of a phone looking at social media but no, sitting against a locker looking horrified is none other than Shelley Godfrey.

Her long faux hair droops over her entire face as she tries to look as small as possible, her long grey cardigan pooling on the dirtied checked floor of the hallway, her arms holding onto her speaking tablet with an inhuman clutch.

Your face turns stern, tired eyes showing how pissed off you are, the very small amount of power you have in this supernatural town bubbling up.

Most all the boys huddled around you both are way taller, a couple of the shorter ones plus size like you, so really you are outnumbered in every way including size. However, somehow the remaining gaggle of teenage boys who roam the school have an odd resect for you. Much like how Roman, when he’s not fucking someone or completely gone like he was never alive, they follow you around school like lost puppies finding you entertaining, your straightforward and sarcastic wit making you ‘one of the boys’.

That and you’re one of the very few teens who Roman hasn’t bedded, some of your classmates almost seeing you like a challenge for surely soon enough Roman will fuck you too. You’ve overheard them talk about you like this many times, too many for your liking and you have mixed feeling about how they see you. On one hand some people see this pretty young woman who must be next on Roman’s conquest whilst others see you as just ‘the fat girl’ and nothing else.

For once in your life you’d like to be seen as more than a piece of meat but you digress, you’d much rather have the respect of these teenagers than have their ogling eyes look you up and down like your either their next fuck or next bullying target.

 “What? Her wig was falling off, it’s funny (y/n).” one smiles thinking that you’re going to happily chuckle alone with them.

Honestly you feel too much like a mother goose sometimes, these greasy teenagers your rebellious goslings who think you’d laugh along with them at such cruelty.

“Oh! FUNNY LIKE BREAKING YOUR DICK!” you shout at the top of your lungs, everyone is a five mile radius knowing it’s you shouting out your secret knowledge.

No one other than you and the gaggle of lanky teens surrounding you know who you’re exactly talking about however everyone else will have a fun time trying to guess who ‘broke’ their dick and hopefully the humiliation will hammer it into their head not to mess with Shelley Godfrey again.

“Come on (y/n)!” one scoffs whilst another gives you a “not cool bro.” to no avail.

“Where’s your brother?” you ask in you softest voice as you crouch down to Shelley’s height ignoring the scattering boys who try to do damage control now that everyone, which isn’t a lot compared to the beginning of the year, has heard what you shouted.

Speak of the devil Roman appears out of nowhere crouching down beside you as you talk softly to Shelley.

“Where the fuck have you been rich boy?” you scoff as you turn your head to look at your childhood befriend.

“How did you know Tyler broke his dick?” Roman retorts back with a handsome smile.

You ignore him, instead you help Shelley up.

“I’m not a blushing virgin Rom-“ you smile up to Shelley silently nodding asking is she’s ok which gets you a smile back before looking back to Roman, “- me and his brother was in the middle of some things when that idiot fell in the shower screaming bloody murder ‘My dick’s broken, my dick’s broken!’.”

You were having fun too, it’s not that often that a hot guy genuinely takes an interest in you let alone a hot college type who can take your wondering mind off Roman Godfrey, but then his idiot younger brother had slipped whilst belting out pop tunes in the shower making everyone in the house hold privy to the fact he hurt his member.

It was quite easy sneaking out whilst his family crowded around the bathroom, though your thoughts where quickly back of Roman.

As of late all you’ve been thinking about is Roman, that and escaping Pennsylvania but mostly of Roman’s stupidly handsome face.

Him looking at you now with eyes so filled with emotion, most of which you can’t decipher makes you almost blush and fumble. However before you can blurt out your feelings for the guy who used to follow you around town whilst you caught bugs or explored the library instead of going home you offer your arm to Shelley stating you’re going to take her to her class.

Shelley takes your arm with a small smile, a faint glow of blue like a firefly radiating from under her fringe. Roman follows closely behind you protectively, his heart filling up with an emotion he hasn’t properly felt in his life.

Love.

Roman Godfrey, the most powerful person in school, the man who is your shadow, in love with you.

“He’s not happy with you (y/n).” Peter says between puffs of his cigarette the two of you sat at the front of his static home.

He offers the cigarette to you but you refuse it.

“He’s never happy with me lately.” you say not believing a word that comes from your lips, you don’t think Roman has ever be properly angry or disappointed in you, not really.

“You know that’s a lie.” Peter says nudging your arm as you stare off into the distance to the house upon the hill.

“Peter, don’t contradict yourself.” you hit his arm back.

Ever since Peter Rumancek moved here you’ve been spending more and more time with him, well not as much as Roman has but you’ve been spending more time with the shaggy haired man then at home.

“What I mean is that he's annoyed at you.” as Peter talks you lean you head down on his shoulder, the late afternoon slowly fading into sunset, the air around going cold.

“How so?” you ask looking up at him.

“Something about a brother and you helping his sister.”

“Ah, that.”

Sighing, nuzzling your face into Peter’s bicep you try to figure out how to explain to him the situation that you hadn’t even realised was a situation until now.

So you explain it to him. In as little words as possible you recount the story of having a one night stand with a classmate’s older brother and the ensuing hilarity that you used as leverage to help Shelley.

“He really likes you.” Peter says bringing his hand up to pat your head as you slump down more into his arm like it was a pillow on your bed.

“Of course he does Peter, we’ve been friends since we were twelve.”

You don’t want to really explain anything more to Peter because you know exactly what he’s trying to get out of you.

Surely someone like Roman can’t like you back, right?

And from that conversation sometime later the next week you find yourself sat awkwardly on a throw covered blue sofa, a decorative pillow on your lap and Peter by your side fully relaxed.

Destiny has been kind to you the half an hour you’ve been here, she’s offered you tea, told you embarrassing stories about Peter and genuinely been hospitable and nice however as she breaches the subject of why you’re here you start to feel nervous.

It was Peter’s idea, he had been the one to bring up Destiny’s palm readings and curtsey of Peter you’re getting the palm reading for free. You’re not some naive little girl any more so you can take whatever Destiny gives you. Unlike the bigots of the town who think Destiny is scamming people out of their money because she is Romani you’re hopeful that she can give you a good reading and get Peter off you back to boot for he has been trying to tell you that Roman like likes you all week.

But still you’re nervous and jittery.

Destiny asks for your hands which you reluctantly hold out.

“I know you’re probably really good at this-“ you begin as she cradles your hands, your palm upward facing, Destiny leaning over to look at them, “-but I don’t need you tell me if I’m going to have kids or if I’m going to rich.”

Your eyes flicker between her and Peter.

“That’s no entirely how this works.” Destiny grins as Peter touches your arms to try to calm you down, “Anyway from what Peter has told me we may only need to look at your heart line.”

“Heart line?”

“Love.”

“Oh! Yeah, love…” your face scrunches up in worry, “Sorry, I’m not saying you’re a fake or anything but I, well, I already know who I love already, I just haven’t done anything about it so I don’t need a reading for that.”

She smiles, the dimpled lines either side of her mouth appearing as she does, her eye sparkling with curiosity.

“Peter you should have brought her over sooner.” she says eyes trained on you, “Shall we begin then?”

You nod a quick yes.

She begins tracing your palms, her fingers light but slow as she figures out both your past and your future form just the curved line of your hands.

“This hand-” Destiny begins cradling your non dominant hand, “- this one show your past.”

Her manicured finger traces a long line slightly jagged and curved.

“You’ve been through a lot.” she states, not trying to get anything out of you but allowing you to speak if you want to, “I assume it’s to do with your family.”

Two hours later Peter's leading you out of Destiny’s flat, a promise to visit again as a friend promised to her, tear soaked tissues stuffed up your sleeves and Peter holding your hand as he leads you onto the street now bathed in yellowing streetlamp light.

“That was a lot.” you try to upbeat but all that comes from you lips is a solemn exhale, “Promise you won’t tell anyone about all that?”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand squeezing yours in a silent ‘yes’.

“Not even the bit about twelve year old you falling in love with Roman?”

“Shut up.” you laugh as you knock your shoulder into his back playfully, “Now walk me home.”

The next day after Destiny’s palm reading you’re overthinking too much so much so you get a headache that can only be cured by taking a long mid-morning nap.

Thankfully it’s the weekend and you don’t have work but unthankfully as you groggily wake up from your impromptu nap you hear the tell tell signs of one Roman Godfrey lowering himself down on top of your crowded double bed, his nicely dressed frame clashing with the teddy bears and old granny floral sheets of the bed.

“You climb through my window or something?” you ask as you drag yourself up into a sitting position, ignoring the fact your face comes dangerously close to Roman’s.

“No one’s here (y/n) so I used the key underneath the front door mat.”

“Liar-” you joke as your rearrange your twisted t-shirt on your plush body, “-the key is under the pot Rom, you know, the one with the dead tulips.”

You both maybe siting side by side, you under the covers and him fully clothed, but you can see his growing smile on his smug face from the side of his face, mischief soon to come.

“What, stop smiling like that and spit it out.”

His smile grows into a clown like grin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He bends down to the side to pick something off the floor. On hand latches onto your leg anchoring him down as he bends down hanging his other arm off the bed, warmth rising in your face at the rather forward action.

He rises bringing, what at first you think is a wad of paper, up but as you look closer you see the paper is combined with translucent pink plastic in a cone shape holding flowers in place.

Flowers.

Not just any flowers but blood red tulips, much more vivid and alive than the ones that used to live by your front door. And they’re not some supermarket type flowers either, there’s no barcode stuck to the plastic or creasing on the paper from where they’ve been sitting in a pot with other bouquets of flowers. No, they’re big, new and most certainly handmade, so perfectly arranged that they must have cost too much, well too much for you anyway.

For Roman it probably was nothing at all, his wallet still filled with too much money.

You must be frozen in place for Roman, one hand still on your leg, passes over the bouquet of tulips.

“Who you got these for?” you ask.

“I don’t like seeing you sad.” he says leaning closer so your noses almost touch.

“I’m not sad.” you try to smile, your eyes flickering between the blood petals and his sharp mesmerising eyes.

“I saw you yesterday with Peter, you were crying.”

Despite there being a thin blanket separating your bare legs from his hands you can feel him stroke patterns near your knee.

“Then why didn’t you come over then? You know I’ll always have you.”

Your words come out wrong for you were trying to say that he’s always welcome in your home though you guess the growing bubbling feeling of love has impaired your mind just a bit.

As your eyes look at the flowers you miss the hungry, almost monstrous look flash in Roman’s eyes, his pupils going large. It takes all his strength not to grab you and kiss you all over making you his.

He won’t even tell you either that last night another classmate died, that he was trying to investigate it.

“I’m taking you out.” he demands.

“Ok.” you say feeling that you can't decline, the thought of it being a date pushed out your mind for Roman always seems to be spending money on you, “Let me get dressed first Rom.”

[tylermileslockett]

ARES

“Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities, harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the spear, O defense of father of warlike Victory, ally of Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous men, sceptered King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether…” 

(-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

ARES (AIR-ees), God of war, courage, and civil order. The raging, wrathful deity unleashes his bloodlust in the fury of battle. His sacred weapons glittering; the golden helmet, spear, and shield. The boar head icon on the shield symbolizes Ares turning into a boar and jealously gorging the youth Adonisto death, for the youth's affair with Aphrodite. The serpents are creatures associated with Ares: the Colchian dragon (which guards the golden fleece in the sacred grove of Ares- from the Jason and the Argonauts myth) and the Ismenian dragon (which guards the sacred spring of Ares near Thebes).  

Flying above Ares' shoulderAres shoulder is his daughter, Nike, the goddess of Victory, Nike. In the upper right are vultures, animals associated with Ares, and his sister Eris; goddess of discord. This goddess who, unable to enter the banquet of the gods, threw in the golden apple inscribed "for the fairest" causing strife for the women and ultimately bringing Paris of Troy to judge, as a precursor to Helen and the Trojan war. Galloping into battle below are three Amazon warrior women, the leader being Ares daughter; Queen Penthesilea, (who Achilles killed in battle at Troy and fell in love with her as she lay dying.)

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