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it-was-summer · 1 month ago

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The Very First... Second... Third Night

A/N: Hey guys, happy fall!!! Fun fact about me, I love Season one reid so much it's not even funny. That's pookie!!!!! Anyways, enjoy this little fluffy cute thing I wrote in a romance-infused haze (I saw that photo of MGG in that pumpkin sweater at knott's berry farms and I needed Spencer in a Halloween way). MAYBE some porn coming soon idk man. Love you all!!-Em <3

Link to the Ao3: The Very First... Second... Third Night ->Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Can't remember if I use any female pronouns for reader, but warning just incase. Season one reid, MENTION OF JEID, SPENCELLE, AND bisexual Reid, Spencer reid being critical of himself, Spencer's POV for the most part, jello mentioned guys, Overstimulated Spencer Reid at a football game, mention of a cemetery, mention of Nosferatu (1922). Kind of proofread, yippie!!!

Genre: Fluffy meet cutes. Pairing: Season One! Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader.

Plot: Spencer runs into you twice before but only manages to get your name (and number) the third time.

Word Count: 3,863

First Meeting

Spencer can’t remember the last time this bookstore was so crowded. Personally, he tried to go on early Sunday mornings to avoid the crowds– if any– that came into the shop. Maybe he was being overdramatic. There couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the store with him. But it was still twenty too many. He softly apologizes to the elderly woman as he squeezes past her in the narrow nonfiction aisle.

Most of the crowd seemed to be hovering around the fiction area, which was fine with him– the further away, the better. With his head turned to watch the small crowd bustle about the store, he didn’t notice the person standing just inches from him in the aisle.

You stared at him with a confused expression for a second, thinking surely this man would move eventually. But the moment never came. He was tall with brown hair and long eyelashes. He had the fashion sense of a teacher– correction, teacher’s assistant. You clear your throat softly, hardcover clutched in hand as you watch the man’s head snap over to you, his cheeks flushing red.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Not that you’re hard to miss– I mean in a good way, you’re–” He closes his mouth and swallows hard, looking into your gentle eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You would have felt a little agitated if he hadn’t seemed so earnest, but this man oozes social anxiety, and your heart takes pity on him. Your lips move to a slow smile, and you whisper a sweet, “That’s alright,”

Spencer’s sure he’s never seen kinder eyes, “It’s just so busy today. I was looking at the crowd,”

Your head turns at that, allowing Spencer to take in your features. A light sweater to accommodate the cool air this early-October morning, some Halloween earrings that make Spencer smile, and stunning eyes. “Book signing pop-up, it’ll be crazy until three. At least that's what the stock girl told me.” You’re soft-spoken, too. Spencer can appreciate that.

He nods slightly, looking down at the hardcover in your hand and then over at the crowd again, “Are you not here for the book signing?”

“Afraid not,” You sigh as you hold up a historical fiction novel, “Me and my historical fiction novel were going to take a gander at some biographies.”

He can’t help his peaked interest as he licks his lips, “Regarding?” He’s a fan of history himself and is always happy to interact with someone who also shares a love for it. He feels slightly less anxious talking about something he knows.

You twist your lips to the side like you’re silently debating whether or not you should tell him. You look away for a second, your eyes scanning the bookshelves on either side of you. “Salem Witch Trials.” You answer him bluntly.

Spencer nods like he understands precisely what you mean, “Ah, the more humane witch trials.” It's a funny joke… to him, at least.

But then your lips twitch upwards as you let out a quiet chuckle, “No burning for us, just rope and intense torture.”

He feels electric, which is stupid because he shouldn’t feel excited over something as simple as someone joking with him, but he does. He’s been working on it upon Derek’s sarcastic request, and he can’t help but wonder if it is finally paying off now.

Spencer feels the overwhelming urge to partake in what Garcia describes as ‘info-dumping ,’ but he bites his tongue as he settles on a simple question, “How come?”

You shrug slightly as you look up at him. The bookstore light keeps making his eyes a soft amber, and you’re having a hard time looking away now. “Halloween tradition.” You watch his eyebrow furrow, raising a hand to explain yourself quickly. “My best friend and I each pick a historical event that is relatively macabre, and then we base our costumes around it and throw a party with a related theme. It’s... It’s stupid.” You say with a smile and a wave of your hand dismissively.

Meanwhile, Spencer’s too busy thinking you’re the most extraordinary girl he’s ever interacted with. For the first time in his life, he’s desperate for an invite to a stranger’s party—a pretty stranger who has yet to tell him her name.

“That’s not-”

A woman’s voice cuts him off as she barrels down the aisle with a grin, “There you are, oh…” Her blue eyes look Spencer up and down carefully, studying him. “Hello, there.” She’s direct and forward and speaks in a tone that tells Spencer to leave you the hell alone.

He nods curtly, waving slightly at your friend. You sigh out with mock annoyance as you say, “He’s a friendly, put your gun away.”

“I don’t believe in guns.”

“They’re very real, trust me.” Is your sarcastic reply before looking at Spencer again. “Thanks for the company. I’ll see you around.” And just like that… you’re gone.

Second Meeting

Spencer is sure he’ll never see you again, but here he is a week later, still thinking about you on a case. Or rather, he’s thinking about every woman ever and that he’ll never have a chance with any of them… ever. He’s feeling rather lonely, or maybe his self-esteem is taking a certain nose-dive this fine San Diego day.

It’s not because it’s his birthday. He doesn’t hate his birthday like Elle hates hers– that’s what she told him once—the day started off great: the trick candles, the big birthday hat, his embarrassing crush on JJ. And now, they’re discussing the case, a routine he enjoys.

His mind, always full of helpful information, quickly recognized the ballad from the 17th century– betwixt death and a lady. After his comment regarding what people could find by typing the word ‘death’ in the search engine, Derek’s laughing, “Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.”

It sticks on him; he would love to let it slide off his back, but he’s not familiar with that kind of territory– dating, that is– so it hits a nerve. A nerve that Spencer didn’t know was so exposed. The worst part is that Derek’s not wrong. Spencer can’t seem to get a date. Not with the pretty intellectual at the bookstore, JJ, or Elle– though that last one feels strange to admit to himself.

He’s too awkward, speaks too fast, and, according to Gideon, needs to relax more. He’s sure… he’s cute, actually, he doesn’t know if he is. All he knows is that his mind is brilliant, his skills involving women… not so much.

He’s silently mulling it over as he approaches one of the bulletin boards, muttering lines of the ballad softly when JJ walks up beside him, “Creepy, huh?” Her voice makes him look at her, hesitating as he replies.

“Actually, uh, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance.” He’s staring at the bulletin for a second before glancing her away, and his cheeks feel hot when he sees the way JJ is looking at him– disinterest. “But, yeah, creepy.”

He feels like a teenager, and all those years spent in college and not high school are coming back to bite him. He liked girls and boys, too. He should be better at this, he has an IQ of 187 and five degrees to prove it. Spencer walks away from the conversation quickly, his feet carrying him away from the embarrassing moment as quickly as possible. He needs to focus on the case.

And focus he does. He’s happy to analyze the meaning of the ballads at the crime scenes, his anxiety calming as he settles into the sweet caress of facts. Feelings, beauty, and tastes were all subjective. The objective was his comfort zone.

So it stands to reason that he feels lighter after conversing with Gideon about why the UnSub would start to use the ballad if it wasn’t a part of his signature. However, after the team delivers the profile, his lightness returns to his ruminating thoughts surrounding his lack of social skills.

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels the icy breath of repressed memories breathing down his neck. A jammed locker, missing gym clothes, a dark bathroom bolted shut. As the team waits for the UnSub’s suspected phone call to the tip line, he reaches for his bag to pull out a Rubix cube.

His fingers quickly twist and turn it aimlessly until he feels like it’s mixed around enough for him to solve it again. Elle is sitting in a desk chair in front of him as he solves it. He wants to ask her if she’d ever consider dating him, if she thinks JJ would, or if she feels any self-respecting woman would. He doesn’t, though, the question sounding too desperate in his head to say it out loud.

Instead, he asks, “Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” His eyes don’t stray away from the cube for too long as he asks it, scared of what Elle’s gaze might tell him.

He’s pleasantly surprised when she chuckles and says, “I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.”

Spencer feels insecure when he speaks again, but he has to know the answer, “Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?” He looks up at her now, waiting for the brutal blow, which is her answer.

Elle looks slightly amused. “You ever ask anyone out?” She smiles a little, seeing the genius look genuinely dumbfounded for a second as he thinks about it.

He never had the confidence to walk up to someone he found attractive and say something interesting enough to warrant a ‘yes’ if he asked them on a date. “No,”

She gives him a slight shrug of her shoulders, “That’s why you can't get a date.” And Spencer seems to nod at that, and his lips tighten for a second as he nods before he looks away from her again. His focus is pulled back to the case when the UnSub calls, and for a little while, he feels better.

On the flight home, he’s almost completely forgotten about his spiral as he plays chess with Gideon. When he hands Spencer a small present, a little smile plays on his lips as he says, “But you don’t give birthday presents.” When he finally gets the present open, he feels a little confused as he thanks Gideon for the generous gift– two VIP box seat Redskin tickets.

He’s excited, nonetheless, to experience something new with Gideon, and Spencer believes him when he says that Spencer will love it.

“We are. You’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks with a slight grin.

Gideon smiles, “No.” he doesn’t let Spencer’s confusion build for long as he quickly adds, “Someone else on the plane is a huge skins fan.”

“Who?”

“Only person in the world who calls you Spence.”

Speaking of the only person in the world that calls him Spence, the date was going terribly. She had invited Penelope; she thought it was a group thing. He begged Hotch and Gideon for some pointers, anything. They reminded him she was already his friend, but that wasn’t very helpful. He knew how to talk to her on a typical day. On a date? Not so much.

Then, she invited Penelope. Now he’s stuck on a date where only one person in the group knows it was supposed to be a date, and he feels nauseous. He’s trying to keep a conversation going, but every time it picks up for a second, he feels himself fumble the metaphorical ball, and it dies again.

Eventually, he excuses himself to get some air. He’s debating calling Gideon and updating him on how it’s going. His feet pace on the concrete stadium floor. He’s near the elevators, and he can barely hear himself– it’s auditory overload hell. He shuts his eyes tight, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he covers his ears, leaning against the cool wall beside the elevators.

It’s all muffled, barely helping, but the feeling of the cool wall on his back through his clothes helps relax him slightly. His shoulders relax briefly before he feels two fingers lightly tapping his shoulders, and he’s rigid again.

Rigid until his eyes snap open to see that it’s you. You from the bookstore, with that same kind smile, same dazzling smile, it is you. You’re yelling over the shouting, but he can barely hear you. You laugh. He can only tell by your facial expression as all the sound falls deaf to his ears over the crowd's yelling.

Once it calms down, you repeat yourself, “Are you alright?”

He nods, then you’re giving him a skeptical look, and he slowly shakes his head.

“Is it the noise?”

A part of him wants to tell you that it’s everything he is experiencing today, but instead, he whispers a soft “Yes.”

You twist your lips to the side, looking upset for him. Your empathy is so sweet and pure for him that he feels the knot in his chest unraveling slowly. “Let me buy you a water?” You offer, motioning to a concession stand a few steps away.

He doesn’t remember saying yes, but you’re grinning as you walk with him to the stand and buy the two of you a bottle. After a sip or two, you say, “I’m not the biggest fan of football games either. My dad loves em’.”

He nods along silently, feeling so socially overwhelmed that he barely has the energy for more conversation. You seem happy to fill the gap: “I ran into you at that bookstore on 8th, right?”

Spencer’s beaming as he pulls the bottle away from his lips, nodding, speaking for the first time in a while. “Yes.”

You let out a happy hum, “Small world,” And Spencer agrees with you silently.

It's the most comfortable he’s felt all week, and he wonders if maybe this failed date of his was a strange blessing in disguise. He’s about to ask for your name when Penelope approaches the two of you, blinking starstruck at Spencer and you as she introduces herself when the crowd begins to cheer again. Any noise he can hear is drowned out, frowning as you shake Penelope’s hand and say your name– a name he cannot hear. Some more words follow, but it's all small talk until you excuse yourself to return to your father in the stands.

Then he’s the one being dragged away from you, convinced once more that he’ll never see his pretty stranger ever again.

Third Meeting

It’s the night before Halloween. Ask anyone who knows Spencer; they will tell you he genuinely loves Halloween. It’s a part of him, always has been. He likes that you can dress up as anyone you want to be without judgment. He loves the build-up, the history, and the scents that fill the air.

So, when he manages to get the night off, he’s quick to try and convince someone from the team to head over to a cemetery not too far from headquarters. Even when he explains how it is for a classic horror movie showing on the graveyard’s lands, everyone declines.

Now, he’s setting up an oversized quilt on the soft grass, smoothing out the edges of the oversized quilt with his hands before sitting down on it. His hands move to his bag, pulling out a few of his favorite snacks, drinks, and so on as he watches the cemetery slowly fill up with people.

He’s happy. He feels a little strange at the thought, but he’s happy– even if it is in the middle of a cemetery.

A gentle voice cuts through the soft quiet of the graveyard, “I knew I was going to run into you sooner or later,”

He turns his head to look at you, picnic basket and blanket in hand. You smile down at him. He trips over himself as he stands, his cheeks flushing as you laugh at the sight. He rubs his suddenly sweating hands on his button-up as he reluctantly offers you his hand to shake, only to realize that you don’t have a hand available.

“Can I—” he says softly, “Would it be alright if I—" he swallows hard, his voice cracking lightly. Do you need help with your things?”

You glance down at your hands, smiling slightly as you shake your head politely. “I’m sure I can find a good spot soon. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not, honest. I’m, uh, I’m here alone, and it doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.” You silently debate his offer, and then Spencer feels a wave of confidence surge through him, “You can always sit with me if you’d like. I promise I’ll try to be quiet.”

You seem to think that’s funny as you nod, “Well, it is a silent film.”

“You don’t have to say yes. I just have a big blanket, and I’m in a good spot to see the screen and–”

“I’ll sit with you,” You cut him off softly, bending down to gently get the picnic basket on the edge of his quilt. Spencer moves out of your way, awkwardly shuffling for a second before he decides this might be a good time to introduce himself.

“I’m Spencer.”

You glance up at him as you move to sit on the blanket, smiling as you tell him your name. He licks his lips nervously, nodding as he sits beside you. His nervous eyes dance over your figure as you set your blanket, which he now sees has little cartoon ghosts all over it, to the side of your basket.

You’re frowning slightly as you reach into the basket, pulling out a small cup of jello and a spoon. “I’m sorry. If I had known I was sharing a blanket with someone, I would have brought another cup.”

Spencer finds it funny as he leans over to his satchel and pulls out his own cup of jello and spoon, “No need,”

You laugh lightly as you raise your jello cup to his. “Cheers, then. " Spencer smiles lightly as the two of you tap the edges together for a moment before falling into a comfortable silence while eating jello.

Spencer’s spoon digs into the jello, and he asks, “Is this your first time seeing Nosferatu ?”

You let out a soft hum as you pull your spoon out of your mouth and quickly nod, “Yes!” You say after swallowing, “What about you?”

“Third.”

“Didn’t remember it well enough the first two times?”

He lets out a shy laugh at that— it feels strange for someone to be unaware of his eidetic memory, and he wonders how long that’ll last. “Not exactly. I guess just like Halloween.”

“A man of good taste,” You quip back softly, taking a smiling bite of jello.

Spencer laughs as his eyes watch your lips close around your spoon before he pulls them away to look into your eye, hoping you don’t notice as he stutters lightly. “That’s debatable.”

You’re looking down at your half-eaten Jello cup. “I’m the judge here. I deem it a fact that you are a man of good taste. You’re wearing a cardigan. That’s how the judicial system works, don’t you know?” You look back at him with a smirk, and Spencer can’t help the chortle that escapes his throat.

“That is not how the United States judicial system works, but thank you.”

“Yeah, you look like someone who would know all the inner workings of the judicial system.”

Spencer can feel his cheeks getting red at how your voice sounds—teasing and a little flirty. Oh my god, were you flirting with him? He’s sure he’s all smiles and red cheeks as he looks at you, changing the topic. “None of your friends wanted to come with you tonight?”

“No, not their scene. It’s okay, though. I’m making a new friend right now.”

Spencer’s finishing off his Jello as he steals a glance at you again, stars in his eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do. Your name is Spencer. You like jello, nonfiction, Halloween, and dressing like a teacher’s assistant.”

Spencer doesn’t want to say you’re wrong, even though he knows you’re just being nice, but he doesn’t want to spend another week without seeing you. He wants to be your friend— he’ll be anything you want him to be. “Could I–” He licks his lips, eyes searching yours nervously.

You watch him carefully, tilting your head to the side as you look into his brown eyes. The sun is gone now, but the rising moon is shining down on him. He seems so… gentle, like a deer in a quiet forest. A part of you just wants to scoop him up and bring him home with you, as inappropriate as that is.

“You wouldn’t have to– It’s alright if you say no. I was just thinking I could give you my number sometime, maybe.” He manages with a gentle huff of air.

You nod a little, “Sometime, maybe.” You repeat with a slight grin forming on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the projector starting to play the movie, and a hush falls over the cemetery’s lawn.

Spencer’s voice is a little too loud as he rushes to say, “I mean, now. Would it be alright if I–” A shush cuts him off, and his back straightens quickly as he shuts his mouth. His eyes meet yours for a second before darting over to the projection.

You’re watching him again, how he’s staring at the screen like his life depends on it. You scoot closer to him, grabbing your folded-up blanket in the process. Once you reach his side, you drape the folded blanket around his shoulders carefully before doing the same to your own.

His fingers gingerly grab one of the blanket's edges, casting you an apologetic glance for a second as your pants graze against his. You seem unbothered as you lean toward him. “I would love your number after this, " you whisper, looking up into his doe-like eyes before turning your head to watch the film.

He’s beaming now as he stares at you, and his chest tightens slightly when you lean close to him again. You’re so close he can smell your perfume, the scent tangling with the sweet smell of crisp fall air. “You like costume parties?” Your voice is barely audible.

He signals that he does silently, his head moving up and down quickly. The sight makes you grin as you mouth a silent, ‘Perfect’ at him before your attention is fully pulled back to the movie.

Spencer feels warm all over for the rest of the night, and three months from now, he’ll start to believe three is a lucky number as he picks you up for your third date with him and just how perfect everything feels when he kisses you.

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deadpresidents · 4 months ago

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On the cliffs of Normandy, in a small holding area, the President of the United States was looking out at the English Channel. It was only six weeks ago, on the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, and President Biden had just finished his remarks at the American cemetery atop Omaha Beach. Guests had been congratulating him on the speech, but he didn't want to talk about himself. The moment was not about him; it was about the men who had fought and died there. "Today feels so large," he told me. "This may sound strange -- and I don't mean it to -- but when I was out there, I felt the honor of it, the sanctity of it. To speak for the American people, to speak over those graves, it's a profound thing." He turned from the view over the beaches and gestured back toward the war dead. "You want to do right by them, by the country."

Mr. Biden has spent a lifetime trying to do right by the nation, and he did so in the most epic of ways when he chose to end his campaign for re-election. His decision is one of the most remarkable acts of leadership in our history, an act of self-sacrifice that places him in the company of George Washington who also stepped away from the presidency. To put something ahead of one's immediate desires -- to give, rather than to try to take -- is perhaps the most difficult thing for any human being to do. And Mr. Biden has done just that.

To be clear: Mr. Biden is my friend, and it has been a privilege to help him when I can. Not because I am a Democrat -- I belong to neither party and have voted for both Democrats and Republicans -- but because I believe him to be a defender of the Constitution and a public servant of honor and of grace at a time when extreme forces threaten the nation. I do not agree with everything he has done or wanted to do in terms of policy. But I know him to be a good man, a patriot and a president who has met challenges all too similar to those Abraham Lincoln faced. Here is the story I believe history will tell of Joe Biden. With American democracy in an hour of maximum danger in Donald Trump's presidency, Mr. Biden stepped in the breach. He staved off an authoritarian threat at home, rallied the world against autocrats abroad, laid the foundations for decades of prosperity, managed the end of a once-in-a-century pandemic, successfully legislated on vital issues of climate and infrastructure and has conducted a presidency worthy of the greatest of his predecessors. History and fate brought him to the pinnacle in a late season in his life, and in the end, he respected fate -- and he respected the American people.

It is, of course, an incredibly difficult moment. Highs and lows, victories and defeats, joy and pain: It has been ever thus for Mr. Biden. In the distant autumn of 1972, he experienced the most exhilarating of hours -- election to the United States Senate at the age of 29. He was no scion; he earned it. The darkness fell: His wife and daughter were killed in an automobile accident that seriously injured his two sons, Beau and Hunter. But he endured, found purpose in the pain, became deeper, wiser, more empathetic. Through the decades, two presidential campaigns imploded, and in 2015 his son Beau, a lawyer and wonderfully promising young political figure, died of brain cancer after serving in Iraq.

Such tragedy would have broken many lesser men. Mr. Biden, however, never gave up, never gave in, never surrendered the hope that a fallen, frail and fallible world could be made better, stronger and more whole if people could summon just enough goodness and enough courage to build rather than tear down. Character, as the Greeks first taught us, is destiny, and Mr. Biden's character is both a mirror and a maker of his nation's. Like Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, he is optimistic, resilient and kind, a steward of American greatness, a love of the great game of politics and, at heart, a hopeless romantic about the country that has given him so much.

Nothing bears out this point as well as his decision to let history happen in the 2024 election. Not matter how much people say that this was inevitable after the debate in Atlanta last month, there was nothing foreordained about an American President ending his political career for the sake of his country and his party. By surrendering the possibility of enduring in the seat of ultimate power, Mr. Biden has taught us a landmark lesson in patriotism, humility and wisdom.

Now the question comes to the rest of us. What will we the people do? We face the most significant of choices. Mr. Roosevelt framed the war whose dead Mr. Biden commemorated at Normandy in June as a battle between democracy and dictatorship. It is not too much to say that we, too, have what Mr. Roosevelt called a "rendezvous with destiny" at home and abroad. Mr. Biden has put country above self, the Constitution above personal ambition, the future of democracy above temporal gain. It is up to us to follow his lead.

-- "Joe Biden, My Friend and an American Hero" by Jon Meacham, New York Times, July 22, 2024.

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dollya-robinprotector · 2 months ago

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Outside of your dol ocs do you have ocs for other fandoms?

I have many!

Warning: LOTS of old drawings

The first one with ears and a tail, and the two girls beside him are my first OCs. They're independent OCs and have many AUs together.

This big girl was a roleplay mascot for Hetalia fandom and later for other roleplay pj as well. She's based on Jeanne's reincarnated "Lisa"

The little cheeb she's holding is Amber, for Houseki no Kuni fandom

Their hair is ref from Kaine (NieR) and my old mascot hair style. Now you see that "Flower with two antennas" everywhere on my other OCs

These four are my Tarot spirits. I have two Tarot decks: Shadowscape and Ostara, both have twin spirits. Guess who is who!

This girl is an OC for a closed species my friend created - CIST. They only have 4 fingers, are born from and live at the cemetery, have a will-o'-the-wisp flame in their eye socket, and each one has a unique voice that fits in an orchestra. Mine is named Ilyia, a Mezzo/Soprano type girl.

I also have two Vietnamese mystical creatures - girls. One white snake and one white catfish. I intended to write a story for them, but hahaha....

And not to mention my mascot, my old sona, now an OC, joined many fandoms. Kimetsu no Yaiba:

Cookie run: Red Velvet cookie

Also I have other Cookie OCs: Lotus Cookie and Religieuse Cookie, based on how France invaded Vietnam in the history UwU

Genshin: Old -> Now

Also lots of Vietnamese cultural fandoms and gacha games fandom

Even Papa is originally Doctor from Arknights

Heh, hope u had fun scrolling to this far :D

#dollya ask #dollya art

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melkyt · 5 months ago

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CW: Major Character Death (of old age)

Luffy dies first Zoro dies last in their old age, history repeats itself, Zoro trains the next generation much like Rayleigh is a *chef kiss of a trope*

But the reverse I don't see much off and I would think would be delicious for the vibes and angst alone xd

Luffy never held back, never worried about dying young as long as the life he did live was full of joy and adventure. As long as he was with Zoro until the very end, and maybe they would go together to the next adventure.

Yet he died in Wano, then came back as a God, came back as something different yet the same with the power of his fruit. In his fights, everyone always said that by using that power he shortens his life span but they were wrong. He already lost his life, and that should be it, but his fruit gave him a new life.

Luffy reaches his forties, everyone is worried that is it. Nami and Zoro did the math a long time ago, they considered he would follow Roger's timeline and have maybe a decade left. They throw a huge party to celebrate life.

Luffy lives another decade, another party.

Sanji is the first to pass away, his genetics never counted for a long life, He is surrounded by everyone he loves, a peaceful calm death in his sleep.

Then it is Usopp around his 70s, it's sudden but he was with Kaya, nowhere else he wanted to be. They, the entire fleet comes to Syrup Village to throw a bigger banquet than this small island has ever seen.

Luffy does not stop using Nika, even if it is for fun over any actual fight.

Time goes on, Nami holds out, but she feels the end, so she goes home to be buried by her precious tangerine trees. It's a smaller event, the three of them started this journey together with nothing to their name, and it is only right they remember that time in the peaceful grove, talking well into the night until it is only Zoro and Luffy talking. They lay her to rest in the morning.

They depart a week later, after a wake where the entire village celebrated the girl that did so much for them since she was nothing but a child.

Zoro falters a month later. He tries to pretend it's nothing, they are almost eighty, and despite everything he is tired. Luffy notices. They visit Kuina's grave, Zoro's home.

They spend the time playing as children among the waves, eating all the food Zoro remembers from when he was an urchin running on the streets.

Paying respects to all the people who supported him and paved the way for him to become the greatest swordsmen.

Once he would have wanted to be buried with Kuina, in the small cemetery where she rests behind the old dojo.

Yet now, he does not want to leave his captain, leave the man he loves. There is a spot on the Sunny, a coffin to be sealed where his bones can be kept.

Luffy has seen people come and go, everyone from his generation, from the worst generation is gone. Yet they made new friends, took on students that hold their memories, that keep their legend alive. Still even as they celebrate the life Zoro lived, Luffy feels alone for the first time in a long time as he stands on the lionhead of the Sunny. With Franky gone, it will not be sail worthy for much longer. It was his ship and it should rest with him. So Luffy takes it back to Water 7 where it belongs, it can rest with the Mary. He takes a smaller ship that is a mix of both, a small thing that Franky built just for one last journey. He takes Zoro's bones with him. They will always be together even of only one of them is still alive.

Still, he lives, finding new adventures, but there is an emptiness. Luffy lasts a decade more. His joy sustains him, and it always will, but it is dampened. Luffy chooses a successor to his fruit on a whim. Maybe the fruit chose its next wielder by itself as it always does. This child with a bright smile will carry the future. Luffy has to smile as it is not an island that is different from his home, almost in the same place. Though his home is under the waves. This will be a good place as any for the adventure to end.

Perhaps in the next world, they can see each other again, and he will not be alone anymore. His ship will float through the oceans, a shrine to the greatest men that ever lived, protected by the power of something that lives within its walls.

-end-

#zolu #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #god usopp #straw hat pirates #sanji

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 1 year ago

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Undead Heart

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.4K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: necromancy, defensive reader, Astarion being a supportive little baby (he is so precious), doubt, reassurance, flufffff, kinda angst? idk

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Astarion laid his head on your chest, smushing his face in for good measure. You let out a breathy laugh. It was still early, the birds hadn’t graced the winds with their songs yet. The sun hadn’t peeked over the horizon to start the new day. You held Astarion close, one hand gently caressing his soft curls at the base of his neck - the other drawing circles on his bicep that was holding your waist. For a creature who didn’t sleep he appeared pretty dead to the world currently. You listened to the little breaths that left his mouth. You watched his eyes move beneath his closed lids. You loved looking at him, especially when he was like this. His face was calm and smoothed over with rest. Nothing could hurt him here, you wouldn’t let it.

“Staring is rude.” he mumbled into your chest, somewhere between sleep and wake.

“It’s not staring, it’s admiring.” you whispered into his ear, kissing the side of his face softly. You could feel a begrudging smile form on his face for a moment before his breathing evened out again.

You slowly slipped away from him. You were a necromancer, of unknown origin. Your past was muddled but you had found histories of yourself at the citadel from the far reaches of Faerun. You had lived a life. Full of good and bad but your future was yours alone to define. You were ancient, you never aged. The years, for the most part, had been kind to you. Your powers were unmatched and your beauty was unparalleled. Slipping out of the tent you walked out of camp through the fog of the early morning. You could feel the sweet dewdrops kissing your feet as you walked barefoot to the cemetery you had passed yesterday before setting up camp. The souls there called to you. They wished to be released, to visit one another after an eternity apart. As you walked to the center of the graveyard you felt your powers start to flow from your palms. Black smoke and glowing green light emanated from you, swirling and twisting about. Figures started to arise from the graves, transparent and ghostly. You kept your concentration as the ghosts mingled. Laughing and dancing with one another as if they were in the midst of a ball. Your power enveloped the graveyard in a shimmering light, as if millions of little sparkles had graced the small event you created. You walked through the endless rows of graves, quietly admiring everyone. Out of all the things you could do with your abilities, this was always your favorite. Reuniting old friends, families, lovers. Even some enemies who decided to call truces due to their undead circumstances. Everyone always looked so happy, so relieved. The ghosts could see you just as you could see them. One floated through you before another held your hand, spinning you about to the quiet tune that drifted through the air. An enthusiastic bard playing his instrument, as if he had never put it down all those centuries ago. You knew the sight was strange, and that people often found you strange yourself. Death did not scare you. You were its equal and enjoyed teetering that otherworldly line.

You had never shown this power to Astarion, concerned he would find it odd. You had been together for a few months. He knew you were ancient and powerful but beyond that you tried to be quite vague. You continued to smile and laugh amongst the ghosts, feeling relieved to use your powers. In battle you were skilled with necrotic and psychic attacks along with general melee fighting but this is truly what you enjoyed using your powers for. Bringing peace, unity. After a while though, the air shifted. You felt eyes watching you. You searched for the source, eyes finding a very much awake Astarion leaning against the graveyard gate.You jumped, sucking in a shocked gasp. You made the shimmer fade, the swirling slow, the smoke dissipate. The ghosts slowly drift back to their respective graves, solemn looks on their faces. No amount of time living or dead would be long enough with each other. And yet, you felt their appreciation radiate to you. You felt pale, almost sickly. Astarion was going to think you were some sort of freak, you just knew it. You slowly made your way to him, keeping your head low and arms tight across your chest to protect yourself from some unknown threat.

Astarion’s face wore a slight frown, his eyebrows drawn up in a furrow “Little love, whatever could be the matter?”

Your heart raced at the pet name. “How long have you been standing there?” you asked, walking past him, heading back to camp.

He trailed after you, “Long enough. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” he quipped. There was no malice in his tone, nor teasing but it made you cringe internally anyways.

“I wish you hadn’t.” you whispered, walking into your tent.

Astarion felt confused, he tried to follow you into your tent but was stopped by a similar shimmering force at the entrance of your tent. He stepped back, he could still see and hear you but he couldn’t get to you, couldn’t touch you.

“I would like to be alone.” you said picking up a book and sitting down, eyes never meeting him.

“Darling…” Astarion said quietly, noticing a few tears on your face. “Please let me in.”

“Why?” you spat, you wanted to fill your heart with anger in preparation for the negativity you were sure you were about to receive.

“I let you in.” he spoke softly, you knew he wasn’t just talking about his tent. He had shown you every facet of himself, the least you could do was let him into your damn tent.

He slowly pulled the book from your hands as he sat down, attempting to take them in his own. You pulled away quickly, crossing your arms over your chest. He felt a pang of hurt within him but pushed it aside. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Well, get on with it…” you huffed out shakily.

“I have to say… that was pretty powerful magic you were doing back there…” you snorted a bit at his comment. ‘If only you knew’ you thought.

“Freaky, right? Strange? Unnatural? Unholy?” you rambled off sounding angrier by the second. Your walls were building back up at breakneck speed, preparing for the worst.

“My sweet, why do you sound so upset? I thought what you were doing was quite… amazing. Honestly… everyone looked so elated, thanks to you.” your eyes flicked to his.

“I know it’s weird to be so… involved with the dead. I never wanted you to see me doing anything like that… but they sounded so sad, so lonely…” you tried to explain yourself.

Astarion chuckled, causing you to snap your head up. “My precious, you do realize I am undead? I think I might understand better than anyone why you wanted to give those souls a reprieve. It was… sweet of you.” he smiled at you tentatively, hesitantly going for your hand. He smoothed his thumb over the back of it.

You wanted to trust him, to believe him. Yet a voice still tugged at your mind. “You think so?” you whispered.

“Darling you gave them a few minutes of life, do you know how sacred that must be for them? And you did it out of the kindness of your heart. Now that, is truly meaningful. That shows the soul you possess.” Astarion moved his other hand to cup your cheek, tilting your face to be level with his.

Your eyes were glossy, “I just don’t want to be too different. Too strange.”

“You are quite strange… it’s quite possibly my favorite thing about you.” he smiled, his fangs peaking out a bit. “Do you know why I rest on your chest so much?”

You shook your head ‘no’ at him.

“I do it so I can listen to your heart. I feel almost as if mine beats with yours for the first time in centuries when I hear it. Strong. Compassionate. Wonderful.” you tilted your head into his hand, kissing his palm.

“I love you.” you said quietly.

Astarion smiled, you had only said those words to each other once before when your emotions became too much to hold inside.

“And I you, endlessly my strange little love.” he kissed you deeply yet gently before laying you both down. He settled in his usual spot, listening to your heart. Strong, even, calm.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope everyone likes this piece, it came to me suddenly as I am in fact writing and posting it at damn near 2 AM #worthit. I think I might try to write another this weekend but I work tomorrow and have been pretty exhausted (mentally and physically) as of late so idk, no promises. Anyways - thanks for all the likes comments, reblogs, and requests! Ilysm xoxoxoxo, talk soon.

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13lunarstar · 2 months ago

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About Dwadashamsha (D-12 chart)

As we have entered a special period called Pitru Paksha, it is good to remember the D-12 divisional chart or Dwadashamsha, which reveals ancestral heritage and our own place in our family lineage. But first, a few words about Pitru Paksha.

Pitru Paksha is a 16-day period in the Hindu calendar dedicated to honouring ancestors, observed during the waning phase of the Moon in the month of Bhadrapada (September-October). During this time, Hindus perform rituals such as Shradh and Tarpan to pay respects to their passed ancestors and seek their blessings. In general, it is a good time to spend e.g., exploring your family history, making a family tree, learning about your ancestors’ lives, visiting cemeteries and paying respects at the resting places of your passed relatives. It is believed that the souls of ancestors return to earth during these days, and offerings of food, water, and prayers help ensure their peace and contentment in the afterlife. This period holds great significance for receiving ancestral blessings, resolving issues like Pitru Dosha (ancestral curses), and promoting family harmony. The final day, Mahalaya Amavasya, is considered the most important, marking the end of Pitru Paksha.

D-12 Chart

The D-12 divisional chart, a.k.a Dwadasamsa chart, is an important tool in Vedic astrology for analyzing matters related to one's family lineage, ancestors, and parental influences. The D-12 chart focuses on the influences passed down from our ancestors, especially from parents, grandparents and so on. It is derived from dividing each sign of the zodiac into 12 parts, hence the name "Dwadasamsa" (Dwadasha means "12" in Sanskrit).

Key Areas Analyzed in the D-12 Chart:

Parental Influence:

The D-12 chart is primarily used to understand the relationship with one's parents and the impact of parental upbringing on the individual's life.

It shows the karma related to one’s parents, indicating how their behaviour, health, and fortunes may influence the native.

Ancestral Lineage and Heritage:

The chart reveals ancestral patterns and influences, both positive and negative, that may be inherited from past generations.

Ancestral blessings or unresolved issues, like Pitru Dosha (ancestral curse), can be seen in this chart.

The strengths and weaknesses of the family tree, including traditions, values, and health traits, are also reflected.

Health and Longevity of Parents:

The health of parents and their longevity can be examined through the D-12 chart. It can give insights into the wellbeing of parents and any potential issues they may face.

If malefic planets (Sun, Mars, Saturn) are prominent, it may indicate challenges or struggles related to parents.

Inheritance of Karma:

The D-12 chart provides insight into how ancestral karma (good or bad) affects the native. This karma may manifest as opportunities or challenges in the individual's life, and rituals like Shradh (ancestor worship) can help resolve or mitigate ancestral issues.

Family Fortunes and Reputation:

It reflects the status and reputation of the family as a whole. The condition of the planets in this chart reveals the level of respect and honour the family holds in society and how it will affect the native's own standing.

Spiritual Heritage:

The chart indicates the level of spiritual heritage passed down through the family. If benefic planets like Jupiter, Moon and Venus are well-placed, it shows the individual inherits spiritual wisdom, strong values, and a good moral foundation from their lineage.

How to Analyze Family and Ancestors in the D-12 Chart:

Ascendant (Lagna):

The ascendant (Lagna) and its lord in the D-12 chart represent the overall physical and psychological influence of family and ancestors on the native. It can show how much of the ancestral traits or karma the individual inherits. Also, Lagna and its lord in a certain house show which role the native has in his or her lineage (they can be positive and negative).

Sun (Father) and Moon (Mother):

Sun represents the father in a horoscope, and its placement in the D-12 chart shows the native’s connection with paternal ancestors.

Moon represents the mother, and its position indicates the maternal influence. The condition of these planets helps assess how well-supported or challenged the native’s life is due to parental and ancestral energies.

Fourth House:

The fourth house is significant for matters related to the mother, family, heritage, and property. In the D-12 chart, this house shows how the native connects emotionally with the family and the security provided by their ancestors.

Ninth House:

The ninth house represents father and ancestral wisdom. It reflects spiritual guidance and the influence of ancestors on higher learning, ethics, and fortune.

The ninth house and its lord in the D-12 chart give key indications of the native’s ancestral blessings, spiritual inheritance, and how much support the individual receives from their father and paternal lineage.

Planets and Their Conditions:

Jupiter is a significant planet in understanding ancestral blessings as it represents wisdom, tradition, and knowledge passed down from elders. Therefore, strong Jupiter gives prosperity and luck, while Jupiter in its fall is weaker and restrains from a continuous expansion and luck.

Saturn represents karmic inheritance and may indicate ancestral debts or obligations if it is afflicted.

The placement and condition of Rahu and Ketu (the lunar nodes) can show past-life karmas and the type of ancestral energies (positive or negative) carried forward.

Malefic and Benefic Influences:

If malefic planets like Rahu, Saturn, or Mars are prominently placed in the D-12 chart, especially if they are affecting the Sun, Moon, or the fourth/ninth houses, it may indicate ancestral challenges (karmic debts) or Pitru Dosha. This could lead to difficulties in life such as delays, health issues, or strained family relationships.

Benefic planets like Jupiter and Venus, on the other hand, show positive ancestral inheritance, such as wisdom, wealth, and spiritual support.

Remedies for Ancestral Issues:

If the D-12 chart reveals ancestral difficulties or Pitru Dosha, the following remedies can help alleviate these issues:

Performing Shradh: During Pitru Paksha, performing Shradh and offering food, water, and donations to honour the ancestors is a powerful remedy.

Tarpan: Offering water and prayers regularly to ancestors can help resolve any karmic debts inherited from them.

Donations and Charity: Performing charity in the name of ancestors can bring relief from inherited challenges and help receive blessings.

Chanting Mantras: Reciting mantras like the Pitru Suktam or performing Pitru Gayatri mantra helps in pacifying the souls of ancestors.

May the power of our Ancestors come with us!

#vedic astrology #jyotish #13lunarstar #vargas #D-12 varga #divisional chart

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chickenparm · 1 year ago

Text

Thorough (Wriothesley/afab!Reader)

happy halloween, we're suckin' and fuckin' in a graveyard.

---

AO3 Link

Wriothesley/afab!Reader (female anatomy, no pronouns)

3,212 Words - NSFW

(mild consensual non-con, handjob, handcuffs, use of anal plug, power dynamics, fingering, cavity search, pre-established relationship, i wasn't kidding it's in a graveyard)

---

It’s a good hiding spot, you think. No escaped prisoner would be brazen enough to hunker down in a place like this. Maybe it’s a little cliche, and if you were any less than you are, you’d be worried about something spooky. But under the moon it’s just mausoleums, rows of tombstones in varied states of care, you, and the loose clothing hanging off your frame. The least they could do is get you some standard-issue prisoner’s clothes in a size that’s appropriate.

A shiver runs through you, just from the cold. Not that it’s a little unsettling being here at night. But it’s just so quiet, only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, a slight dryness to it thanks to the changing of the seasons. The air even smells a little different, a little more crisp as you inhale deeply and get a move on.

Among the tombstones, you feel too exposed. It allows you to see around yourself to make sure no one is tailing you closely - and they are tailing you - but it also means that the vision will go both ways. No matter who you are, being in a cemetery at night isn’t normal behavior. As the larger constructs of mausoleums and tombs grow closer, you pickup the pace, pulling the collar of your shirt back up from where it sags on your shoulder.

They’re close together, with enough space to walk single-file between them. Fontaine has a long history, shown in the rows of noble-blooded family resting sites, one after another after another. You feel a little safer, less exposed when it’s you and the marble on each side of you, your fingers running across the chilled stone. Not even your own footsteps echo - the leaves haven’t blown far enough to fall here.

Maybe it’s best to just settle here for the night. To wait until your pursuers lose hope that you’re nearby, and you’ll have a little more wiggle room to plan your next moves. Leaving the country for sure; you’ve heard good things about Natlan and its hot springs. Warmth sounds really nice right about now, a little shiver bringing goosebumps along your skin as you turn down a different row.

It’s darker here, the moon at just the right angle to cast everything in shadow. It calms you a little, lets you slow down and take a deeper breath, another shudder as your lungs fill with cold air. God, why couldn’t you have committed a felony in the summertime?

That cold air in your lungs is swiftly forced out, your cheek smacking against the marble as a weight pushes in against you from behind. There’s that warmth you were thinking of, pressed against the length of your back, breezing across your face as you look over your shoulder and your stomach drops.

“Almost got me good, you know,” his voice rolls across your skin as surely as his breath. “I thought, surely you wouldn’t be brave enough to hide out in a place like this.”

And then he laughs, low and from the bottom of his chest, yet it still makes your spine vibrate with its proximity, “But you were brave enough to run from the authorities. Brave, or stupid. Maybe a little of both; I’ll be generous.”

And in response, you say nothing at all. What is there to do but plead for your freedom, spout apologies, spit insults back at him? None of that would change the fact that he’s got you in custody again, and the latter would certainly make all of this worse. So you pull your lower lip between your teeth and try not to shake as he makes a little tsk noise with his teeth. “Right to remain silent, of course. Unfortunately, there are no attorneys around to represent you, so you’ll just have to trust I’m doing it right, hm?”

Wriothesley’s hands, palms pressed into your shoulder blades to hold you still, start to run down your sides, fingers dipping into every little space they can reach. “Now, you were out of my sight for a little while, so I’ll just have to conduct a search to make sure you didn’t pick up any contraband.”

You shake your head - of course you don’t have anything, you didn’t have time. But he continues on, sliding his hands along your arms, then back to your shoulders to feel around your too-loose collar. Nothing there either, of course.

Unthwarted, his fingers slide down your spine once more before easing along your waist toward the front, feeling at your waistline for anything tucked there. Unable to help yourself, you stammer, “I didn’t pick up anything, I-I swear-”

“Stuttering? Are you nervous?” Wriothesley’s hands pause for a moment, pressing into your lower stomach with light pressure, his pinky just beneath the band of your pants. “You have nothing to be nervous about… unless you have something to hide.”

And with that, his hands rise, dipping beneath your shirt to skin along your skin. There’s no way he doesn’t feel the goosebumps, or the way your breath catches as his fingers skim at the bottom of your ribs. Wriothesley must be able to feel your racing heart as one hand slips up the center of your chest to your sternum, fingers splaying out across your collarbones. “Hm. Nothing so far.”

Your eyes shut tighter, a shuddering breath leaves you as his hand moves to the side, sliding across the curve of your breast before he stops to squeeze, the heel of his palm dragging against your nipple - hardened from the cold, not from this. At least, you try to tell yourself that as he cock his head to the side curiously and his fingers tug to draw a little hiss from between your teeth.

“That was something, but not what I was looking for. We’ll come back to that.”

Your cheek presses hard against the marble of the mausoleum he has you pinned against, the cold seeping through your cheek enough to make your molars hurt with the change in temperature. Parting your lips, you suck in a lungful of that same chilly air as he releases your breast and travels further down.

The tip of his pinky beneath the cheap elastic of your pants has been humming at the back of your mind throughout this exchange, demanding attention enough for you to remember it’s there. You don’t forget, especially now that one finger has turned to five, then ten as his hands slip beneath. One holds you steady at the hip while the other brazenly cups you, the tip of his middle finger dipping in just so.

Your thighs clench together, a reflex born from the unexpected suddenness of it all. Like you didn’t know this would happen the moment you saw his expression over your shoulder when you slipped away from him and the Gardes in Vasari Passage.

Wriothesley notes your instinct, the way you close your legs tighter as if to keep him out - or keep him close. A little cooing sound leaves him, as if he finds your reactions impossibly amusing, “Aw, did I not say this was a cavity search?”

Dumbly - because you feel dumb - you shake your head, and he leans in to laugh against the shell of your ear, his breath warm enough against the cold skin that you feel it condensating.

“Oops.”

That teasing fingertip presses harder, curling up through your undeniable wetness until it strokes against your clit once, then again when he decides he likes the way your hips rock at the sensation. Your spine curls, arching against the wall in a way that you’d feel shame for in just a moment. But for now, your mind is whirling and his finger is dragging wet little circles that make your nails scratch uselessly against the perfect, polished stone.

There’s nothing for you to grab on to, nothing to brace yourself with as he toys with you.

“Wri-”

“Your Grace,” Wriothesley corrects you, pressing hard against your clit to push the line of pain. The motion steals your words, and he only makes a little sound that sounds awfully close to, “Oh well.”

With a drag, his hand releases your pussy, smearing wetness up and over your hip as both pull free of your clothing. A bit of relief flows through you, barely noticeable from the frustration of his little game. You didn’t think the Duke was one to be cruel, but you had broken the law. It should’ve been expected.

Roughly, he snatches your hands from where they’re flat against the marble, tugging them behind your back with an ominous rapid-fire clicking of his cuffs. They’re frigid against your skin as he binds them at your lower back, something he should have done when they first picked you up. But you’d been so well behaved, he’d remarked when you went so willingly into custody.

Fear has a way of shaking things up, and now that you’re completely at his mercy, it’s potent in your throat with its incessant squeezing. Patiently you lean against the wall, waiting and waiting for him to start to drag you away. Yet all you hear is the shifting of fabric, the jingle of something that sounds like a belt buckle, and then something hot is pressed into your hand behind your back.

“Just… hold ‘em right there. Where I-... mmh… can see ‘em.”

Wriothesley’s hips roll forward, his cock thrusting into your curled fingers, abundant arousal catching on your palm and easing his way as he does it again and again. With a slap that startles you into squeezing your hand around him tighter, his palm smacks against the wall next to your face to brace himself against the movements of his own hips.

Heat burns at your cheeks, creeps down your neck, makes your thighs press together as he uses you to get himself off with slow, languid rocking. Like he has all the time in the world. In truth, he does, because who else would come looking for the two of you in a graveyard? No one is coming to find you, no one will see the Duke of Meropide rutting himself against your cuffed hands.

Each push forward comes with a little groan in your ear, his knuckles bleeding whiter as his fingertips press and press against the mausoleum wall. You’re entranced by them, your eyes watching as his grip starts to slip with the sweating of his palms. Zoned out, eyes glazed over, your mind takes in the hotness against your palm, the weight of his cock as your fingers close a little tighter.

The sound of his quiet appreciative moan in your ear.

It makes your jaw tick, your eyes refocus on the moment, just in time for Wriothesley to pull back and leave your hand wet with pre cum that chills rapidly in the autumn air. He hadn’t finished - denied himself of it, it seems. Wriothesley doesn’t lean on you for support, instead using the wall over your shoulder with both hands, just for a moment to catch his barely-lost breath.

And then both hands leave your vision, curling around the band of your pants again. Anticipation floods your veins, making you tense as he snaps it against your skin once. “Got a little distracted, sorry about that. Back to business - we’re not done with the cavity search.”

Your knee jerks, smacking painfully against the wall as you instinctively try to stop him, but his chest presses you flat against the surface with a quiet sound of sympathy to placate you, “I’ll be quick, just relax. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about running from me, hm?”

Not running from the authorities, or from the Gardes, but from Wriothesley.

The curve of your ass is revealed as he tugs your pants down enough to get at what he needs. Closing your eyes, holding your breath, you wait on the precipice as his fingers squeeze against your cheeks, then pull apart to scrutinize your ass.

And then laughter, disbelieving and a bit more elated than you expected. “You little liar. And to think I almost trusted you when you said you didn’t have anything to hide.”

His hand on the right shifts, his thumb pressing forward, pushing on the flared base of the plug to force it a little deeper, making you whimper breathlessly. The same fingers that pinched at your breast, toyed with your cunt, find purchase on the plug and tug on it a little, just enough for the flare to pull out a little, to test the tight ring of your hole before letting go. You can feel his interested gaze as it goes back in, the base sitting snugly against you once more.

“Spread your legs. Looks like I’ll have to be more thorough in prior places. You understand, right?”

You weakly nod, spreading as much as you’re able with your pants still caught on your mid-thigh. It’s good enough, you think, because he adjusts his position and he presses his cock against your cunt with very little preamble. Just a single moment for you to take a breath, to reconcile all of this, to say you don’t understand.

But you don’t, and you take that breath, and look at him over your shoulder with eyes that plead for him to do it. And he does, with one long, slow stroke that makes you feel every inch of him. Everything feeling is magnified, your breath turning into a low moan as both of your holes are filled, each feeling tighter together than they would have alone.

“Your Grace…”

“Don’t cum,” Wriothesley orders, hand curled around your hip, squeezing in emphasis of his warning, “little liars have to face their punishment.”

“Please-”

“Hush, or the sentence is just going to be worse.” You don’t doubt it, and you keep your mouth shut even around your moans as he crowds you further against the wall, your arms shifting uncomfortably with the cuffs at your wrists. “Take what you’re given. Be grateful that it is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It doesn’t even sound like it’s affecting him, but you know it is. You can feel the way his pace picks up when he shifts and his cock drags perfectly inside you. The plug in your ass makes it all the better for him, but it doesn’t seem to be quite enough. Lost in your own haze of pleasure and a desperation not to succumb to it, you don’t notice his wandering fingers until they’re already tugging on the plug again.

The sudden shift, the slight stretch as he pulls on it, makes you tense and tighten and bear down on his cock in a way that makes him laugh through his pleased groan. “Nice, just like that… knew you could be amenable.”

It rankles at you, and your fists tighten. One of them is sticky, the remnants of his use before he abandoned that for elsewhere on your body. And yet you can do nothing but bite your tongue and taste the blood that blooms faintly in your mouth, hoping the pain will distract you from the way his cock nudges insistently against something inside that makes you want to scream loud enough to wake every one of the remains in this graveyard.

But beyond disturbing the dead, it would also likely bring someone curious. Some caretaker or passerby that can’t leave well enough alone. As much as you want this to end differently, you don’t particularly want to end it prematurely. So you keep your mouth shut and let your eyes roll behind closed lids as he fucks you against the wall of some mausoleum that belongs to a family you’d never heard of before.

Meeting his demand is a near impossible task. You think you’re going to fail with how he pulls and twists at your contraband, how his free hand curls around your shoulder to pull you back onto each thrust. But then he snaps first, his grip turning from the pads of his fingers to nails digging into the loose fabric and the skin beneath.

The length of him pushes as deep as he can, pressing his entire body against you, up against the wall until your toes barely reach the gravel below. It’s like he can’t drive himself far enough in, even as he throbs inside with each rope of his cum you’re given.

With a little slide, he pulls back and you barely catch yourself on your wobbling feet. You did as he asked, you didn’t disobey for fear of a longer sentence. You were well behaved - willing. But you’re still surprised when he fixes his clothing in a deft move then takes a knee behind you.

Craning your neck to try and look back and down at him, you cry out as you’re given no warning when two of his fingers slide inside and hook. His thumb finds your clit with clumsy, rough circles that still do a hell of a job making you writhe as he works you over quickly. It’s torture, one that you can’t endure for long, and you plead, “Please, Wriothesley-”

“Oh, yeah, no you’re good. Cum hard, push it all out.” A brush of his lips against the swell of your ass that turns into the feeling of his teeth in a little grin. “Wonder if I could make you do it hard enough to push your little toy out, too.”

Really, you’d love to have this conversation later, but he’s got all the time in the world to chat away as you writhe on his fingers and feel the remnants of his release drip down the inside of your left thigh. “I’ll be honest, that was a nice surprise. You hadn’t mentioned you were gonna do that.”

“Wriothesley, please-”

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that a lot. Alright, anything for you.”

The words are like an invisible tripwire, one that sends you tumbling end over end as your shoulders roll forward and you arch in on yourself under the weight of your orgasm. Wriothesley is relentless, watching with an attentive gaze as you leak down your thighs, along his fingers, into the fabric of his wrappings. And you’ll never see him use the same ones again, unaware of what he does with them.

That thought doesn’t get to live in your mind long as it peters out into some strange white noise that could be a short circuit, or just your blood rushing in your ears. Vaguely you feel him cleaning you up with a square of fabric from his pocket, his hands working quickly to fix your clothes and then wrap you tight in the very jacket he’d been wearing.

It’s warm. It smells like him, comfortable and familiar, tea and whatever brand of aftershave he’s been fond of lately. Against your ear, he asks if your legs work or if you need to hitch a ride, then doesn’t wait for an answer as he scoops you into his arms.

You’d like to apologize to whatever resting place you just desecrated, but as you look over Wriothesley’s shoulder, you honestly couldn’t pick out which one it was from this distance.

Hopefully they’ll understand.

#mind the a/n for content tags #wriothesley #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mdni #nsft #x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley/reader #genshin #genshin x reader

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talonabraxas · 1 month ago

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Anubis Talon Abraxas

Anubis The Jackal God

Anubis was either seen as a man with a jackal head or completely in the form of a jackal.

In ancient Egypt, scavengers like jackals ruled the cemeteries. They dug up the freshly buried and tore at their flesh and ate it. Historians believe that this is what prompted the ancients to portray the god of the afterlife as a jackal, to fight fire with fire. New genetic research indicates that the ancient Egyptian jackal is not a jackal at all, but an ancient wolf.

Anubis’ skin is often depicted as black, while jackals are typically brown. The reason is that the color black is a symbol of death, but also a symbol of the Nile’s fertile and black soil.

The Main Role of Anubis

Absolute ruler of the underworld

In very ancient history Anubis was known to be the absolute ruler of the underworld (called Duat). Later theories indicate that this role was taken over by Osiris. Anubis was responsible for overseeing the realm of the dead and ensuring the souls of the deceased were guided safely to their final resting place. As the ruler of the underworld, Anubis was also tasked with maintaining order, protecting the dead from malevolent forces, and ensuring the proper balance between the worlds of the living and the dead.

The Guardian of the Scales:

One of his many roles surrounding the dead included the Guardian of Scales where he dictated the fate of souls. As depicted in the Book of the Dead, Anubis weighs the decedent’s heart against the weight of a feather. The feather represents “Ma’at” or truth. If the scale of justice tipped toward the heart, the dead person would be consumed by Ammit, a female demon the ancient Egyptian people dubbed “devourer of the dead.” If the scale of justice tipped toward the feather, Anubis would lead the decedent to Osiris so he could ascend to a worthy existence in heaven.

The God of embalming and mummification:

Anubis held the important role of overseeing the embalming and mummification of the dead. It was essential to the ancient Egyptian belief in the afterlife. Mummification was intended to preserve the body, allowing the soul, or "ka", to recognize and reunite with it in the afterlife. Anubis was believed to oversee and guide the embalmers during the mummification process. Anubis' role as the god of mummification solidified his importance in the spiritual journey of the deceased.

Several rituals were performed to honor Anubis during the mummification process. One such ritual was the "Opening of the Mouth" ceremony, which involved a priest wearing an Anubis mask and touching the mouth of the mummy or statue with special tools. This ritual was believed to restore the deceased's ability to speak, breathe, eat, and drink in the afterlife. Offerings of food, drink, and other necessities were presented to Anubis, seeking his favor and protection throughout the mummification process and the journey to the afterlife.

The daughter of Anubis (Kebechet), is frequently seen as his assistant in the mummification process of the dead. Ancient Egyptians believed that Anubis sniffed the bodies of the dead, so they preserved them with sweet smelling herbs and plants.

Protector of Tombs:

As the Egyptian god responsible for protecting the dead, many prayers to Anubis were carved into their tombs and offerings were made to him to ensure the safety of the deceased's remains. Anubis his role as protector of the deathextended to both the physical protection of the tombs from grave robbers and the spirutual protection of the death from malovent forces Anubis held this role until Osiris gained popularity and took it over.

Scepter and ankh

In ancient Egyptian art, Anubis is often depicted holding specific items that symbolize his roles and responsibilities. The most common objects held by Anubis are the "was" scepter and the "ankh."

The "was" scepter (𓏭) is a long staff with a forked base and a stylized animal head at the top, typically that of a canine. This powerful symbol represents dominion, power, and authority, signifying Anubis' status as a guardian and protector of the dead. However, the "was" scepter is not exclusive to Anubis, as it can also be seen in the hands of other Egyptian gods and pharaohs.

The "ankh" (☥) is a well-known ancient Egyptian symbol that resembles a cross with a loop at the top. It represents the concept of eternal life and is often called the "key of life" or the "key of the Nile." When Anubis holds the ankh, it symbolizes his role in guiding the souls of the deceased to eternal life in the afterlife.

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lgbtqreads · 6 months ago

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Hi! I would love to hear some of your all time favourties :)

Okay, but as long as we acknowledge it’s just some. I always accidentally leave out huge favorites! (All links are to Bookshop, except where they don’t carry said book, because may as well treat yourself and support LGBTQReads and independent bookstores at the same time, right?)

YA Thriller:

Female protag: Sadie by Courtney Summers

Male protag: Last Seen Leaving by Caleb Roehrig

Contemporary YA Romance

m/m: Beating Heart Baby by Lio Min

f/f: She Gets the Girl by Alyson Derrick and Rachael Lippincott

m/f: Hot Dog Girl by Jennifer Dugan

Heavier contemporary YA, all of which totally coincidentally have bi protags:

Full Disclosure by Camryn Garrett

The Last True Poets of the Sea by Julia Drake

Girl Made of Stars by Ashley Herring Blake

Every Time You Hear That Song by Jenna Voris

History is All You Left Me by Adam Silvera

It Goes Like This by Miel Moreland (Please read it if you’re a fan of stuff like Daisy Jones and the Six, pleeeease)

Paranormal YA: Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas

YA Sci-fi: The Disasters by MK England

YA Fantasy:

Standalone: Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust

Duology: The Midnight Lie by Marie Rutkoski

Trilogy: Black Wings Beating by Alex London

YA Horror: The City Beautiful by Aden Polydoros

YA Magical Realism: Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore

YA Fabulism: This Rebel Heart by Katherine Locke

Historical YA: The above two titles and Self-Made Boys by Anna-Marie McLemore

YA Graphic Novels:

Male protag: Flamer by Mike Curato

Female protag: Mooncakes by Suzanne Walker and Wendy Xu (but truly, The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich by Deya Muniz is right behind it)

New Adult Romance:

m/m: Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

f/f: Treasure by Rebekah Weatherspoon

m/f: Hold Me by Courtney Milan

Adult Contemporary Romance:

m/m: The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun

f/f: Mistakes Were Made by Meryl Wilsner

m/f: The Intimacy Experiment by Rosie Danan

polyam: Triple Sec by TJ Alexander (f/f/gq)

Adult Historical Romance:

m/m: We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian

f/f: The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite

Adult Contemporary Fiction:

In at the Deep End by Kate Davies

The Guncle by Steven Rowley

Endpapers by Jennifer Savran Kelly

Body Grammar by Jules Ohman

Adult Mystery Series:

Contemporary: Roxane Weary by Kristen Lepionka

Historical: Evander Mills by Lev A.C. Rosen

Adult Thriller:

Male protag: Yes, Daddy by Jonathan Parks-Ramage

Female protag: Temper by Layne Fargo

Adult Horror: Tripping Arcadia by Kit Mayquist

Adult Science Fantasy: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (adult science fantasy)

Adult Fantasy:

Standalone: The Book Eaters by Sunyi Dean

Series: The Unspoken Name by AK Larkwood (please for the love of god at least try this if you’re a huge fan of Gideon already)

Adult Sci-Fi: This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

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argisthebulwark · 1 year ago

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Opposites Attract Trope

summary: Short drabbles about the opposite type partners I think silly Skyrim men would have. gn, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Balimund, Cicero, Miraak, Brynjolf, Farkas warnings: none

For someone living such a steady lifestyle, Balimund is surprised by how much he likes the Dragonborn. They're always on the move, changing plans and trekking across the continent at a moment's notice. He enjoys hearing all their stories when they find time for a dinner with him. There's often gaps between visits but they ensure one night in Riften before moving on again. They appreciate the comfort and stability he provides and their sporadic appearances add some excitement to his life.

After meeting the Listener many thought they'd detest Cicero - they're silent, quite stoic. Rarely interact with others. They absorb conversations but don't often speak. It's quite subtle but others start to notice clues; Cicero making jokes and the Listener cracks a smile. He's allowed to place a hand on their shoulder without a threat. It's shocking. When he calls them his 'dearest, beloved Listener' or refers to himself as the 'lovesick fool' all other assassins realize there is much more between the Keeper and his Listener.

The Last Dragonborn is intelligent, curious, and don't seem to care for power. Even the Thu'um means little to them. Miraak is fascinated by their lack of ego - do they not realize the potential they hold? He finds himself watching them more, taking interest in the most minute details of their daily life. It's purely for research purposes, of course. It has absolutely nothing to do with the way they laugh at his attempts to intimidate them or the rush he feels on the rare occasion they enter Apocrypha.

Brynjolf can't seem to stop himself from flirting with the cute guard stationed near the cemetery. They act annoyed by his honeyed words but he begins to notice the near constant flush in their face in his presence and the unconscious way they gravitate toward each other. He jokes about getting caught just to be under their care for his entire sentence. They warn that they aren't sure they'd let him go. It's playful banter but there's certainly something more beneath the surface. The quick meetings in secret rapidly become a highlight in lives controlled by their respective Guilds.

When Vilkas notified him of a historian visiting Jorrvaskr Farkas hardly gave it a second thought. Vilkas is the history buff, he'll handle all their questions without needing to bother him. He forgot most of the history Kodlak taught him before he could carry a greatsword. But when they ask to meet with him specifically, Farkas finds himself a bit flustered. They're cute and want to listen to everything he has to say. They never judge him when he mixes up names or admits to not remembering it clearly. He'll spill whatever story they want to hear. He cozies up to them in the evenings, introducing them to the other Companions and threatening anyone who looks at them wrong.

#skyrim #writing #x reader #x reader fanfic #Balimund #Cicero #Miraak #Brynjolf #Farkas #skyrim fanfic

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lucysgraybird · 4 months ago

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another lil farmers daughter!reader x billy. extremely self indulgent, not proofread, the whole works. enjoy!

it's been a few weeks since billy first arrived in your little jagged slice of midwest, and trust has bloomed between you two faster than the grass you coax life back into after every brutal winter. he indulges you in a way that no one ever has - hes never once criticized your choice to stay in this tiny, failing town, or asked why you ramble through places so ruinous. instead, he indulges you, pointing out wildflowers that might be nice to pick and place on graves on one of your walks through the local cemetery, and accompanies you on late-night wanderings through town. on more than one occasion, especially as the dog days of august start to roll in, these walks end in his motel room. it's nothing untoward; he's never once tried anything with you, but honestly, for all its failings, the motel is air conditioned and as temperatures hover around 80 even in the darkest depths of the night and humidity makes everything sticky and thick, the icy air that rattles from the window unit is more than welcome.

he pulls you to lean your head on the soft muscle where shoulder meets chest, perfectly angled for him to pet through your hair, which is sticky and tangling with cooling sweat. it is quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the neon sign outside, and you stare at the whorls in the wood paneling on the walls.

it is not so much that you were expecting billy to never leave as you were trying to ignore the eventuality. you know no one stays in a place like this, but your heart twists in a way you've never felt before when he tugs on a strand of your hair and tells you that he's gotten word that the job is starting soon - a tornado tore through the site, can you believe that? it's taken them weeks to get it back up and running - and he'll be driving out in a few days' time. he indulges your silence for a moment, then rushes out a plea for you to come with.

you think about the past few weeks. it's cheesy, but you realize how much of a monotony you've been living in when you're with him. he never tries to interrupt it, but by just being there he has lit up your world. things are less aimless while he's around, ramblings have a purpose beyond something to just occupy your time.

in your contemplation, you have become silent, and billy presses his cheek to the top of your head. he says he knows it's a big ask and, hey, listen, this job will take a couple of months. why don't you think about it and talk to your parents? he'll understand if you can't leave, he won't hold it against you. he told you he admired your connection to this place when he first met you, and that hasn't changed.

when you're tucked into bed that night, you pray and question and think. what, exactly, is it that keeps you here? is it your parents? they're not elderly and they do well by themselves as much as anyone does here, they'd be okay if you left so long as you promised to visit. it's not any old friends or valued places. as you tumble these thoughts in your head, you realize that nothing is keeping you here so much as you've never had a reason to leave, and suddenly, maybe, you do? you do. it's not abandoning your history, it's something that you'll always carry with you in the way you talk and love and pray, in the way that your first instinct will always be to help a neighbor. it's expanding it, allowing for more, allowing for...well, you suppose you'll find out.

so over the next three months, you pack up your life. you talk your parents into letting you go at all - you have money saved, you promise your mother, if things go south, you can make it on your own or come back home. you won't be stuck. it's something that's equally as important to you as it is to her; you refused to be stuck in the narrative that you should've left this town years ago, you refuse to be stuck anywhere else, either. your childhood bedroom in boxes is staggering to see. there's an ache to see how few boxes it took to pack up your life.

when billy returns, he insists on loading them into his truck. your father insists on helping him, presumably to give billy the shovel talk that you catch snippets of and has you burning red in the face. at the end of it, though, he's clapping billy on the back and shaking his hand, then turning to hug you in a way that is both more fierce and more tender than you think he ever has. your mother just squeezes your hand and extricates a promise of a labor-day visit home from you before you climb into the passenger seat of billy's truck. he lets you choose the cd for the drive from your hometown down to new mexico, and just rests a hand on your thigh and rubs with his thumb when you begin to cry a few hours in. somehow, he knows that you don't need to talk about it, that you can't talk about it.

the drive takes longer than it should, because you've confided in billy that you've never travelled out of your hometown and he's determined to show you every landmark (of his designation) along the way. sometimes these are kitschy tourist stops, like an enormous dinosaur statue or ball of yarn, but more often they're smaller things, like a natural spring or a pretty outcropping of rock or a hike he insists on because you have to see the view. you realize that he is a rambler too, just on a bigger scale than you've been able to be, and something hot flares in your chest. you will wander, with him and apart. with him, it will create moments that are just for the two of you, inimitable by any other people in any other time. apart, you will create stories for each other upon reunion, and in each other there will be something grounding - a home - to put a happily ever after on every fairy tale you get to live.

#these arent like. billy centric i kinda feel bad for tagging them as x readers #i fear i just like this reader #billy the kid #tom blyth #billy the kid x reader #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid imagine #billy bonney #billy the kid hc #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney imagine #william h bonney #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid series #billy the kid x you

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