#thought from the fig tree

[catinafigtree]

Reading a book about women scholars of Islam (in PDF, which is terrible on the eyes) and I was expecting it to be good, but it's not.

There have been a couple of quotes that I was like... "oh"

but the most recent one actually made me mad and I can't tell if I'm just being sensitive

[throughparisallthroughrome]

The Sun and His Star

The Result of This Poll

Pairing: greek god!anakin x female reader

Description: Unable to resist a friendly wager, Anakin finds himself in a world of trouble as he seeks out a Naiad he has fallen deeply in love with.

Warnings: f!reader, swearing, angst, unrequited love, mentions of death, mentions of worship, alcohol, SMUT, fingering, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, degradation, literal pussy worship, loss of virginity, corruption kink, crying, size kink, soft dom!anakin, praise kink, orgasm denial, MDNI 18+++

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I have been SO excited to post this. This is also my first time writing actual smut and i'm pretty nervous about posting this! This is very loosely based of the myth of Apollo and Daphne, except that myth is pretty creepy and Daphne turns into a tree at the end of it so I wanted something a little more happy. Thank you guys for participating in my poll! I really hope you enjoy. As always, my requests and inbox are open!

masterlist.

Thwap!

Almost.

As Anakin's fingers trace the intricate details of his golden bow, his focused eyes never leave the target, anticipating a shot that he thinks to be perfect. Squinting his eyes, he tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. His mind ran through different calculations at a million miles a minute. Perks of being a God, I suppose.

He shook his head in frustration, allowing the bow to slip from his hand and rest beside his belongings as he sought reassurance from the comforting embrace of the ancient fig tree. Although he had the entirety of Olympus to practice, Anakin always chose the hills and forests of Macedonia, knowing the only thing he could possibly run into was a bear. And running into bears was fun for the Sun God, as archery usually is. How is the God of archery missing his shots? Anakin was lost, although he’d never admit it.

His slender fingers traced the grass, memorizing each blade's touch as he became increasingly fascinated with the Greek world. He brushed back his chestnut locks with his free hand, letting his eyes close as he breathed in the mortal air surrounding him. Greece was better than Olympus; it was his missing piece.

Things hadn’t been the same lately. Worshippers had died down at Delphi, and his typical “appear in their dreams nightmare route” wasn’t going so smoothly either. And now he’s struggling to make a shot? Could he even call himself a God, much less his father’s favorite?

Annoyed with his thoughts, Anakin summoned a fig to his hand, biting deeply into it- just for the taste. He chewed slowly, letting the juices run from his lips, down his chin, and onto his golden armor. And that was another amazing thing the Greek world had- fucking figs.

“Why so down, my friend?” Anakin’s eyes shot open out of his trance to meet his favorite rival, Obi-Wan Kenobi, God of Passion. Anakin’s fingers swiftly moved the arrow off the target behind him, not wanting Kenobi to catch his failure.

“How did you find me?” He stood up abruptly, dropping the fig onto the grass he was tracing before. His fists balled at his sides. Typically, they got along pretty okay, but with Anakin’s meandering mind, he was the last God he needed to see.

“Oh, you know, I just followed the foul stench of arrogance and failure into the Greek world. By the way, how would Zeus react if you were practicing down here, hm? Letting your talents go to waste, and possibly seen by mortals, not to mention-”

“Alright, Obi-Wan, I get it. You’ve made your point. What do you want?” Anakin watches as Obi-Wan’s smile grows before him, and a sinking feeling fills his chest.

“You don’t need to hide your failure from me, Anakin.” Obi-Wan lips turn into a smirk, watching as Anakin’s temper began to get the best of him once again.

“Obi-Wan, I’d be careful. I am Anakin, God of the sun, The All-father’s first-born son, and I will kick your ass all the way back to Olympus any fucking day. Try me. If I were you, I’d choose your next words carefully.” Anakin towers over Obi-Wan, his remarks laced with venom as he observes the smile grow on the God before him.

“I heard your worshippers are waning at Delphi. And now you’re missing your shots… Gods, Anakin, are you no longer Zeus’s favorite? What is going on with you?”

With Obi-Wan suggesting Anakin’s worst nightmare, Anakin had him up against the fig tree in seconds, his hands pulling up at his toga as rage coursed through his golden blood. His eyes searched Kenobi’s, watching the amusement dance within them. What was his game? What could he possibly want?

“Watch your fucking mouth, Kenobi. I’ll send your ass right down to Hades, and Zeus will not come to your aid again. There’s a reason I’m more powerful than you. What the fuck do you need love for when you can be God of the Sun? Zeus’s favored son? Huh? There’s a fucking reason I am celebrated more than you are. I don’t see your temples taking over the Greek world. I don’t see you massively worshipped-”

“Oh please, Anakin, they worship Ahsoka as much as they worship you. She’s your twin sister and equally on par with you despite being a goddess.” Anakin pulls a fist back and sends it flying into Kenobi’s jaw, watching as his golden blood pours from his nose and down his chin. Anakin grinned.

“Fucking watch it. That was the last comment you’re going to be making in a long, long time.” As Anakin pulls back his fist, Obi-Wan’s hands go up in defeat, signaling the white flag Anakin is looking for.

“How do you feel about a little wager?” He whispers, a hint of fear present in his voice as he watches Anakin’s golden eyes narrow at his proposition.

“And why the fuck would I do that, Kenobi, when sending you to Hades is just as easy?”

“Because I know you can’t resist a chance to prove yourself to be better than me.”

“Okay,” Anakin loosens his grip on Kenobi, letting him fall against the fig tree as he backs up and crosses his arms, “And what would this wager consist of? And make it quick- before I change my mind and punish you regardless.”

“Best of 3 shots. If you win, you can punish me as you deem necessary. If I win, well, how about we keep your punishment a surprise?” Obi-Wan pushes himself off the tree, summoning his bow and arrow in his hands as Anakin bites his lip skeptically.

“That’s too- No- what’s the catch?”

“If I win, you have to fall in love- no exceptions.”

“That’s it? Deal. This is too fucking easy.” Anakin shakes his head, picking up his golden bow and tracing the olive branch details on the upper limb.

“May Zeus be on your side, Anakin.” Kenobi holds out his hand for Anakin to shake, sealing their wager.

Anakin takes his hand, his grip firm, letting the eyes of his father, high up in Olympus, confirm the bet.

“You first, Obi-Wan.” Anakin chuckles, picking up an arrow and sharpening the end of it while Obi-Wan takes his stance in front of the tree, his shoulders relaxed, and eyes focused on the target in front of him.

Instant bullseye. Lucky shot.

Anakin says nothing, instead taking his place and shooting without hesitation.

Another instant bullseye. This was going to be closer than he thought.

Anakin’s eyes squint as he watches Kenobi make another bullseye. It’s now 2-1. Since when did Kenobi get so good at archery? Anakin shoots another bullseye, but it’s close, too close. He watches as Kenobi’s brows furrow slightly, his frustration growing alongside Anakin’s arrogance. Did he really think the God of archery would lose a challenge as simple as this?

Obi-Wan shoots his final shot.

Instant Bullseye. Fuck.

He turns around, placing his bow on his back and grinning at the angry God before him.

“May Zeus be on your side, old friend.” He repeats that phrase, eager to remind Anakin what was at stake. As he approaches Anakin to shake his hand, he grins as Anakin dodges it and steps up to the mark.

“Save it, Kenobi. I’m too excited to hear what Hades will do with you after this.”

As Anakin grips his bow, his hands are filled with sudden apprehension. He missed the shot just before Kenobi got here, and his last two were practically just luck, and- Actually, what the fuck is he even on about? He’s the God of archery, for fucks sake. Some measly love God wasn’t going to take this easy victory from him. No way. Anakin pulled an arrow from the sling on his back, letting it sit comfortably between his fingers as he lined up his shot. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his fingers do the work.

And with one swift motion of Obi-Wan’s wrist from behind him, Anakin tripped over a rock.

Miss.

“Wha- I- How? What the fuck did you do?” Anakin turned around, storming over to Kenobi who had his hands innocently raised in the air as he backed away from the angry God once again.

“I did nothing, Anakin. You lost, plain and simple.” Before Anakin had time to react, Obi-Wan’s bow was out again, this time with a red-tipped arrow.

The arrow slipped between Kenobi’s fingers, flying across the grass and into Anakin’s shoulder. He gasped, not in pain, but at the audacity of the God before him.

“Kenobi, this better not be one of your special arrows, or I swear to Zeus-” He grips the arrows, pulling it out of his skin, letting his golden blood drip onto his armor.

“Her name is Y/N. You can find her along the River Lamos. Good luck, old friend.”

And with that, he was gone.

—------------------------------

“Padme! These fucking mortals are pissing in the water again! I mean, how do they even find us out here? This is the furthest north they’ve gone in quite some time.” You let your knees hit the grass, running your fingers through the stream to purify the waters.

Sometimes, you quite hated being a Naiad. It had the perks of a goddess, but not quite the status. And Zeus forbid you ever tried to compare yourselves to a Goddess…

“Y/N, honey, have you ever tried to talk to a mortal? They aren’t the brightest. It’s not their fault Zeus made them that way.” Padme emerges from the waterfall behind you, offering her condolences as she places her hand on your shoulder.

“Maybe we should pray to Ahsoka and have her punish them.”

“Y/N! Don’t be harsh.” Padme’s jaw drops in fake shock, rolling her eyes as she joins you along the riverbed. “Besides, I heard Dionysis is throwing another rager tonight. Let’s focus on that.”

“Yeah, sure,” you mumble, picking up a rock and skipping across the water, avoiding the lilies that littered the surrounding stream.

Padme had always grounded you. You’d probably be lost without her. When you escaped your father as a child, Padme stuck by you in your request for freedom. Your new life, though promising, never quite managed to fill the void that had been there all along. As a Naiad, you felt the weight of responsibility for the ancient world, but the path laid before you was far from what you imagined. Your life was filled with adoration from cult leaders, lavish ceremonies, and the occasional taste of royalty on Mount Olympus - but an emptiness lingered within you. Something that trivial worship and sacrifice wouldn’t fulfill.

“Padme,” you pulled your hand from the water, picking a dandelion next to you and observing it. “Do you ever think about what our life would have been like if we never left Father?” She sighs.

“Y/N, if you’re questioning our decision, let me assure you, we made the right choice. To disobey the calling of such passion… well, I’d rather not debate it. Have honor in what we do, Y/N. We are irreplaceable.” Padme smiles gently at you, the sun bouncing off her chocolate eyes in a particularly irresistible way.

A forced grin stretched across your face, a desperate attempt to conceal your disdain for her reply. Padme had a knack for finding the silver lining - always seeing the good in people and situations, even when things seemed bleak. But it didn’t make the feeling disappear from within you. Every day was the same. The same taking care of the rivers and the forests. The same cults and sacrifices and worships and prayers and celebrations. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, but the truth was undeniable: you felt utterly lonely. You had Padme, but she was your sister, and she was supposed to be there. But as much as it ached you to say… You wanted a lover.

As a devotee of Ahsoka, the Goddess of the Hunt, you pledged your loyalty to her with a sacred vow. To remain pure. Sure, it was silly and not very feminist-positive of Ahsoka, but she was an Olympian. The Olympians were traditional in their ways. And that was something you had to deal with. Or workaround. Ahsoka was stubborn, much like her younger twin brother Anakin, but even though she was a woman, she was treated with the utmost respect and equality. You found yourself constantly drawn to her, admiring her strength and resilience. Every opportunity you had, you would go to her temples, offering your devotion and respect with each visit.

Snap.

Your heads snapped around in unison, your hearts pounding, as you braced for the appearance of an unfortunate mortal who had unknowingly interrupted you. However, standing behind you, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun, was none other than the Sun God himself, Anakin.

“Anakin! Your majesty, to what honor do we have to be graced with your presence?” Padme’s words were honey to your ears, and she quickly pulled you down into a curtesy next to you.

“I came for a Naiad by the name of Y/N.” Your heart dropped. Fuck. “I wish to seek her hand.” Padme turned to you, her eyes wide along with your slacked jaw. What the fuck was happening?

The first thing you noticed was his smile. A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face, the kind that made his whole body seem to radiate arrogance. Sure, he was attractive; he was an Olympian, after all, but there was something about him you couldn’t stand. There was no mistaking the pretentiousness. You had pictured him with golden hair, but his hair was a surprising chestnut brown, the curls soft and unruly, framing his face like a halo of warm sunlight. The intricate details of his armor were impressive, reminding you of his sister’s. And when your eyes met his, you saw that same hollow emptiness in his gaze, reflecting the void you carried within. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Hopefully, he wouldn’t ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Go!” Padme whisper-shouted next to you, pushing you forward.

“Your majesty,” You cringed at your words.

“Anakin.” He mused, his smirk growing as his eyes lingered on your form. Your wet dress suddenly felt a lot wetter tighter.

“Anakin,” You faked a smile, purely out of fear of what you’d do next. “As much as I am flattered by your offer, I made a sacred vow to your sister that I plan to uphold. I do apologize. I am honored to be considered by you.” He nodded slowly, his smile widening and his eyes holding something mischievous within them.

“You know, Nymph,”

“Naiad- I mean, Y/N.” You stuttered. Padme’s eyes widen as she stomps your foot to shut you up.

“Y/N,” he winks and leans closer, his breath hot on your cold, wet cheek as his mouth is centimeters from your ear. “Normally, I would take what is mine. But you are lucky to be in favor with my sister, and that I love a good challenge. We will see just how much longer you will remain pure, my muse. You are the most beautiful creature I’ve had the privilege of laying my immortal eyes on, and I plan to have you.”

You freeze. A challenge? Who the hell did he think he was?

But before you had time to say anything else stupid, he was gone.

“Are you fucking CRAZY?” Padme grabs you, shaking your body, “You just rejected THE Anakin. Ahsoka’s brother. That’s, like, probably, the only pass you’d ever get not to remain pure. You should have taken it! And Y/N, you cannot speak to him like that! You’re lucky he didn’t just take you with him as prisoner or send you to Hades-”

“Padme! Come on, you heard him. He likes a challenge. It’s obvious that this is far from over.” You trailed off, your mind uneasy at the thought.

Realistically, you had to weigh the pros and cons.

Pros: He was hot. It would give you a higher status. You could have a family. You could be closer with Ahsoka. It would fill the void within you. He could possibly be a good person, maybe even a good lover. He could be the best sex you’d ever had.

Cons: It was Anakin. He’s arrogant and everything you could dislike in a lover. He could potentially ruin your relationship with Ahsoka and create an eternal enemy that would end your life as you know it. He could ruin your life. He could be the best sex you’d ever had.

Fuckkkkkkkkk.

Week after week, Anakin shows unwavering resolve in his pursuits.

The first week, he’d occasionally drop by, leaving nothing but wine and flowers and his sweet, sweet words.

“I’d do anything to make you mine, Y/N. Just one chance.”

“Please, you’re the love of my immortal life. I want nothing but to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

“I can’t get enough of watching you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Let me be yours, please. I’m so in love with you. It’s killing me.”

Eventually, you began to play along. You loved how his eyes would light up when you gave him hope, but the return of his arrogant smile when you turned him down again made you roll your eyes.

The admission, though loathsome, was undeniable: you were falling for him. You gotta give it to him- consistency was key. But did the cons outweigh the pros? The situation was tricky, and not ideal. If only he were a dumb mortal and not Zeus’s favorite son. And not the brother of a God you’ve spent your entire life worshipping and having a precious oath, too. If only.

The second week saw the gifts become more intense, each one a thrilling surprise. He brought you a beautiful cat, along with some flowers from Olympus to plant near the river. The gesture was sweet, the cat was cute, and the flowers were divine, literally. Although you were tempted, you held your ground, and your answer was a firm, unwavering no.

Anakin's patience was wearing thin by week three, his annoyance growing with each passing day. He thought he had given you everything you could have desired as a river nymph, showering you with gifts that would make any naiad happy. As someone he hoped to share his life with, he offered his heart and devotion. Even though he tried, you were still refusing his advances. He didn’t take you as one for material goods, but who was he to judge? So, he began leaving you jewelry that was unlike anything you'd ever seen, intricate pieces that captured the essence of nature and water in every detail. And, of course, they were all gold. The necklace he had given you was his favorite, a simple gold sun pendant suspended on a chain, worn close to your heart.

“Do you like it, my love?” Anakin held the necklace in your hands, watching your smile grow beneath him.

“Anakin- I- It’s beautiful. I love it. I’ve never owned anything quite like this before.” You smiled up at him, the sunlight reflecting in your eyes in such a way that he’d drown if he looked for too long.

“Would you like me to put it on you?” He whispered, his eyes trailing from your own down to your lips.

“Yes,” You whispered back, allowing him to turn you around and move your hair.

His fingers moved slowly across the back of your neck, their light touch sending shivers down your arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and much to your own surprise, you let out a soft moan against his touch. His presence behind you was heavy with insolence, and even though you couldn't see him, you could practically feel his smug grin on the back of your head. He laid the necklace against your chest, and you instinctively reached your hand up to touch it, only to be met with his own as he pulled you closer.

“Y/N,” He groaned softly, resting his forehead upon your shoulder, “Please. I’m in agony.” You hummed against him, leaning back onto his chest as the sunlight washed over your wet skin.

“Ani, I can’t. You know this, baby.” You turned around to face him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for the necklace- I really love it. You’ve been so kind to me.”

He smiled back at you and was gone once again.

During week four, his presence dwindled. He came only a couple of days, mostly just to bring you offerings. This time, he started leaving little love notes instead of his usual visits you had become accustomed to.

My muse,

Every day I do not spend with you is tortuous. You are everything to me. You are the air I breathe, the Sun I worship, the light bringer of my life. I did not know love could be so powerful, so intoxicating, just like you. To me, you are love. You are the physical representation of everything I have ever wanted from this life. I’d give it all up for you. Olympus doesn’t matter if it means I could have you. And if it’s my sister you are worried about, I would have it handled. I would keep you safe and spend the rest of eternity loving you, worshipping you, and making you happy and fulfilled. Please just give me a chance, darling; that is all I ask. I feel ashamed for not coming to see you in person, but I couldn’t bear to look at you. It has only brought me pain and suffering as of late. I know it is not your fault, but you are all I want. I’m not giving up on you yet, but I feel as if maybe some distance would help you. Perhaps I’ve come on too strongly. Too confident. And if it means changing who I am to have you, consider it done.

With love for eternity,

Your Anakin.

As you held the letter in your hands, you barely noticed how your hands shook, and your body trembled. You didn’t see how you instinctively brought the letter to your heart, holding it close as stray tears cascaded down your face. And you certainly didn’t notice Padme’s presence; her soft touch was comforting on your arm as she appeared behind you.

“Honey, you should give him a chance. He’s really trying. I don’t know what that letter says, but for it to evoke that reaction from you, it must be genuine. Unless he plans to kill me or our father, then maybe not so-”

The hug you gave her was warm and tight, a genuine embrace she hadn't felt from you in years. She held you close, the heat from the sun radiating off of the both of you and sending you into more of a frenzy than ever. Even though you couldn't see him, you knew Anakin was watching, and the feeling of his intensity was a constant presence. You felt a strange indifference, a lack of concern that surprised even you. But you just wanted to feel.

By week five, Anakin had stopped appearing altogether, but his presence was still there. Maybe it was when you healed the water, or took care of the plants, or gave an offering to Ahsoka, but it always felt like he was standing right there next to you, offering a helpful hand in your tasks. It seemed that he was beginning to fill that void inside of you. And as much as you desperately wanted that, now that you were so close to having it, the idea terrified you.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” You quietly asked as Padme lit a candle, preparing for another ritual.

“Would you grab the wine and pour the libation, Y/N? I’m afraid we must move on with this for right now.” She smiled gently, attempting to lighten your mood. It didn’t work. The last thing you wanted to do was worship his sister.

As much as you hated it, you did as you were told. You headed further into the cave you and Padme made into the oasis you called home. As you turned the corner into your private quarters, you noticed the wine stacked by your “bed.”

As you and Padme ventured out and stumbled upon your own Oasis, you both set out to personalize it, infusing it with your own unique touch, making it a place you could truly call your own. The cave behind the waterfall was a breathtaking sight - lush green plants carpeted the floor around the river, colorful creatures flitted through the air, and the soft glow of candles danced off the shimmering crystals. The river ran through the cave, a constant source of fresh water, offering a home for you and your sister amidst the silent stone. It was everything you had ever dreamed of. But, as sisters, you both still needed your privacy, so it was made sure that you both had your own private sectors of the cave. Your quarters were filled with treasures you collected from the forest - musical instruments, shiny jewelry, beautiful dresses, furniture in both perfect and broken states, and writing tools. You even brought back random knick-knacks that you saw potential in. One mortal's trash is another Naiad’s treasure.

The sight of the wine on the stool made your stomach churn, as you thought about the God who had given it to you. Would it be weird to worship Ahsoka with the wine her brother declared his love to you over? Probably. You weren’t willing to risk it. Your fingers danced across the cool glass of the bottle, remembering the warmth of his hands as he placed it in yours. Honestly, what was wrong with you? This was wrong. You knew that. You couldn’t possibly love Anakin. And he couldn’t possibly love you. Anakin could have any woman, goddess, nymph, and mortal alike, so why would he choose you out of everyone?

Against all odds, he did. And he kept doing it. His absence had sparked a flicker of doubt within you. And as hard as it was to admit, you missed him.

—----------------------

“Obi-Wan, I cannot do this any longer. She doesn’t love me. Please, take my misery away from me.”

Anakin wasn’t himself. Obi-Wan could see that. Even though it seemed impossible for an immortal being to have bags under his eyes, Anakin somehow managed it. He looked rough. He looked sad. And Obi-Wan genuinely felt for him.

“Tell me more,” Obi-Wan leans back against his chair, stroking his beard as he watched the God fall apart in front of him.

“It seems that nothing has worked. I’ve tried to win her over with lavish gifts, these grand gestures of love. I’ve written her letters, given her space, and told her how I felt- how much I loved her. It-It’s not enough. She doesn’t want me. In all of my years as a God, I have finally found a worthy opponent. And this is a battle I will not win. It is a battle I will never win. I have finally been defeated. Y/N has taken my heart, and I will let her do it a thousand times more for the eternity that we live. My heart belongs to her and her only. She has filled a void within me that I never thought would disappear.” Anakin sits down in the chair beside Obi-Wan, throwing his head into his hands. He lifts his head up to look at the man beside him, and Obi-Wan instantly freezes.

Anakin was crying. The Anakin. Was. Crying. He had never been so deeply affected by anyone before, and the weight of his newfound emotions pressed down on him heavily. Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt, realizing that his attempt to teach Anakin a lesson had inadvertently caused him immense pain.

But Anakin passed Obi-Wan’s test with flying colors. The deal was that you couldn’t truly fall for Anakin until he finally let go of his pride and broke down the defenses he'd spent years erecting. Only once you have allowed him to be vulnerable and show his authentic self, could you begin to love him back. To see him for what he truly was, yes, he was a god, but he was still a man. A man who had fallen deeply in love with you. A man who was heartbroken, and finally admitted defeat. He had met his match.

“I think you should visit her one last time, Anakin. Maybe say your goodbyes. I’m very sorry I put you through this, old friend.” Obi-Wan flashed him a small smile, earning a nod in response.

“Actually, no need to apologize. You’ve taught me a valuable lesson. For years, I thought that I could never be beaten, and that I was better than anyone, and now I see that even I have challenges I cannot overcome. I have been arrogant. Selfish. And I am truly sorry. Now that I have felt true pain, I cannot imagine the suffering I have caused. I will visit her one last time. She needs to know how she has changed me.”

—-------------------------

The pre-dawn darkness had settled in when Padme left for the meeting on Mount Olympus, the air heavy with anticipation and the rustle of the wind through the trees. What it concerned, you had no idea. But she was always into politics like that, and you respected her for it. She was driven, and despite only being a Naiad, she made sure that her voice was heard and that she spoke for those around her.

You sat along the riverbed, the gentle sound of the water rippling over stones a constant companion, watching as the morning sun rising reflected off of the water and the lilies that lined your stream. The Greek world was so beautiful, and you were so glad that you were able to experience it. You watched the frogs, green and plump, hop from pad to pad, their croaks blending with the splash of the fish swimming in synchronized schools, their scales glinting like silver coins. It was peaceful, and you were thankful for it.

Before you could think about him, you felt him.

“Anakin,” You whispered, feeling his presence behind you. Your eyes began to feel heavy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I am here to say goodbye, my love.” He mumbled from behind you, not daring to move an inch.

“Would you sit with me?” you mumbled, keeping your gaze on the lilies, scared to show your solemn face. He slowly sat next to you, with more space between you than you would have liked.

‘I’m sor-”

“Anakin, I have fallen for you. You have won me over. But, I must admit, I am apprehensive because my loyalty lies with your sister, and I do not want my life to be ruined. I’ve heard too many stories of nymphs falling for a God and being destroyed in the process. I cannot give up my life up like that, and I will not. So, if you truly love me as you say, I need to to swear to me and your father that you will love me and only me for eternity, that you will never abandon me, and that you will give me the family and life that I deserve.” You finally turn your head to face him, your eyes welled with tears as he gazed upon your face, memorizing your features.

“Y/N, I swear upon every God, Goddess, Nymph, Demi-God, and whatever else out there that I will love you for eternity. That you will always have me. And I will continue to show my love, be there for you, and treat you as you deserve. You are priceless and my life as a God means nothing without you.”

You didn’t give him a response, no, he finally deserved a kiss. The one he had been waiting so patiently for.

You pressed your lips fervently against his, eagerly exploring his mouth with your tongue, while your hands became entwined in his hair. Letting out a gentle moan, he deepened the kiss, reveling in the sensation that he never wanted to end. He tasted like figs, sweet and savory, a flavor you could taste for eternity. His tongue eagerly explored yours, a silent struggle for control as he sought to please you. His hand grazed your cheek, holding you against him as if you were a second away from disappearing.

His touch traveled down your neck, finally arriving at your damp, clothed chest, where he tenderly held your breasts, his thumb moving in circular motions on your nipple. Now, it was your turn to moan.

“Baby,” He broke the kiss, holding your forehead against his as you both attempted to catch your breath. You were apprehensive. You had never done this before, and Anakin was intimidating. “Hey, look at me. It’s just me. Let me take care of you- make you feel good. Does that sound okay?”

You looked up to meet his blue eyes, his blown pupils staring into your soul, overflowing with adoration. You nodded slowly in response, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Can I hear you say it, darling?” He whispered against your lips as he peppered small kisses on your cheek and down your chin, reaching your neck. His kisses seared your skin like the sun, feeling warm and holy.

“Anakin, I need you to make me feel good. Please.” You whimpered under his touch, the warmth in between your legs growing wetter by the second. The desperation gnawed at you, a constant hunger that wouldn't be satisfied. You needed Anakin to take what was his- immediately.

He falls on top of you, his weight a welcome force as you pull him down. His kisses rain down on your neck, hot and needy, while his fingers trace the curves of your body, each touch a possessive claim. He presses himself into you ever so slightly, and you moan at the sensation between your legs.

His hand finds its way down your hips, inching closer and closer towards where you really needed it. With a mischievous grin, he carefully pulls up your wet lace dress before planting another sloppy, wet kiss on your lips. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat as his fingers slowly dance up your legs. His hand snakes up your thighs, rubbing them and pinching them as he continues to control your kiss, his tongue deliberate and delicate against yours. His hand slips under your top and then under the neckline of your dress, teasingly massaging your breasts and nipples. It was an overwhelming feeling, and his bulge growing between your legs didn’t help at all.

Anakin pauses, and you sense a shift in the air, a prickling sensation that raises goosebumps on your arms. You’d never been this close to anyone before. You’ve never let someone touch you in a spot so sacred, so holy. Letting Anakin feel this part of you, touch every inch of your body, it was a new ritual on its own. One you weren’t familiar with. But as a Naiad, you had a duty to uphold. You needed to worship.

‘Do you trust me?” He whispers against your lips, pulling you out of your moment of ecstasy.

“Yes.”

“I will take such good care of you. I’m going to make you feel so good, my love. It may hurt at first, but I need you to trust me. Do you want me to touch you, angel?” You nodded in response, letting out a giggle and soft smile at his sweet words.

“Of course, Ani. Please.” You practically whimpered, watching as his smile grew into the familiar, arrogant one you had met all those weeks ago.

Anakin's hand slowly moves up to your throbbing clit, his fingers gently exploring your wetness, teasing a response from you. He had you completely under his control. It was a foreign feeling, the way he touched you, and yet all you could do was subconsciously push yourself against his fingers, begging for more. Anakin was eager to memorize you. The things that made you feel good, made you squirm, made you moan, and most importantly- made you cum.

“Such a needy thing, aren’t you? Just needed me to take care of you so bad. Needed me to take away that innocence and purity you held above my head for weeks.”

Before you could respond, his thumb aggressively pressed into your clit, rubbing soft circles that evoked noises from you that you didn’t know were possible. You push yourself into him further, laying your head upon his shoulder as you sit upright, suddenly overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you. A new fluttering sensation found itself below your stomach, feeling hotter and hotter by the second. The pressure keeps building, as Anakin picks up the pace, watching you with determined, golden eyes. You clutch his arm tighter, squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Ani- I-” You barely gasped out, the knot in your stomach tightening as you were getting closer and closer to coming undone. As he worked his thumb against your clit faster, he felt the way you grew wetter underneath his touch, the way your hips bucked against him, and the way your legs shook underneath him. He let it go straight to his ego and dick.

“Yeah, angel? You like that? You gonna cum for me now?” He smirks.

“Anakin, I-” Before you knew it, he pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them up against that sweet spot where you didn’t know you needed it most, sending you over the edge. You feel every inch of his fingers against your walls, feeling so stuffed to the brim you burst. Your body convulses beneath him, and his moans mix with yours, both overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm.

“That’s perfect, just like that baby. You’re doing so good, can’t wait until it’s my cock inside you, making you cum and moan like that. Look at how perfect you are. So fucking beautiful.” He mumbles into your ear as he continues to work his fingers faster through your orgasm, practically torturing you with his touch.

You called his name like a prayer, worshiping him as you would any other God. He gave you more than they ever could, and you couldn’t help but moan his name into a new hymn you’d gladly sing over and over again. When you finally come down, he removes his fingers and licks them slowly in front of you, showing how much he truly worships you.

“Fuck, I need to get a taste.” He aggressively pushes your body down against the grass, lifting your dress and pulling your hips against his face.

He licks a long stripe up the side of your thigh, relishing in how loud it’s already making you moan. You feel him smirk against you once again as he places a sloppy, wet kiss against your folds. He licks a stripe down your center, and you instantly get goosebumps as you whimper and whine underneath him. Anakin doesn’t care, no, Anakin wants to make sure you savor every touch, lick, and kiss he has to offer. He flicks his tongue against your clit, slow and deliberately, wanting to feel your reaction against his tongue. Once again, you only grew wetter and he only grew more famished. He finally starts at an increasingly slow pace as he laps against your folds, not giving it to you where you really need it.

To Anakin, licking your clit was the nourishment he didn’t realize he missed. He had never truly been satisfied until his tongue was in between your legs, slowly savoring every fold and taste, never wanting to leave.

“A-Ani, please, I-I need it!” He pauses.

“You don’t know what you need, Angel.” He finally picks up the pace, lapping at your clit at an unrelentless pace, feeling you squirm underneath him. It was overwhelming, and you were bound to cum again any second with the way he was abusing your poor, poor pussy. Finally, the warmth returned, increasing the tension that had been building, and the knot felt like it might unravel any minute. You feel yourself on the edge; just a couple more flicks of his tongue and-

Anakin pulls away, coming over from under you with a wet mouth and nose, a sweet smile spread across his face as he pulls you against his lips.

“You taste so good, yeah? You taste that? Fucking incredible. I could drink you all fucking day.” He mumbles as he continues to hungrily kiss you, his hands holding you down as if you’d escape from him at any second.

As he lifts you upright, his arms effortlessly strip off your dress, leaving you completely exposed. His eyes danced across your skin, tracing every curve and line, drawn to the intoxicating glow your body had in his sunlight. He unconsciously started taking his own clothes off, his eyes never leaving your panting, wet figure beneath him.

As soon as his cock sprung out, you felt your breath catch in your throat. He was fucking huge. His cock was long, thick, and veiny, a beautiful pink color that would fill you up so good. He stroked it in his hands slowly, and your eyes finally made their way back to his, your mouth slightly agape in shock. He smiled at you sweetly, his hand never leaving his cock as he started to stroke a little faster, letting out a small moan as his eyes gazed upon your beautiful naked body on the riverbed.

“Come here beautiful, no need to be afraid. I’ll take such good care of you.” Anakin pulls you closer to him, positioning himself between your legs. He slaps the tip of his cock against your folds a couple of times, and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “This part is going to hurt a little bit, okay? I promise I will never ever hurt you, but this will sting. If you need me to stop, tell me. We can take this as slow as you want. Ready, Angel?”

You divert your attention from his cock outlining you to his eyes and his soft, sweet smile. It’s no wonder that you fell in love with him, truly. He was the better of the Gods, but it was so, so easy to fit him in with the rest. Were you worried he was going to taint you and then leave? Absolutely. Did you want to change anything about the moment?

“Yes, I’m ready. I’m nervous, but-“ You take a second to cup his cheek, letting yourself smile underneath him, “I trust you, Anakin.”

With your approval, Anakin slowly pushed his thick tip into your small, virgin pussy. He groaned at the contact, watching as you let out a painful, pleasurable moan from the feeling. He filled you so entirely, so completely, that the emptiness inside you vanished, replaced by a sense of wholeness you never thought possible. He grinned at the way his cock bulged from inside you, knowing that he was going to split you in half and make you scream his name again. He could never get enough of the way his name rolled off your tongue, the way you lingered on each syllable, your back arched in pleasure as you called out for him.

“H-How are we doing down there?” He barely groans out, tracing your cheek with his finger, “Fuck, I can barely contain myself right now.”

“I-I’m okay. It stings, but I want you to keep going- I need you to keep going.” You pull yourself up slightly, putting your hands around his shoulders and pulling him further into you. He was so deep, so intoxicating as he filled you up. You kiss him, burying your tongue down his throat to silence your painful moans. It hurt so bad, but you couldn’t get enough of him. You needed more.

“Fuck, Y/N, that was so fucking hot. Can I fuck you? Please? You feel too good.”

You could barely manage a whispered "yes" before Anakin thrust himself into you with full force, slamming his cock into your cervix. You let out a loud scream, never feeling so full and overwhelmed at the same time. With his free hand, he brought his thumb back down and massaged your clit in small, rhythmic circles, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He made sure to keep checking on you as he fucked you relentlessly, watching how your head bobbed and your eyes rolled as you took him so good. You had heard stories about how “God sex” was another level, but you didn’t think it’d be this fucking good.

As he felt you grip around him tighter, he slowed down, suddenly wanting to take his time more than he had before. His eyes softened at the sight of you. Your cheeks flushed and tear-stained, your entire body wet and glistening under his sun, his own saliva dripping down your chin as you let out soft moans from his slow thrusts. You were mesmerizing, you deserved to be worshipped. And that’s exactly what he was going to do.

“I want us to cum at the exact same time, okay? Solidify our bond together. I want us to reach that point together. You let me know exactly when you are going to cum.” He whispered against your lips, pumping his thick cock and holding back a groan.

The slowness of his movement was torturous, his brows furrowing as he watched you below him, each agonizing inch he pushed into you taking what felt like an eternity. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but he had a way of making you feel like the most incredible fucking thing in all of the Greek world. You look down and watch as his thick cock slowly pushes himself into you, memorizing his every vein and freckle. He continues to impale you over and over again, groaning and moaning your name like his own prayer. The squelching of your wetness and the way he moved his hips was making that pressure return from before, except it was seeking a vengeance this time.

Anakin picks up the pace as your cries grow louder, watching your body language and responding the best way he could. He played with your tits as they bounced from the forcefulness of his cock against your cervix. The knot in your stomach returned, the pressure building more and more- eager to explode.

And as you felt your orgasm coming on, your hips bucking up against his, your cries and moans increasing, you finally opened your eyes and looked at the God above you. The sun highlighted his face like it was made for him, his hair and eyes golden under the light. His collarbone and abs shimmered, a mixture of sweat and juices making him glisten above you. He really was a god, a beautiful and misunderstood creature who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved. And in that moment, you’d give it to him.

“A-Anakin, I’m gonna- I-“

“That’s right, baby, I’m close too, push me over the edge, yeah? Make me fill you up so good and full with my Godly cum. You can do this, baby, please-“ He cut himself off with a groan, feeling your walls squeezing tighter against him, your body, golden from his sun, trembling underneath him.

“Ani- I- Fuck- I-I love you!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the band snapped and your walls were pulsating around him. Your moans were loud, your back arched into him as you heard him curse and groan from atop you, his cock cumming deep inside you, making you his, and making him yours. He memorized the tears as they streamed down your cheek from your orgasm, your eyes squeezed shut as you were filled to the brim with pure ecstasy.

Anakin pulled out, collapsing on the grass next to you as you both attempted to catch your breath.

“Y/N, y-your- that- that was the most fucking incredible experience I have ever had.” He barely breathed out, still coming down from the orgasm you gave him.

As you caught your breath, you rolled onto your side to look at him once again, the beauty of the sun god as he lay by your river.

“You aren’t leaving now, are you?” You whisper, your eyes solemn as you trace your initials on his chest.

“Never, baby. You’re stuck with me for eternity.” Anakin beamed at you, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he pulled you on top of him into another deep kiss.

“Wait, Ani-“ You pulled away, noticing eyes were etched with concern and you let out a little giggle, “I have something I wanted to give you. Since you’ve given me all of those gifts before and- well- I meant to give it to you earlier but we got so caught up in things.” You blush under his gaze, your nerves catching up to you as you thought about your gift.

“Angel, you didn’t have to do that. But I promise I will cherish whatever you give me for the rest of time. Lemme see.”

You stand up from beside him, watching as he lay naked against your riverbed as if he had always belonged there. Except now he did. Your cheeks flushed as you turned away from him to walk to the laurel tree, feeling his eyes on you.

Your hand reached up to a branch, pulling it from the tree and snapping it off, your heart aching at your actions. As you walked towards Anakin, the laurel branch transformed into a crown under your skilled hands, its leaves shimmering with the soft light of your Naiad magic.

“I wanted to give you a piece of me, because I know that you have other responsibilities and I won’t always get to see you.” You placed the crown upon his head, before taking his hands within yours, “That laurel tree made me pick this spot. It’s always been my favorite. This crown will never die, and the leaves will never fall, it is eternal- just like our love.”

A radiant smile spread across Anakin’s face as happy tears welled up in his eyes. He enveloped you in a tight hug, and you could feel the warmth of his affection. His fingers traced the contours of your back, a lingering touch, as he whispered his thanks, each word laced with a desperation that made your heart ache. It was strange how you got here, but yet you had found that missing piece. You didn’t expect him to be the God of the Sun, Zeus’s favorite, or anything like that. To you, he was just your Anakin. Your sweet, sweet Anakin.

“I thought I’d be searching for eternity throughout the Greek world for a love like this. And yet, you were brought to me.” Anakin pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as the weight of his words came down on the both of you, “Our love is eternal.”

“Our love is eternal.”

[laligraves]

say you're sorry

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2k summary: You ask Father Miller for forgiveness. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, mean!Joel, power imbalance (since Joel is a priest), some proofreading, reader has hair that Joel can grab, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, daddy kink, references to catholicism, oral (m! receiving), some gagging, spanking, lap sitting/riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some very light cum eating

a/n: this is a different priest joel and a different reader from my other priest fic :)

His office is big, airy, smelling of incense and cologne. Theology books and bibles in a few different languages are organized on the wooden shelves. A cross complete with a sorrowful looking Jesus hangs on the wall behind his desk. 

“These figs are divine,” Father Miller groans, “your mother gave me some cuttins’ but I’ve never been able to grow a tree myself.” 

He bites into the fruit and moans at the splash of sweet juice that soaks his tongue. 

“Here, take a bite,” he offers. 

His hands tighten in your hair and he pulls your mouth away from his spit-covered cock. You whimper at the loss but he shushes you with a stern bite, and you quickly comply.  

“Reminds me of somethin’ else that’s sweet,” he whispers as he watches your throat move in a swallow. 

“Please, daddy,” you moan, “I wasn’t done.” 

Father Miller gives you a soft pat on your cheek, trailing his fingers down to tug at the rosary that hangs between your breasts, before pushing your head back onto his cock. 

He spreads his knees wider in his desk chair. 

“What a beautiful way to ask for forgiveness. Figs and your mouth on my cock.” 

If his big dick wasn’t in your mouth, you’d cringe from embarrassment. Your own selfish and jealous actions led to his disappointment and your need to ask for forgiveness. 

“Envy is a sin. You choose to have these emotions and these moments of insecurities,” Father Miller murmurs in that tone that makes you squeeze your thighs. 

“When those thoughts begin, it’s your responsibility to come to confession. You have to talk to me so I can help.”

Father Miller does it again, yanking you back from his cock and tilting up your chin with his finger.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

“Ye–yes–” 

“Repeat it to me,” he interrupts. 

“I need to–to ask you for help when I’m feeling jealous,” you choke out. 

His hand tightens in your hair and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. You gag, tears pooling on your waterline from the burn in your throat. 

“Good girl.” 

You want to run your hands down his strong thighs and feel the clench of his muscles, but they’re bound behind your back with your soaked panties. Aside from the rosary, the panties around your wrists are the only clothes you wear. 

You massage your tongue on the thick vein that spans underneath his cock. Spit dribbles down your chin as he begins to move your head up and down. 

“Fuck, just like that, honey,” he groans. “Got such a perfect mouth.”

You moan at the praise. Honey, the name he’s reserved just for you. Even at bible study on Wednesdays and at Mass on Sundays, he’ll call you honey, no matter who's around. 

“Those other women who come here, they seek advice. I can’t turn them away.” 

You let the tears fall from your eyes, partly from the cock spearing down your throat and also from the fact that he’s right. It’s his responsibility to listen to his congregation. 

Even if you know the women stare at him with dreamy eyes and fantasize about his broad shoulders, Father Miller must give them individual attention. 

He clenches his teeth the moment your nose hits the curly hair at his base. You swallow and fight through the burn, sucking at the salty taste of his skin. You clench your thighs again, hoping for any type of stimulation. 

“Aww,” he coos, “what does my poor little sinner need?” 

You whimper on his cock, wanting to move your head away so you can tell him how much you want him, but his hand keeps you in place.

“Nothin’ to say?” he mocks, “You don’t want me to eat your little cunt, honey? Make you cum on my tongue? Just want to keep suckin’ daddy’s cock?” 

Slick drips from your pussy. Mean, mean, mean, you chant in your head. You’re sure you look like a pathetic mess; shivering and crying hard enough to ruin your makeup. 

Father Miller laughs and wipes the tears from your eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” 

You’re roughly pushed off, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. You continue to sob as he yanks you up by your arms and bends you over his desk.  

“I said enough,” he snaps, landing a hard spank to your ass. “I won’t repeat myself.” 

Your shiver as your tits make contact with the cool surface of the desk. The rosary presses to your chest, indenting the soft skin.

“Such a beautiful cunt for a sinner,” he whispers. 

His hands massage your ass and he pulls apart your cheeks to stare at the puffy mess between your thighs. You try to move out of his grasp, embarrassed at how he can see every delicate inch of you, but he spanks you again. 

“Can’t seem to stay still,” he growls, “after everythin’ you’ve done, you still wanna disappoint me?” 

“N–no, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ll–I’ll stay still.” 

His leather shoe pushes on your ankle and you spread your thighs wide. He runs the tip of his length up your slit, ghosting over your sensitive button. You push your hips back and try to sink onto his cock, but he presses down on your lower back to keep you still. 

“Little sinner,” Father Miller scolds, “instead of trusting me, you accuse me of sleeping with other women. After the oath I gave to this church?” 

“I was wrong! I’m sorry,” you cry, hot tears rolling down and landing on the desk. 

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you repent. Count f’me.” 

He moves slightly to the side and uses a large hand to spank you hard on your right cheek. You yelp, immediately choking out a one before feeling his hand massage your other. 

You push up on your tiptoes, presenting your ass to him, hungry for his touch. He starts off soft, slow, squeezing the plump curve of your ass. His palm lands harsher and you welcome the sting of each slap, pushing back into him, heart beating faster with each number. 

Once he gets to fifteen, he lands it right on your pussy. You push up on the desk in surprise and try to beg for more, daddy, please–I’m so close. 

“No more, baby,” he coos, “did so well with your spankin’.” 

“Please, daddy,” you whimper, “please give me your cock. Please fuck me.” 

His hand tugs on your hair and he makes you stand to your full height. 

“This is punishment, honey,” he whispers in your ear, “you’re gonna have to work for my forgiveness.” 

You’re not sure what else he could possibly make you do but he spins you around and you watch as he sits down in his desk chair. 

“C’mere,” he growls. 

His hands wrap around your waist and you're pulled into his lap. You’re unbalanced, still unable to use your hands but he reaches around you to keep you steady.

With his other hand, he teases the fat tip to your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride me. Maybe after I’ll forgive ya’.” 

“Yes, yes,” you chant, slowly sinking down on his cock. 

His strong hands slide to grip your waist and his fingers dig into your soft skin. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling with blurry eyes, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with each inch that’s stuffed inside of you. 

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “take my cock, take it.” 

You can’t speak, can’t ask for more from your daddy. The angle is new, something you two have never tried before, a stretch that makes you dizzy and the air in your throat stutter. 

He helps you with the last few inches, praising you for having such a perfect cunt, feel so good wrapped around me–made just for me, honey. 

Father Miller gives you time to adjust, kissing your chin, nipping your neck, running his lips over the rosary that sways between your breasts. 

His tongue lashes over your nipples and he sucks as much of your tit as he can get, into his mouth. He’s mean, leaving indents of his teeth on your skin. It’s exactly what you want–what you need. 

He knows right when it’ll become too rough, too much for you, and he’ll kiss, swipe his tongue over the hurt, rain praises on your skin. 

The both of you fit awkwardly on the big chair but you make it work, digging your knees into the leather and bracketing his thighs to grind slowly in his lap.

“Look so pretty on my cock, honey.” 

He’s taken you from behind, bent over his desk with your hands clawing at the wood. He’s taken you in the tiny confessional, your body folded in half while he stares into your eyes as he finishes inside of you. 

Not like this, though. Not with your hands behind your back and his on your waist, helping you bounce and grind on him. 

You tremble in his hold, feel each kiss of his fat cockhead to the syrupy end of you. 

“Ne��need to c–cum,” you choke out, remembering you can use more than just whines and whimpers to talk. 

His cheeks are red, his hair is in disarray, and you notice sweat on his neck, peppering along his clerical collar. His thighs shift underneath you and he plants his feet more firmly on the ground. 

“Wantcha’ to cum on my cock,” he demands. 

Father Miller uses you like a toy, moving your body how he wants it, burning the memory of his cock into your pussy. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss when you tilt forward, almost falling from how fast he’s using you. 

He’s so big, buried deep in your pussy, splitting you open. Your clit brushes on the curly hair at his base with each rock of his hips and you're there–cumming on Father Miller’s cock, opening your mouth in a silent scream while you shake in his hold. 

You soak his cock and the front of his dress pants with your slick. He’s groaning at each pulse and flutter of your pussy. Take it so well, honey he murmurs around your nipple. Milkin' my cock, baby. 

He moves you up once, twice, and keeps you pressed to him, spilling his seed in your cunt. Without even trying it knocks another orgasm from you, just as you were coming down from the first. 

Father Miller bites at your mouth, bringing up his hand to squeeze your neck and accept his kisses. His cock twitches slightly inside of you as he spills, marking you deep. 

He yanks off your panties and you immediately move your hands into his hair, tugging through the strands and pressing your body even closer to his. Your breathless, shivering in his hold from the two orgasms that were shocked out of your body. 

Just as quickly as it happens, he pushes you off of his lap. You land in a limp heap on the floor, eye level to his soaked cock. It’s covered in the both of you. 

“Give it a kiss, and say you’re sorry.” 

You happily follow his command, pressing a kiss to the tip, licking away the stickiness from your lips and give him a I’m so sorry, daddy. 

He smiles at you before reaching to take the rosary off from your neck and placing it in your hands. You stare up in confusion and watch as he rises to his full height. 

“Now, I want you to kneel here,” he says, grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging your naked body right in front of the cross, “and do two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” 

Your thighs shake from the exertion but you do as he says and kneel in perfect form. You bow your head in prayer and begin, hearing him zip up his dress pants and walk out of his office. His cum slowly drips out of your swollen pussy and onto the hardwood floor. 

[stardust-swan]

What Message Do Moroccan Djinns Have for You?

Pick a picture: 1, 2, 3

This tarot reading is inspired by the Big 3 female djinns (genies) in the Moroccan pantheon. These are general readings. As most people aren't familiar with the Moroccan Pantheon, brief descriptions of each djinn are provided below.

Pile 1: Lalla Aisha 🖤

Lalla Aisha is a djinn who is beautiful, but terrifying. Her story is one often told as a horror story in Morocco. She normally manifests as a beautiful woman in a flowing kaftan - why does her kaftan flow? To hide that her feet are cloven. She can be found lingering near bodies of water after dark, where she may drown men who offend her, or reward those who please her (she may alternatively render a man who displeases her impotent while rewarding ones who please her with supernaturally good sexual prowess). She is a man-eater both literally and figuratively. According to one legend, she is Astarte, reduced to roaming the Earth after her temples were shut; enlisting her own devotees and making her own sacrifices. She can bring madness, miscarriages, illness and death; but she can also bring good health, abundance, fertility and luck. She is simultaneously cruel and benevolent. A woman who is very powerful and demanding; enchanting but unsettling.

What Message Does Lalla Aisha Have for You?

Lalla Aisha is ready to welcome you into her world of beauty and allure, but the path is not without its difficulties.

I get the feeling you're carrying too many burdens. Your own responsibilities and other people's expectations are weighing you down. Aisha Qandisha is a she-demon who does what she wants; like her you need to stop burdening yourself with things that don't serve you. Say no to things that drain you or that simply don't do anything for you.

Something in your life has stagnated. Whether that's a project you're struggling to finish, a relationship that's gone stale (or a sudden breakup or ghosting that left little closure), or finances stagnating as money comes in and then gets immediately spent on bills, you feel stuck. Well, if one thing is true about Lalla Aisha is that she's a go-getter; she will not let anything stop her. If she wants a man she'll make him obsess over her until he's almost mad with thoughts of her. If she wants a particular person to be her devotee she will personally recruit them. If she wants a sacrifice, she has no qualms about doing it herself. Her presence is an indication you need to chop some dead wood and close this chapter.

Although she has a fearsome reputation, she brings great blessings to those who she favours. And you, dear reader, are one of those lucky few. I'm getting a sense that she is bestowing domestic happiness specifically on you. In your future is a household full of abundance, home comforts, and harmony. Reunions and family gatherings will be many. Long-term relationships will be blissful and stable, perfect for bringing children into if you so wish (she also aides with fertility). You will feel content and positive, and those around you will feel your happiness radiating from you.

Advice: Wear black and/or red, take walks in the morning air, wear henna, burn benzoin, go for a swim, eat figs, tie ribbons to trees and make a wish to her (bring an offering to the tree if she fulfils your request).

Pile 2: Lalla Mira 💛

Lalla Mira is a djinn who is associated with fertility, marriage, healing, abundance, and especially love. She also has psychic gifts and is summoned to foretell the future via a spirit medium who she takes possession of. She has been compared to Aphrodite as they preside over similar areas, but unlike Aphrodite she tends to be quite volatile; assertive, aggressive, extremely demanding, and jealous. She engages in relations with human men and if someone she has her eye on is already married... She makes him ask for permission to continue relations with his own wife. However, she is kind to her own devotees (who she may aggressively pursue); healing infertility, finding spouses for them, and preventing illness. Her devotees credit her with their good health, happiness, and the existence of their families. This is a djinn who is incredibly kind to those she favours, but ruinous to those who displease her.

What Message Does Lalla Mira Have for You?

You've been working HARD. Maybe you've just sown the seeds, or maybe those seeds have already grown up into a lush garden. She is telling you that your hard work WILL have results. But she also wants you to let go of perfectionism, because obsessing over small details is making you feel frustrated or stagnated. Make sure you're focusing on the things that bring you joy, instead of fear of failure or the need for every detail to be perfect stealing your happiness. Progress is more important than perfection.

My reading of your future with Lalla Mira was (luckily for you) favourable. She is bringing you happiness, especially in social areas. You will spend time with friends, go on on more dates and get invited to more events. She wants you to have FUN, to connect to your inner child and to embrace what gives you joy, even if it's something you think of as frivolous or juvenile. I feel her encouraging you to experiment with your style - this is a good time to get the drastic haircut you've been wondering about, to update your wardrobe, to experiment with what colours look best on you, etc. Romance is looking good. If you have a secret crush, this is the time to signify you're interested in something more. If you don't have a crush, her presence signals you have a secret admirer. If you're in a relationship, don't be afraid to be romantic and plan dates and quality time - her presence may even foretell an engagement, wedding or pregnancy. Health will be good; and your intuition will become sharper as some of her physic abilities rub off on you.

Advice: Wear orange and/or yellow, dance (especially belly dance or Moroccan folkloric dances), wear henna, take strolls in the afternoon, bathe regularly and be very thorough in your baths (exfoliate when you need to and clean every inch of skin), light candles and incense, spend times around bodies of water like springs, wells and rivers.

Pile 3: Lalla Malika 💜

Lalla Malika is technically a princess as she's the daughter of a King, but her role is that of a Queen. She is a djinn of prosperity, helping her followers gain money, social status, professional success, and success in legal matters. As a very wealthy princess, she's associated with all things considered luxurious - fine perfume, silk kaftans with gold embroidery, gold jewellery, premium incense, beautiful decor, intricate henna (Aisha and Mira also request henna but their designs aren't as detailed or feminine), cosmetics, and delicious chocolates, sweets and pastries. Ritual ceremonies for her look like very lavish engagement parties. Unlike her peers Aisha and Mira, Malika is much gentler despite being just as powerful. If Aisha and Mira set their sights on a man, they will cause him to obsess over them, sometimes to the point of madness, whereas Malika seduces men by chatting to them and calmly stating her desire. When Aisha and Mira want to recruit a devotee, they may make their presence known by attacking or possessing the person, whereas Malika gently reveals herself through dreams, pleasant scents, laughter and tickling. When Aisha and Mira feel wronged they lash out, causing illness, miscarriage, paralysis, or even death, whereas Malika chooses not to attack but withdraws her presence from the situation instead. She is famous for her cheerful spirit, bringing joy and laughter wherever she goes. This is a djinn who is powerful both in status and magical ability, but yet is also soft, joyful, and friendly to all.

What Message Does Lalla Malika Have for You?

There's a sense of mental distress here. Specifically of high stress levels, anxiety or burnout, to the point that you are or will neglect your own needs. Lalla Malika is all about self-care, beautification routines, pleasure and indulgence, so the message here is very clear: you need to indulge yourself! Do what you have to do to make some time for yourself, whether that's dealing out responsibilities you've been burdened with more fairly, working on better time management, asking for help with a task that's overwhelming, etc. And then make sure to treat yourself! Take a long bath or shower complete with a face mask and your most deliciously scented soap and lotion, curl up with a good book or movie and a mug of hot chocolate, partake in your hobbies, or do anything else that brings you joy. Now is the time to pause and recalibrate.

You are in a period of transition, in a positive way - you are overcoming hardship and healing. Your problems will settle down and things will become easier to deal with. There may very well be travel in your future - one of the cards I selected has an association with travel, journeys and vacations, and Lalla Malika herself is associated with travel - she's a flying djinn who often descends from heaven to Earth, and her devotees are often said to be people who travel by airplane.

She is here to make sure you don't neglect your needs, whether emotional or physical. She asks you to consider how you can rest and care for yourself and is welcoming you into her world of abundance and happiness. People who have Malika on their side will flourish in social situations, find they have more money to spend, and will succeed professionally.

Malika's presence is a sure sign you're manifesting luxury and abundance. A life of comfort is coming to you, from every area from fine wine and gourmet chocolates, to good investments and advantages at work. You will cultivate a wide range of skills, hobbies and knowledge that will make you enchant people and make friends easily. You'll also be seen as more beautiful and alluring, both because your confidence will increase and because Malika's dedication to beautification rituals will rub off on you. She wants you to live the high life.

Advice: Wear purple, green or pink, wear perfume, burn incense and purple candles, indulge in sweets, chocolates, and pastries without guilt, dress up nice just because (wear jewellery/makeup if you want too), use creams, oils and lotions regularly, experiment with your style or hair (if you've been wondering about cutting or dying it this is your sign), make sure your wardrobe is organised, learn about business, law or a foreign language/culture, wear intricate henna designs, use your best manners even to people who are rude.

[julietsbody]

the last days of judas iscariot — luke castellan + reader : betrayal hurts the saints the most. 

tags : mdni, dark!luke, angry kissing, religious imagery & symbolism, body worship, angst and smut, love confessions, p in v sex, corruption kinks, implied blood kink, hints of cannibalism

there was something off about luke castellan. 

he used to be caring, sweet and selfless— he did everything for the people around them, offered them smiles even if it was difficult on his lips, did anything to ease their pain, built himself up into a saint. but eventually, saints will fall, whether it be their own doing, or a martyrdom. 

this was no martyrdom, he was not crucified, strung up on an olive tree, nor stoned. 

this was a conscious decision that nobody else, besides his own self, would understand. it was so, so unlike him, luke was never one to betray the people around him, well, at least he didn’t portray himself that way. if you really knew luke, you’d know how much he hated the gods, he felt as though he was a despicable creation of theirs, and he’ll return the same despising looks. 

but the story starts days before that, luke was as he always was. he offered you a smile from across the training field, and you returned it full - heartedly, waving at him. he moves to approach you, ignoring his sparring partner, “hey, do you need a partner?” 

you glance around for a second, “don’t you already have one?” 

his lips curve to a smirk, “i’d rather be with you.” 

luke castellan had a thing for flirting with you, even if he was just being a tease, and didn’t entirely mean what he said— sometimes you thought he didn’t, or he never did, but in all honesty, he meant everything. 

he admired you beyond proper comprehension, and you did the same with him. having been friends for years, it was no shock when your gazes would linger on each other for longer than they should, when he would do anything to make you smile even if it costs him his reputation. 

on the first day, luke was as he always was, confident, grinning and sweet. 

then the second day came, and luke’s smiles began to fade faster, he looked more tired, there was a certain mournful air that clung to his skin and radiated off of him. you picked up on it immediately, frowning at him and pulling him off to the side even when he was busy, “are you okay?” 

“what?” his saliva feels thick in his mouth, like globs of nectar that feel poisonous underneath their sweet skin. 

“i said— luke, what’s going on?“ you can’t deny how he seems to be out of order on everything, he was even fighting angrier, too, with a revengeful glint in his eye. 

“i really, really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“yes, you do.” 

and it only got weirder from there, on the third day, he looked straight up exhausted, like he hadn’t slept the past two nights, and now he was being told to take a break from sword fighting because of how rough he was being. smiles were common from him now but cut off quick, and laughs became rare. he wasn’t trying to make anyone else around him smile or laugh, and he always just looked angry, guilty angry. 

when you waved at him, he didn’t wave back, nor approach you. 

he didn’t want to speak to anyone, so he just didn’t talk. 

he’s suffering from something, you just don’t know what, and whenever you asked him, he shrugged it off with, “i’m just tired.” 

“i know, you look really tired, luke, do you need melatonin?” 

his teeth grit together, and the taste of nectar in his mouth had disappeared, now it was all just bitter poison, “i need to be left alone.” 

“luke—“ 

“please leave me be.” 

if anyone were to ask you now, they’d know you regret leaving that night, not forcing him to speak about it with you. the next night, another camper told you about what luke had done, and you hate the way you don’t feel entirely shocked, not even a little bit, not even at all. 

luke castellan had a fig tree branching out in front of him, so many possibilities, so many stories to be told, and yet his fingers wrapped around the only rotten fruit on the whole ripe tree. two thousand years ago, there was a man exactly like luke, one who went by the name judas, and in luke’s complete distaste of the bible and anything to do with it— he found himself undeniably following the same path of the man who betrayed jesus. 

“ i desire the things

that will destroy me

in the end ”

  — sylvia plath. 

it was a bad idea to seek out luke that night, you knew it well, and luke knew it too when he frowned at you almost immediately after seeing you. he was still in the woods, only alone now, closer to the shore, closer to the riper fig that called his name— the one labeled captain. 

“why are you here?“ his tone is sharper, harsher, but you don’t shy away. 

“why’d you do it?” you watch him visibly swallow at the question, as if he doesn’t want to answer it, even when it’s on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason it would hurt to say out loud. 

he bites the bullet, “you know— the gods, they’re awful, don’t you think they deserve this?“ 

“is that where your heart lies?” the question seems to scorch his skin more than the last, because it’s just a continuous waking to what he’s truly done, how the prophecy haunts him even in his desperate attempts to evade it. 

“i’ve suffered enough, because of them, because of him— so yes, that is where it lies.” 

“you think your suffering is just a one way street?” you pester, anger bubbling in your veins— this was selfish, entirely selfish, he was never the selfless man you once knew, this wasn’t the luke you knew, “it’s not, it wasn’t— you had the chance, luke, to deprive yourself from it.” 

“are you just here to lecture me?” luke’s jaw locks. 

“why are you being like this?” 

luke’s eyebrow twitches, as if he’s mentally debating saying it out loud, but albeit all odds, his lips part, “why don’t you ask that guy you’ve been hanging out with?” 

“what?” it’s hard to realize certain things when you’ve been so focused on one person, you were so caught up on your fears for luke you didn’t even realize that the whole time you were thinking of him, you were blatantly speaking with another man in front of his eyes. 

to the trained eye, they’d know you never had any real feelings for the man you spoke with, but luke was too blinded by his own guilt and resentment that he didn’t realize it himself. it was a wild string of miscommunications formed into a single spider’s web, exactly like judas’ betrayal of jesus. 

INTERLUDE : JUDAS ISCARIOT ( A STUDY ) 

judas iscariot is often portrayed as the traitor in the story, fueled by greed and his resentment that jesus has something he never will. in the original story, judas is put in the narrative as satan’s pawn, judas’ fate is already written down, and he has no way of pushing it back. satan selects him from a group as he is weak, easily moved, and satan had possessed him body and soul and lived out his personal purpose through the vessel. 

the son of perdition : the one doomed to destruction. 

god personally protected all of his other saints from satan, so why not judas? why was judas never enough? was he never righteous enough to be saved? jesus loved him, jesus held his face in his holy hands, and yet he never shielded him. 

judas is a pawn, a thief, a coward, and a denier of the lord. 

judas, in all fairness, is the spitting image of luke castellan. 

“is it ever anybody else, luke?” 

as if arrow met skin, luke’s brows furrow together like you’ve hit him. 

there’s a pause, a deafening silence. 

“i miss you,” you speak again. 

luke’s nose crinkles, “uh-huh.” 

“i miss you, luke.” 

luke castellan is going to hell tonight, he’s going to be scorched in the underworld, so he bites his tongue and he moves in. the kiss is angry, teeth clashing, tongues twisting, lips bruising, but luke wouldn’t want it any other way. he wonders that if, in this kiss, do you forgive him? having been someone praised by the gods, the favored one, did you forgive the one who seemingly betrayed them to most? 

the kiss says how could you? and i’m sorry at the exact same time. 

his hands are quick to grip on your skin like you were his lifeline, tugging you in closer, and smiling against your lips when you melt into his touch so easily. you knew how cruel of a man he was, all the things he did wrong, all the people he had hurt— and yet you’re easing against him like he’s a saint. 

his teeth show his hunger well, nipping at your lip until you hiss and pull away with blood bubbling from a fresh wound. at first, he wants to smile, but he finds some mercy, moving his hand to hold your chin, thumb smudging the blood, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to, swear.” 

you knew he was lying, you knew he wanted to see you bleed, he liked the way your skin trembled under his touch, the way that even when shock dilates your pupils— you don’t want to pull away from him. in fact, something about it is oddly attractive to you, how sick is that. 

his other hand grips your waist, fingers curling cruelly, “could i..” 

undress you? touch you? luke isn’t sure of the proper words, they sit on the tip of his tongue, but something has him too afraid to say it so bluntly. that’s ironic, considering he didn’t hesitate to steal and lie. luke was still the loser he’s always been, deep down, he’s never known how to actually speak to women. 

you knew this well, it was something you always made fun of him for, but now you only smile sweetly at him. “of course, luke.” 

luke’s hands are desperate when they move to take off your clothes, quick and ruthless, but still so caring at the same time. it was confusing with luke, everything he did had two different sides that would merge together in an unlikely unison. harsh and gentle, bitter and sweet, mean and kind. 

his brows furrow when he dips in, pressing his lips to the skin of your neck, pushing you back into the scratching bark of the tree behind you. adam and eve, right after the bites of the apple offered to them. luke wants to sink his teeth into you, to bite until he draws blood, to devour you whole and call you his. 

that’s… normal, right? 

he doesn’t care, he’s only focused on the shallow breaths that pass by your lips with every scrape of his teeth on the skin being pulled between his lips. his fingers lead themselves further, dipping below the waistband of your underwear and further until you’re gasping and gripping at his wrist. 

“luke.. luke,” you plead, whimpering out for his fingers to have some mercy on your clit— luke ignores you, focused on the pleasure that’s coursing underneath your skin. he memorizes the thump of your pulse against his lips on your neck, the way it speeds up when his fingers dare to graze your entrance. you want it so bad, and it’s taking everything in luke to not be a cocky asshole about it. 

he eventually pulls away from your neck to admire his work, “have you always wanted me to touch you like this?” 

there’s something so poetic about someone who has betrayed the gods you love the most, ruining you. you truly could be awarded for how much you worshiped them, so unlike to everyone around you. they thought their parents were like anybody else, albeit just a little cooler, but you— you felt like a prophet. 

maybe you were, maybe luke was. 

maybe when the oracle whispered the prophecy she mentioned the fall of a saint, and the way he tugged another down with him. 

you look at him fondly, lips parted and puffy from biting, “always.. please.” 

please ; a simple plea, but it makes luke grin like a devil. his eyes follow your hands when you move to undo his belt, tugging at his jeans as if his fingers aren’t making your knees buckle. luke licks his lips, and finally allows you some mercy when his fingers leave your underwear, although you frown from the loss of friction. “i’ll make it up to you, yeah?” 

luke’s boxers and jeans are falling to the floor in seconds, he stifles a chuckle at your shocked expression to his size, only growing cockier and cockier with each second of this ordeal. it reaches it’s peak when he’s pushing into you, hand on your thigh holding up your leg with ease. 

his nose brushes against your cheek, whispering sweet nothings in between faint grunts with each thrust. you’re so pretty, always dreamed of this, better pray the gods aren’t watching. the last comment should piss you off, but it doesn’t, not at all— in fact, it only makes you wetter, the idea that the people you have given everything for are watching you being fucked by someone who despises them. 

his free hand moves up to your neck, wrapping around the bruised skin there, and gripping it enough to barely constrict your air flow. 

due to the choking, and the force of his thrusts, along with all his taunting words, it doesn’t take long for you to cum on his dick— and he doesn’t last long either. 

he finds himself panting against you, slowly pushing out. 

“you really should pray for forgiveness.” 

[hrrtshape]

　 　　 SCENE TWO :  “ the architect of dreams, hands stained in stardust. "

　𝓢HIFTING ✶ 𝓒ENTRAL . . .

　i　,　𝓼kipping to the important bit . . . ౨ৎ 

　◞ how 2 shift

　◞ my own method

　◞ the reasons why you're waking up in your cr

　　　　　　　　　　  ⊹　 ︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ⊹

　ii　,　𝓽hings to script with beauty . . . ౨ৎ 

　◞ coppola　

　◞ ethereal　

　◞ monroe

　◞ bunny

　◞ veela

　iii　,　𝓽hings to remember when you're doubting shifting . . . ౨ৎ 

　◞ shifting is diving into your soul

　◞ your mind is wired to shifting

　◞ not shifting? you're still winning!　

　◞ perceiving shifting as natural

　◞ the shifting manifesto

　◞ reintroducing shifting

　◞ why you should never listen to anti-shifters 　

　◞ science behind shifting

　iv　,　𝓼tack of casettes from yours truly . . . ౨ৎ 

　◞ busting myths wide open

　◞ stop putting your dr on a pedestal

　◞ let's talk shifting doubts

　◞ the lighthouse doesn't require that ovethinking

　◞ i shift therefore i am : applying descartes to shifting

　◞ when late night thoughts creep up

　◞ when they just don't get it : a motivation post

　◞ your dr self && parallel selves

　◞ are we in a matrix?

　◞ paradoxical intention

　◞ manifestation vs shifting . . . how you're doing both

　◞ adjustments periods

　◞ you're not sisyphus

　◞ you can manifest anything in hours, minutes, and even seconds

　◞ how to induce the void state

　◞ no one can shift or manifest for you but you.

　◞ stop putting pressure on shifting &&& loa.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

　　v　,　𝓶y guide to scripts and all else ! . . . ౨ৎ 

　◞ guide to scripting

　◞ useful things for college drs.

　◞ sylvia plath, and the fig tree

　◞ pick one, and let intuition guide you.

　◞ marauders dr template.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　,

　　vi　,　𝓶y personal experience . . . ౨ৎ 

　◞ i shifted for 15 days <3

　◞ adjustment period　　

　◞ the basic report of my shift

　◞ how it feels to see my dr friends in my cr

　◞ yap yap

　◞ me &&&&& loml

　◞ things i manifested in the last 6 months

　◞ things i've learned from shifting

[anomaliex]

Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:

- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)

- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.

- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.

- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)

- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck

- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.

- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.

- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao

- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding

- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself

- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten

- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.

- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.

- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)

[royalsunshinehotel]

How Can I? (The Kid x Reader, 18+)

Author's Note: Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Guilty As Sin?" from an inbox request. Thank you to my intrepid editor, and dearest friend @youlooklike-clarabow. You're the best ❤️‍🔥😭🤠🍊

The forest had welcomed him back, just like he’d hoped. Four months after Kid had taken his revenge, it had welcomed him home, as if it missed him, and it had taken him back, and taken in the hijras, as if all of you had always been there. Beating Rana to death had brought Kid back to life. He hoped that you and Sita felt the same. 

Sita had been focused on farming the land, showing off her green thumb after years away from any kind of dirt, and Alpha, it felt, had retired. She had a rocking chair and would look over the makeshift village, from dawn until dusk, every single day. 

And then there was you. Your hand was the one Sita reached for when she ran out to the back alley of Kings. Covered in blood, but together through it all. He had saved your life, rescued the two of you from the Queenie’s black stiletto heels standing on your necks, forcing you to do things you didn’t want to do. He should leave you alone, he shouldn’t want you the way that he does. 

When was the last time he’d had such a luxury? He laid on his sleeping mat, bored bored bored, deep in his bones. 

He hadn’t realized exactly how mentally caged he had been, but now he was free. What was left to do? 

He’d learned about how you longed to throw yourself to the ocean rocks for the chance at freedom, and how grateful you were for him coming to break all of the locks with a chaotic flair. 

He wanted you to be his- from the first moment he laid eyes on you. It was a difficult thing to admit. He’d have wonderful - shockingly vivid dreams about a world where your attachment was written everywhere on you, walking into a room and people know your his. The same for him of course, he’d want everyone to know he’s yours. 

But why on earth would you agree to it? You’d been a bird in a horrible, dank little cage, why would you toss yourself to the likes of him, after all you’d been subjected to? 

Such thoughts could live in dreams, he supposed. 

Across the camp, you're in the branches of a banyan tree, sitting snugly, safely in its branches. You kick your feet, and bob a little, hoping to shake some fruit loose, but alas, the figs aren't ripe yet. Maybe some more sun the next week would do it. What a treat that would be! 

You enjoy seeing the whole camp from up high. Deep in the heart of the woods, you’re all here, together. 

It was remarkable, you think, how you had all been able to come together and make a home. It would be a true village with more time, but the fact that everyone from the temple, plus those left standing after King’s, all had their own shelter, and were working together for food and water…it was remarkable. 

You flash in your mind, on Kid, watching him a little too closely as he weaved some smaller branches to make a door. 

His arms were lovely, even to a strange woman in a fig tree. A flash of heat hits your face, as you imagine those arms around you. In dreams you’d been having, you take a fistful of dense, curly hair, and pull. Would he like it? Would he tell you to fuck off? 

You kick yourself, and then you kick yourself for kicking yourself. Just a passing thought of his arms, and you were practically panting in the early summer heat. 

Sitting up in your tree, you thought of all the men you allowed to touch you, how you faked smiles and orgasms like it was nothing. And then he’d just come bowling into your life with the spark of a firework, letting you know it didn’t have to be like that anymore. 

Even if you did put your hands on him, touch him in the ways you wished to, would you know how? Would you know how to feel for him? 

In your mind, you’d already felt all of him, to your heart's content and beyond…

Sita had said no one would send you to jail for your thoughts, but it certainly felt that way. You hadn’t even touched him - where did all this guilt come from? Did you really need to keep your longing for Kid locked in a vault? 

Queenie had locked passport, your money, everything you were, into a vault -  he was far too kind to be put in there. 

Still, you did intend to be loyal to him, even if it was entirely one sided.  You spoke to him only when necessary, and would continue to do so until this burning itch underneath your skin - ur desire, faded. It had to, right? 

“Kanna, come here please!” called Alpha, voice clear and smooth, summoning you down from your perch, and you oblige her, moving slowly. 

You trot over, feet feeling heavy on the grass, “Yes, Alpha?” 

She takes your hand, and you link your fingers, admiring the manicure Sita had given her earlier that week. 

“You fantasize. I can see it from down here.” 

“I’m not sure what you're saying.” 

“Your fantasies are no longer fatal, and neither are Kid’s. He’s free of the past, still, he does not sleep. You should perhaps see if he is alright?”

As if on cue, a groan floats through the air, towards the two of you. 

“And do what?” 

“Make sure that his past stays gone?” She suggests, not verbalizing what she’d observed these past months. 

Your brow furrows. Kid would have to settle for a cup of water, and a bite of tangerine before settling back to sleep. That’s what your mother always gave you for your nightmares, why wouldn’t it work here? 

You make the quick journey, waving goodnight to Alpha, but stalling at the door of Kid’s hut. 

Another low groan. 

If it had been daylight, you would have had it in yourself to admit to the fluttering in your belly, but you wouldn’t. The desire would subside, for now you have to see if he’s well. The light of the moon makes your path clear. 

You take a breath, before opening the door. 

It’s night. It’s dark - the moon only gets you so far. 

And yet, you still find him, in the corner, on his sleeping mat, flat on his back. A low, almost imperceptible whine reaches your ears, and you furrow your brow. That didn’t seem like a nightmare, was he sick? 

You crouch down next to his sleeping body, and place a cool hand on his forehead, just to feel him. 

It wasn’t in Kid’s nature to feel casual annoyance, but if he could have, he would have been. In the midst of a wonderful dream, inspired by a bead of sweat he saw glistening in the hollow of your clavicle that morning, he was now dreaming about you - again, same as every night. 

In his dreams, you fall apart under his palms, scratching desperately at his back, and you beg for more. In his dreams, you're a desperate, sweet little thing, not much different from him. Another self-indulgence, thinking of a world where you want him as badly as he wants you. 

He jerks awake - where have you gone? He feels movement right beside him, and reflexively grabs it, a tight grip on your wrist.

“Jaanu, come back to bed.” His eyes are wide, still asleep in his mind. You crouched beside him, stunned at his words.

Alpha had said he was having a nightmare. He was neither sick, nor having a nightmare…

He was dreaming! About the two of you! 

Heat rushes to your face, like a paintbrush in water. 

“Back to…” You pause, “Yes, I’ll come back to bed.” Kid grunts at you, not giving your wrist back.  

He’s still in his own head, he doesn’t realize that you’re truly here. 

You allow him to pull you in, sighing as he tucks you into his side. 

God, he felt better than you imagined. 

You hold on to him, as his breathing slows, and you run your hands over a warm, flat stomach, tracing hearts there, for hours and hours. 

You wake slowly, for the first time in years. A light brushing of warmth against your cheek. You crinkle your nose, slowly blinking, and remembering where exactly you were. 

Your head is resting on his arm, his hand on your waist, in real life. 

He’s looking over at you, brown eyes round, his mouth just inches away from yours. Over the past few months, his beard had gotten unruly, you slowly place a hand under his chin, to pet the new growth. 

“Are you really here?” He rasps, voice soft with sleep, you let out a little sigh of relief. 

“Yes, I didn’t want to wake you, Alpha was worried, and you grabbed my wrist so I just…stayed.” You explained, trying not to seem flustered. 

“You're here, not just in my dreams.” He practically whispered, bringing up a palm to your cheek, same as you had for him. It had taken a couple of weeks to hear from Alpha about why Kid’s hands were the way they were. Kid had learned to live with the fact that his roots had been burned away, but as his hand touched your face, it certainly didn’t feel like that. 

You think about his lovely hands. Regardless of any fire, any destruction they may have wrought, any scar tissue that grew there had only served to free you and the women at King’s. You like his hands. 

“I want to kiss you. Can I?” Your voice shook, but you said those words anyway. You should be proud of yourself. 

Kid nods his head, letting you inch forward, brushing your noses together. Something in his stomach flips, and you brush your mouth against his. Soft, almost delicate, the same way a leaf meets the ground in the fall. 

Oh - you think. 

You kissed him, like you had been longing, dreaming of doing, and nothing horrible happened! The stars were still in the sky, the rivers were still running, the trees still stood tall, protecting your village…

“I want you. Do you feel the same?” You ask him again, not sure where this confidence had come from. Maybe it was the fact that you were here, and so close to what you had wanted…

“I only sleep because it’s where I might find you.” Something goes plink in your heart, and you decide enough is enough. 

“Well wake up,” you tease, “I’m right here.” 

Something flashes across Kid’s face, and he pulls you back in. It’s hard not to fold completely as he rolls you carefully on to your back, he just feels too good. Even with the low light coming into the hut, it felt as if Kid had been drizzled in gold. 

“I want more,” you command between kisses, his beard tickling your face. 

“We have to be quiet,” he responds, clearly getting distracted. You had to get him out of his own head. It was ridiculous, someone with a past as checkered as his. He wanted to be with you always, be something you could crush under the heel of your boot if it pleased you. He only wants to please you. And now that he is getting the chance, he does exactly that. 

He works his way down, ignoring the sticky summer heat, until he settles comfortably between your legs. 

How lovely! How comfortable it was to lie here with you. Your body under his felt so surreal, soft and comfortable. Your hands on his shoulders. 

When he has the time, he decides that he’s going to put each one of your fingers in his mouth, just for the sake of feeling every part of you. 

How strange, how new it was! The desire to feel all of someone; to lay here on top of you and hope gravity might keep him here as long as possible. 

He says nothing and hums into your soft thighs, stray hand wandering to push your cotton shift up slowly, higher and higher. You love him for that -  that he’s giving you so much time to stop him, to call it all off, but you don’t. 

Kid runs a rough palm over your heat, and begins to shake at the contact. 

“May I?” He asks, polite as ever. 

You reply, a simple “Yes.” 

Gently, slowly, Kid nudges your legs apart, smiling, before taking an experimental taste. 

It was embarrassing how you jerked into him, like an electric shock. 

Something darkened across his face, that set your hair on end in the best way, and he dove in headfirst. 

He flicks his tongue on your clit, chuckling against you as you twitch under the attention, “Do you like that?” He asks, and you nod, losing your thoughts. 

Your heart leaps to your throat as the rough pad of his thumb meets your clit, rubbing a heart shape. 

“Answer me!” He urges, growly, and it makes you want to smack him. 

“Yes!” You squeak, a little too loudly, sitting up on your elbows. Kid stifles a laugh behind his hand as he rests a palm on your stomach to soothe you. He didn’t know you as one to squeak! You pout, just because you can, and he grins at you, leaning up for a kiss to your pouty mouth. 

“Poor birdy,” he coos, “we should go deeper into the woods, where we can be as loud as we like.” 

The thought makes your hair stand on end, being truly alone, together. The tantalizing thought fades as he ducks his face back down, into you. As he works, spreading the warmth of his mouth over you, it was hard to remember why you ‘had to be quiet’. How would that be possible? Flicking his tongue, you twitch again, relishing the attention he was giving so freely.

“Would you like more?” He hums, vibrations tearing right through you. 

“Y-yesyesyes, more please.” His rough palms roam over you at a leisurely pace, his mouth back to your clit. You should be quiet, you try so hard to be quiet, but Kid’s sucking and slurping unnerves you. You can’t control yourself for long. 

You want to beg him to grab you harder, like you might float away if he doesn’t, but you just can’t find words beyond, “Want you…” 

“Do you promise?” Kid murmured into your leg, tugging the soft flesh there lightly with his teeth, “I don’t want to pressure you.” Please please please, he thinks. 

“I promise,” you pant, pussy still fluttering, “Wanted you since I first saw you…” Your voice dies off, as he comes up to kiss you on the mouth, like he missed you. 

“I was covered in blood.” 

“A few more days and you could be again.” You freeze at your own words. Queenie always kept the girls on lockdown when it was that time. Kid was different. 

“Don’t tempt me, jaanu. I should keep you in my arms until then.” It’s a threat. It’s a promise. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming about for months…

But the idea of Kid with your monthly blood on his face was something else entirely…

Your thoughts are cut off again, but Kid takes your hand, resting it above your stomach. Your fingers intertwine, naturally. 

“Can I get you ready for me?” 

“Do it.” Your voice is firm, and certain, and he absolutely adores you for it. 

The look on your face through the rising light makes his hair stand on end. 

Your eyes flutter shut as Kid traces your needy hole with his fingers. How could you have known that he’d be so gentle with you? What exactly had you been making yourself feel bad about? 

You bite down a moan as he works one finger in, slowly, letting you feel every ridge, relishing as you try to squirm closer to his hand. 

No. 

You’ll take what he gives when he gives it, he thinks but then he revises, You will get everything he had, but not quite yet. 

He pauses, letting you get used to his digit, only starting to move when you pant. You're too stiff, he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want it to be like before, he wants it to be better. 

It’s hard not to melt, so you allow yourself the pleasure. 

Who was he really? Did it even matter? 

“Alright, Jannu?” He asks, and you take a grip on his shoulder, nodding ‘yes.’ 

And then, he starts to move. 

It had been years since someone’s hands had worked you so thoroughly, and you simply had to enjoy it. He simply had to pull you closer, with his two fingers, other hand palming your breasts, to your thrill, in a less gentle manner than the rest of you. 

He was simply petting you, playing with you, of course you had to purr. You couldn’t imagine anything else. Everything in your life has led you here, with him, to be underneath him. 

“Shh. Just hold on for me.” 

Faster and faster and faster, and then. Nothing. 

Kid takes his hand from you, and you whip your head up, face ravenous. 

All he offers you is a “Sorry, not yet.” You should slap him, but the emptiness he’d left turned into an ache. How could he do this? Even for a moment? 

You whine, and Kid thinks he might die if he doesn’t fuck you how you deserve. 

“It’s alright, I’m here. I’ll make it better, hm?” Your lover shifts above you, and you feel his cock nudging at your folds. The giddiness of it all goes straight to your head. 

“Need you!” You are keen, rolling your hips into him, hoping to catch something, anything to grant relief. But the only thing that could help is him. 

“Slowly, not too much now.” He cautions, but you can't. You simply can’t. Months of dreaming, waiting, lusting, handling the overwhelming guilt you didn’t ask for? No more waiting.

You pant, and he greedily breathes in your air, inching into you, measured and careful. 

No. No more. 

You take a cruel grip on his ass, and pull him down into you, losing yourself for either a moment or an hour. 

He pants, sounding desperate to keep himself together. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest move, maybe he’d been going sooooo slooow for his sake as much as yours…

Kid is seated completely inside you, running his rough palm over the bulge he was making in your lower tummy. How quickly a life can change, he thinks, he was asleep, and now he’s here, above you, feeling exactly how deep he can fit inside you. 

Your vision had gone white at the edges, he just felt too correct. Perhaps you should keep him hostage here, always. Kid lets out a low whine, pathetic and beautiful, and you feel your skin buzz so loud, you're certain he could hear it. 

He has to move. Or you might die. 

But carefully, he rolls into you, making you dig into him. He catches your wanton moan in his mouth, trying to soothe you in spite of his actions. Your words are gone…

“Good girl, do you like that?” He asks, as if you could respond, “Do you want more?” 

You nod your head, drunkenly, and he snaps down again. You grip him even tighter, and he puts his mouth back on yours. 

It’s just too desperate, does he know how badly you need him?  

“Harder! Harder please.” You beg, eyes round and unfocused on anything other than the harsh pleasure he was giving you. 

“More more more!”

Kid goes after your breasts, teasing with his hot mouth, bringing you closer with each shallow breath he takes. 

You stifle a wail in his shoulder, fighting desperately. As soon as you bare down around him, it’s over. You don’t want to be over…

Kid seems to know this, watching you intently, same as always. You fight off your orgasm, defiant and determined, fluttering tightly around him, the least he could do is do the same. 

But it’s simply too much, you knew you were going to scream. You couldn’t, it was too early, everyone would know. 

You run a hand up the side of his face, catching his beard, feeling hair stuck to his forehead from the humidity. His eyes blank, absolutely lost in the throes of you, your squelching and whines burned into his bones forever. 

He holds you as you scrabble at his back, eyes rolling, not losing his pace for a moment, only gasping into your ear as you finally clench down, fluttering around him, only coming back to reality when your teeth meet his chest and bite down, muffling the sound. 

Your teeth meeting his flesh, makes him lose his composure. He moans beautifully in your ear, your teeth still in his chest, reflexively gripping you harder as he spills deep inside. You kick your legs up higher around his torso, so you could keep him trapped against you. 

Kid pants into your mouth, murmuring all the sweet things he’d been keeping to himself. He’s free now, you both are. 

But still, neither of you move, holding on to each other, and it must be heaven. 

Someone has to move first. He should start some tea for you. He should start to show you how he was ready for the rest of his life now, with you. 

But it’s not to be, the second Kid pulls out, you kick his rear with the heel of your ankle. All of your shared mess seeps out of your worn out body. Not yet. He’s too far away. It couldn’t be over yet…That’s not allowed, you decide. 

“No. Put it back.” You command. 

Kid has the nerve to bat his eyes at you, and obliges, face flashing with something you couldn’t place. 

He holds you tight, and the two of you let the quiet soak in from the window. With you here, it wasn’t a hut, but a proper house. 

His heart is about to beat out of his chest, the sheer weight of your eyes on his, it feels like an honor to be here with you. 

The evidence of your rendezvous was hot and sticky between your legs. Kid was surprised that there seemed to be so much, and he didn’t mind one bit. Maybe he could take you down to the river to clean up, and care for you properly. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t be missed. 

You close your eyes, and something flips in the Kid's chest. 

“What is it you want?” He asks, forehead pressed against yours, “Ask for the moon and I’ll pull it down for you.” You squirm under the intensity of his stare, he was simply too beautiful and overwhelming. 

“I choose you and me.” 

“You can have it.” He gives you a peck, smiling into you, but quickly furrowing into concern. .

“Wait Jannu, it’s alright, what’s happened?” You stifle a small sob at the overwhelming softness of his tone. 

The fist around your heart clenches, as you feel a wet trail down your face, to your jaw. 

When was the last time you were allowed to cry? 

You huff a little, to yourself, and bring him in for another sweet kiss, languid and comfortable. He brings the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, clearing the tears away.  You take a fistful of his hair, and bring him in close, limbs intertwined, safe together. 

“I’m happy. I’m so very happy.” And you cry a little more, because it’s true. 

[yuikomorii]

This is from your young blood post i saw: I’ve heard people didn’t like the fact that rejet made ayato out to be the adam but i don’t really understand as to why?? Wouldn’t this add more depth to the franchise. For example, Subaru, he’s known for openly hating his father so I was thinking, doesn’t that add a lot more drama to his route or atleast subtle irony? Also Reiji, he admires his father but isn’t adam. I think the young blood chapter was amazing and adds onto the whole like semi forbidden love?? or dark romance bit.

// Honestly, I’ve only seen Western fans complain about it, because in Japan, everyone in the DL fandom seems to love and respect Ayato. He has the highest desire rate and the biggest fanbase in EA.

Aside from his marketing appeal, I genuinely believe Ayato is “the chosen one” because he possesses innate traits that others either never had or lost at a much younger age. Despite his life being a living hell, Ayato, as a child, was never deliberately rude to anyone, and remained selfless and compassionate. In YB, after discovering that Laito and Kanato are missing, he’s willing to risk his own life to go back for them, even knowing the danger he could face. Later, when he’s used as bait and his absence goes unnoticed by his brothers after meeting again, his first thought upon reaching the fig tree is “I don’t know what happened to Shu and Subaru… no way they got eaten, right?”. Even after he nearly got killed, Ayato’s instinct is to worry about his brothers’ safety.

What Karlheinz says to him here could also be a factor. Ayato's ability to continue cherishing life, despite how badly he was treated by people around him, and his mental resilience in the face of what he's endured, make him the perfect candidate.

I agree that other characters had a stronger connection to the Karlheinz plot and it would have been more interesting, but I kind of like how Ayato is positioned as this special and different being in canon, even though no one—not even the characters themselves—can really explain why. I guess what makes Ayato “Adam” to Karlheinz is simply the fact that he’s Ayato. 😂😂

Credit to dialovers-translations and tournesolia on tumblr

[talonabraxas]

"An ash I know, Yggdrasil its name, With water white is the great tree wet; Thence come the dews that fall in the dales, Green by Urth's well does it ever grow." - Voluspa Yggdrasil Talon Abraxas The fate of the nine worlds in Norse mythology rested on the well-being of the Yggdrasil tree and its root system that connected all the realms together. The concept of a world tree is present in many cultures’ legends. Examples of this include the sacred Bodhi fig tree under which the Buddha reached Enlightenment, and the holy Aśvattha tree believed by Hindus to have no beginning or end. Certain trees are still considered to hold power in Scandinavian culture. Thought to bless their caretakers with good luck, farmers still plant warden trees in Norway and Sweden. In Norse mythology, the cosmic tree of life is arguably the most important element of their spiritual world. The Yggdrasil tree is grounded at the center of the universe, with the nine worlds revolving around it, held in place by its branches and roots. Here is an exploration into why this tree is deeply significant in the Norse spiritual cosmos. The Origin of the Word “Yggdrasil” A meaningful myth surrounding the tree is revealed when the name is broken down. “Yggr” translates to “terrible one” in Old Norse, which was the title of the incredibly powerful god Odin. “Drasill” translates as horse. Combining these into “Yggdrasil” exposes the story that led to the tree’s given name. One of Odin’s distinctive characteristics is his intense craving for knowledge. The Norns, named Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld, are three women who personify Time and spin fate.

In Odin’s feverous pursuit of wisdom, he learned of the Norns’ carvings on the trunk, etched runes regarding their plans for the Nine Worlds. To comprehend them, he hung himself on a branch and felt more powerful than before due to his absorbed knowledge. The image of Odin hanging from the tree is reminiscent of a man hanging from the gallows, which is described in poems as a horse and his rider.

[catinafigtree]

I simply can not wait for the muslim scholarship bourgeoisie to fall

[elipapayo]

Headcannon last names for the Tulpar 5:

Curly: Curly Anderson

Reasoning: Curly isn't a super popular boys name, so I thought it would be really funny if he had a basic bitch last name. Maybe his parents wanted to give him a unique first name so he wouldn't have an everyman name.

Jimmy (Sorry you had to read that): Jimmy Wilson

Reasoning: It sounded enough like a name I'd read on FBI's most wanted. Also, he doesn't deserve a cool name. So he gets the basic name of Wilson.

Anya: Anya Solovyov

Reason: Anya is a Russian/Spanish version of the name Anna, but I got distinctly Russian vibes from her? So I went with Russian. Solovyov means Nightingale, which is a beautiful bird. I thought Anya deserved something nice. If I were to go the Spanish route, her name would be Anya Figueroa. The reasoning is a bit more complicated. From what I researched, Figueroa loosely means "Fig tree," and although I'm not religious, I always interpreted Anya as someone who would be, or at least came from a religious background. Fig trees are extremely important in some religions and symbolise inner peace. I thought Anya deserved some inner peace.

Swansea: Swansea Jensen

Reasoning: Swansea, as a name, is from Old Norse. Swansea has a modernized version of the name. Since Norse typically came from Northern Europe - mostly Scandinavia, if my memory serves me - I gave him a very common, modern Scandinavian last name. It's pretty popular in America, too. So, is my HC!Swansea from Scandinavia? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, he's a Jensen.

Daisuke: Daisuke Fukuzawa

Reasoning: Daisuke is a Japanese name meaning "Big, Assist" if Google is to be trusted (Don't worry, I didn't rely on the AI overview), And so I decided to go with Japanese for the last name. Fukuzawa, according to Japanesenames.info, has two Kanji in it; Fuku, meaning "Happiness," and Zawa, meaning "Marsh." Daisuke Fukuzawa is a Happy, Helpful Marsh, and he deserves it.

[blueiscoool]

Meet Methuselah, The Worlds Oldest Fish in Captivity

The lungfish arrived in San Francisco on a steamship along with 230 other fish. Today, she’s the only living aquatic animal from that vessel.

She’s super-gentle, and doesn’t get overly excited. She enjoys eating earthworms, fruits and vegetables, and slowly moving around her tank. Her favorite food – at least for what is in season now – is a fig.

If Methuselah sounds like a grand old dame, it’s because she is: she is the oldest living fish in captivity, aged somewhere upwards of 92 and potentially as high as 101 years. She arrived on a steamship from Australia along with 230 other fish to the Steinhart aquarium in San Francisco in 1938 as a young, small fish. And Methuselah’s story unfolded in a typical way, for a fish in an aquarium: she grew. Humans came to look at her. She peered back through glass at humans.

But 1938 was a different time: bread cost nine cents a loaf. A racehorse named Seabiscuit was winning races. Germany was persecuting Jews, foretelling a coming conflict in Europe. Then there is Methuselah, who is no ordinary fish. She’s the only fish still living from the steamship. And most important, she’s a lungfish – a species more closely related to humans or cows than to ray-finned fish like salmon or cod – which can breathe air using a single lung when streams become stagnant, or when water quality changes. Lungfish are also believed to be an example of the original creatures that crawled out of water and moved to land in evolutionary history. The species was discovered in 1870 – and the scientist who first described the fish originally thought it was an amphibian.

Lungfish like Methuselah have long-held secrets, but scientists have only recently attempted to understand their evolution and life history. For one thing, the fish’s genome is the largest of any animal, containing 43bn base pairs – roughly 14 times the number in the human genome. The previous record holder, the Mexican axolotl, has a genome made up of 32bn base pairs.

“Genetics is really quite straightforward for normal fish – but for lungfish they’re so unique and so different that all of those techniques didn’t or don’t work,” said David T Roberts, a senior scientist with Seqwater, the statutory authority of the government of Queensland in Australia, where the fish still live in a handful of rivers in the wild. “It’s always pushed the envelope on uncovering some of its secrets to be able to manage and conserve it – and age is a really important one.”

A fish’s age is critical to know because it tells scientists information like growth rates, maturity, longevity and how long they breed – which is vital fundamental knowledge to manage a protected species.

Lungfish – a vulnerable species – have proved especially challenging to date because they grow a lot at the beginning of their lives, but then grow extremely slowly (yet continuously) for the remainder of their lives. Ear bones that are harvested after most fish’s death can be counted like tree rings, but lungfish, always the outlier, don’t have the same composition to their ear bones.

So scientists started to use radiocarbon to date the fish – relying on a technique that basically imprints living things with a carbon signature resulting from the atomic bomb tests back in the 1950s. But that doesn’t work well in animals born before 1950, when the carbon signature changed.

Now, scientists are using DNA tools that look at methylation – the way that DNA is turned on or off – to date the fish. For younger fish, it can offer an exact number, but for older fish it gives a range of dates.

It wasn’t the first time this technique had been used. Last year, scientists estimated a lungfish named Granddad that lived at the Shedd aquarium in Chicago to be 109 years old (give or take six years) at the time of its death, confirming that lungfish can live well over 100 years. The analysis also revealed that Granddad started its life in the Burnett River in Queensland, Australia, the location of the species’ original discovery in 1870.

In the study on Methuselah, aquarium workers took samples the size of a peppercorn from the lungfish in captivity and extracted the DNA from that in order to estimate their age for the first time ever. They found Methuselah to be at least 92 years old. The scientists plan to release their findings of 30 other lungfish later this year, as part of a library of living lungfish across the world.

“Knowing how long they potentially live and understanding more about how long they could reproduce could drive how we’re caring for habitat to help keep that species afloat in the wild,” says Brenda Melton, director of animal care and welfare at the Steinhart aquarium. “It just really opens the doors for a lot of other conversations and questions that might be able to be asked about how we can better care for them in the wild and preserve habitat.”

Roberts is inspired to continue to conserve the fish – after all, lungfish were around before dinosaurs became extinct, and their cousins possibly split off into animals with legs and then crawled on to land and then became humans, he says. “They’re a cousin to all land animals, basically.”

Methuselah’s age is now known, but she still holds other mysteries – even her biological sex. The handlers use she/her pronouns, but they actually don’t know if Methuselah is a male or female. Some fish have gender differences in size or shape – but not lungfish. And behaviorally, they suspect she’s a female, but they will not be able to find out for sure until after she dies.

Another question is if the fish is feeling old – and how do fish change when they’re geriatric? Melton says it varies widely. Most fish live only a few years – so it’s rare to see really old fish in the wild. But there are some hints: some spinal changes, like a curved back, or weight loss, cloudy eyes or looking a little gray in the scales.

Two of the other fish in the new study were estimated to be 50 and 54 years old – and Melton says they look a little more similar in coloration, while Methuselah has gotten a little lighter in color over the years. “We don’t know that that’s actually tied to her age, but it’s the only thing that we have seen physically that looks different for this fish.”

Melton says that just the existence of something that has lived for so long leaves her in awe. She wonders what Methuselah thinks of all her companions and living situations over the many years she’s spent at the aquarium – as the fish has the longest institutional memory of anything in the building.

“It’s incredible to me that after all of these years of having her in our care,” she says, “we’re still learning and we still have the ability to learn from animals in ways that we can’t even conceive yet.”

By Katharine Gammon.

[yandere-wishes]

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

[sempersirens]

the fig tree | rotten

pairing: therapist!joel x f!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. discussion of heavy and potentially triggering topics such as sa, self-harm, infertility, various mental illnesses, self-hatred and drug use. these topics are only mentioned and do not occur in real-time.

chapter summary: a twenty-something, seemingly lost cause, meets her match in the form of psychotherapist: dr. joel miller.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

updates: @sempersirenswrites

series masterlist

Maybe it was time to accept you were never as good as you'd always thought you'd been.

For four long years, you had spent most of your waking hours dissecting epic poetry and papyrology.

Still, the most your degree had done for you was rouse a satisfying disappointment from your mother’s side of the family when they realised you weren’t actually going to be that kind of doctor.

Not to say such in a self-deprecation; you hardly suffered from any semblance of an imposter syndrome. Your mother used to frequently remind you that you were far too vain to not believe in yourself.

It was more of a philosophical framework. Platonic realism. Knowing your muted beauty could earn you a free drink from below-average men who felt their trousers tighten when you addressed them through your eyelashes.

But it wasn't an obvious enough beauty for the attention of the men you imagined exchanging bodily fluids with between stops on the underground.

Besides, you had been a student of Classical Studies; a degree that doesn’t require the intellectual strain of learning Latin or Ancient Greek. The inclusive way for people like you, having attended a run-down state-funded school, to get a glimpse into the Bullingdon boys' and grammar schoolgirls’ fallback plans.

It wasn't even that you disliked Classics; you'd borderline gotten off on reading plays written by men about wicked women; but that was because the brilliant women were always the wicked ones.

You particularly enjoyed the assumptions men made about the female condition – how women were too wet, too porous; couldn’t keep their wombs from wandering. And assumptions they were. No Greek physician ever sliced a woman from chin to cunt to confirm their hypotheses. Although, ancient men hadn't been all too familiar with the insides of a woman anyway.

Sometimes, you thought you would quite simply die if you were reduced to only understanding people through your assumptions of them.

It was just that you could never stop thinking about what people thought. It was all you could ever think about. You wanted to peel people's skulls apart and scream at their horribly grey frontal lobe:

Are you ok? Have I done something to upset you? Do you still love me? Do I look like someone that has been raped? Do you think that girl we just walked past has a firmer ass than me? Do you like my new bangs?

For a short period of time, you'd been desperate to know how your therapist felt and thought of you. There is a sick irony in baring your bones to a stranger in the reclined chair opposite you who never even takes off their cardigan.

You needed to know if your traumas made him sad, or if he saw things that made him think of you outside of your sessions. You supposed he both pitied and admired you in a twisted, surrogate-daughter kind of way.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been a very good therapist did he not pity his clients.

At one point you thought you might be in love with him.

You'd met weekly in his high-ceiling office on a busy street. It was a romantic setting to unload twenty-four years of trauma to a kind man wearing a knitted cardigan. The sun would peak through clouds and shine onto the both of you through two large windows, between which sat a Japanese peace lily.

You soon realised he was just the first man to let you speak uninterrupted.

You spoke at him mostly, finishing observations that had been years in the making with “Does that make sense?” Even though you knew it made sense. You were certain, actually, that everything you had articulated came from somewhere deeper inside of you than any man could reach. You just couldn't leave it hanging there like an exposed nerve.

Maybe it was because he didn't speak much that you liked him. Sometimes he would offer anecdotes or remedies for PTSD-induced panic attacks that you both knew you would never use.

In most sessions, you had simply basked in the divinity of being listened to. You wondered if this was how devout Catholics like your grandmother felt at confession, or perhaps it was how all of your ex-boyfriends had felt.

You weren't even particularly attracted to him. He had been ten years older than you, and when your sessions first began, you'd been casually fucking someone a year older than him – but he didn't need to know that.

There were a lot of things you'd decided he didn't need to know. Like the fact you snorted cocaine until your nose bled, sliced into your thighs a couple of evenings a week, and let men use your body to masturbate as a feeble attempt to reclaim your sexuality - as if it had ever been anyone's for the taking.

Had he known the dirtier parts of your life, you feared he would have crossed out the word victim in his black Moleskin notebook and replaced it with bystander.

Maybe he would think you were a pathological liar and diagnose you with a personality disorder. This was something you'd been warned about by the first friend you had made at university.

“My mother is a therapist, you know. Don’t tell them you cut yourself or that you’ve told anyone you cut yourself – they’ll diagnose you with BPD.”

“But I’ve told you.”

“Trust me. They’ll put you on an SSRI and you’ll never be able to orgasm again.”

You were freshly eighteen and had never had a real orgasm anyway, but this terrified you enough to reel in your catalogue of symptoms for the GP appointment you had scheduled later that day.

In the end, you'd buckled and sobbed as the doctor sat adjacent to you. You didn’t mention the self-harming or the suicidal thoughts, but did tell her that you didn’t know where to go from here.

She'd slid a leaflet from the university's self-help website across the table before pushing her chair back and motioning toward the door.

“Call 999 if things get worse," she had said. "But let’s just hope it doesn’t get to that point. A&E is very overwhelmed at the moment.”

So you got on with it. Boats against the current, or whatever. You made the hurt so small and buried it so deep within you and swore you'd never let anyone get close enough to pick at the stray thread to your undoing.

And for a little while it worked. You became what you knew you should be; you presented your face for fucking and never let the door slam on your way out.

These days, you'd felt as though you were slowly becoming rotten.

It started on the surface; a bizarre case of adult acne that no dermatologist could diagnose for love nor money. Blood tests, topical steroids, antibiotics, potentially-baby-deforming drugs. You tried them all to little avail. In the end, it was simply the passing of time that had rid you of the rot.

Next, it had been your womb. Decomposing from the inside out. Your body had made the decision for you that goodness couldn't form in your guts.

The final straw had, embarrassingly, been your heart.

You hated to say it aloud. So much so that you hadn't. But it had been a quiet promise of yours; one you'd kept quietly close to your chest - that your suffering would never turn you ugly.

But here you were, alone and swearing at the wind, the rage beneath your skin growing like a tumour.

You hated it.

You hated yourself.

You hated that you were angry but had never been taught how to be angry, because anger wasn't a pretty emotion; it was one that should be starved and kept in the corner of your wardrobe to rot like black mould.

So here you stood: before a Victorian townhouse with your scarf furiously fighting the wind, droplets of rain threatening your freshly straightened hair, scanning various names scrawled on the building's buzzer.

S. PHYSIOTHERAPY

A & R SOLICITORS

J. MILLER PSYCHOTHERAPY

You bit the inside of your cheek and ducked further into the doorway, pressing the buzzer for the last option.

A voice had answered quicker than you'd anticipated, soon followed by a harsh buzz of the intercom.

"Come on up."

Dr. Miller's office was on the third floor.

You huffed, struggling with the combination of the stairs and attempting to wrangle your wet coat from your back. Amidst your struggle, you hear a door open somewhere above you, followed by a couple of soft and slow footsteps.

Your chin instinctively lifted toward the source of the noise, feet carrying you round and round the spiral staircase.

Light poured around his silhouette from the window behind him. It was ridiculous, actually. The sight was almost holy.

Neither of you spoke as you made your way up toward him. You felt as though you were on your knees beneath him, transfixed in supplication.

The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were haphazardly pushed up just before his elbows, arms outstretched and fingers wrapped around the wooden bannister.

You were supposed to be actually trying with this one, not fantasising about the ways the veins in his arms probably bulged with his hand around your throat.

After being politely let go by your previous therapist, you'd promised yourself that the colleague he'd recommended to you, Dr. Miller, would be the one to fix you for good.

"Hello." He nodded, not quite managing a smile.

He reached a hand toward you, which you shook with the little strength left in your body.

"Hello." You tried your best to imitate his stoic cadence, your hand still tightly in his.

You let him break the handshake first, playing a petulant, one-sided game to see how quick he would be to scare.

"After you." He gestured to the room behind him. "Take a seat wherever you feel most comfortable."

"If there is any cowboy paraphernalia in that room I am not paying for this session."

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together, no sign of humour registering on his face.

"Your accent - it was a joke. I mean, I paid already anyway." You fumbled your words awkwardly. "Jokes are always much funnier when you explain them."

He cocked his head slightly. Hesitant to embarrass yourself further, you saw yourself into his office.

The room was dim for a space endowed with Victorian-style floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like you could get lost in it, hide away, tuck yourself into a corner and be lost for days.

"I have your notes from Dr. Hughes." He said.

"Anything juicy?" You asked, still surveying the room.

You couldn't put your finger on the specifics of his scent, but it was familiar; like passing a man in the street wearing the same aftershave as your father, or a boyfriend you hadn't seen for years.

"I'd like to figure that out myself."

You'd eventually settled on the armchair positioned opposite his own.

You had briefly wondered if this was a test, that he would be psychoanalysing whether you chose the armchair or the adjacent sofa.

Maybe you'd failed already.

For the majority of the session, you'd gone through the necessary motions of admin, confidentiality, and what you eventually wanted to get out of therapy.

"I don't have the ability to fix you, y'know that right?" His question had caught you off guard.

"I know that." You'd replied meekly.

"It's just, I don't know what kind of promises Dr. Hughes made you. We trained together, you see. He had always been more, how do I put this, hopeful than I am."

"Oh wow. Forty minutes into our first session and you're already hopeless?" You were only partly joking.

"I'm a big believer in transparency, and I can see you were meeting on and off for a few years. I'm just intrigued as to what your end goal here is."

You bit down on your cheek, swallowing the ember of rage that was burning in your throat.

"Do you think I do this for fun? Carve out an hour a week to relive my deepest, darkest traumas?"

"Not at all. I just find it interesting that after almost three years of therapy, you still can't use the word rape. You've referred to it as the thing that happened four times already."

The rot crept up your throat, threatening to pour out of your mouth and fill the room with the ugliness that grew inside of you.

"What is this, some kind of tough love therapy?" You scoffed. Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

"It can be whatever you want it to be."

He was kind of annoying, actually.

The two of you sat in silence, defiantly holding eye contact with one another to see who would be the first to break. And when he finally spoke, it was more of a statement than a question.

"That's time. I'll see you at the same time next week."

"How are you so sure I'll come back?"

He smiled for the first time that afternoon.

"I'm not."

[veritas-scribblings]

improve - @jegulus-microfic - words: 848

James was just a naive twelve-year-old boy the first time the feeling consciously struck him. It was a feeling that could only be described as wonder with the slightest undercurrent of pure desire. He’d been on the football field at the time and he’d noticed Frank Longbottom, the captain of the sixth form Gryffindor football team. Of course he’d seen Frank before, but this time he actually saw him. Sweaty. A bit muddy.

For months afterwards, he’d been preoccupied with thoughts of Frank Longbottom, watching him practise almost daily, marvelling at the way his football uniform fit his strong, muscular form. Only he was still at the time frighteningly on the cusp of adolescence, old enough to have the thoughts and feelings and the strange sensations in his body, and still young enough to not be able to understand them well.

And so he’d passed it off as admiration for an older student, one who many students at school desired. His football idol. The almost-man he wanted to be (not the almost-man he clearly wanted to have).

It’s only, years later, while watching Regulus Black cross the South Lawn for the third time, flanked by Crouch and Rosier, that James starts to realise that there’s something more to the feelings and thoughts that have been plaguing him as of late. The ones he now associates with Regulus Black. That maybe the warm, flushed feeling in his stomach, the way he feels just a bit breathless at the sight of Regulus Black ought to be examined with a little bit more scrutiny.

‘Fucks sake, James, you’re drooling,’ Marlene hisses, tugging on James’s arm.

James looks around hastily and does his best to appear entirely innocent and unassuming. ‘What? No, I’m not. Drooling over what? Don’t be an idiot.’ 

Marlene rolls her eyes and plops down onto the lawn, staring up at James like he’s the simplest creature alive. Only Regulus is still across the way, now sitting underneath a tree with Crouch and Rosier, and he’s taken off his coattails so James can see the way his white shirt and the green-black of his prefect waistcoat fits his form perfectly. The way his black hair falls loosely, catching the light autumn breeze. The silver of the rings on his slender, elegant fingers, which gleam in the sunlight every once in a while.

‘What!’ When Marlene pulls on James’s arm, James goes down gracelessly, falling in a heap on the grass beside her. 

‘Quit staring, you fool. You’re going to look like a creep.’

‘I’m not—’

Marlene leans forwards, narrowing her gaze disbelievingly. ‘You’re not making lusty eyes at little Regulus Black? Please. You’ve been undressing him with your eyes for weeks. It’s so obvious a blind person could see it.’ She pauses, and a little bit gentler, uncharacteristically so, ‘It’s okay, you know. Liking guys. It’s perfectly normal.’ 

‘I know it’s normal! That’s not it.’ A warm flush fills James’s cheeks. He ducks his head and looks away sheepishly. ‘I have not been “undressing him with my eyes”! I’ve been entirely honourable in my looking. I’m just…observing how beautiful he is.’

‘Right.’ Marlene snorts in laughter and pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. ‘All right, Mr. Honourable. Stop “observing his beauty” and ask the boy out already. You’re making me sick with the constant googly eyes.’

‘Shhh!’ James waves his arms frantically, glancing over her shoulder to where Regulus is still lounging under the huge fig tree with his friends. ‘Quiet! I can’t!’

Marlene raises an eyebrow sceptically. ‘Because he’s a boy?’

‘No! Because he’s Sirius’s little brother, and he’s bloody Regulus Black! He’s got his own personal bodyguards. When are Crouch and Rosier ever not with him? They’re damned scary.’ 

Marlene grins. ‘Call me your wingman,’ she declares, sounding a little too excited as she scrambles to her feet. ‘I’ve got it under control! I’ll lure Crouch and Rosier away and you go get your boy.’

‘No! No wingman-ing!’ James reaches out and grabs her wrist to prevent her from bounding off towards Regulus and h his friends. ‘That’s Sirius’s little brother, I can’t! There’s an…unwritten code between best friends that you don’t develop feelings for their little brother, let alone try to date them.’ 

Across the grass, Regulus has taken out a copy of what looks like some Shakespearean text. He’s always so serious when he reads, James has noticed from the times when he’s…honourably observed Regulus’s beauty from afar. So focussed. And occasionally a loose curl falls into his eyes and sometimes he’s so serious and so focussed he doesn’t notice for a while. And James is sometimes overcome by the urge to reach out and tuck the lock of hair behind his ear for him and feel how soft and silky it must be.

‘That’s the stupidest unwritten code I’ve ever heard,’ Marlene says with a shake of her head. ‘When Sirius sees how pathetic you are right now, he’ll be begging you to ask Regulus out. Believe me.’