#yes I drew my patron god what about it

[zagreusm]

Small interlude between the lovefebruary drawings bc I went out friday and saturday and was too tired to draw besides this @-@

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

*clears throat.* Good evening, and thank you for your time. So the idea is along the lines of this. In this world, nothing is truly what it seems. Marcus finds himself in The Library of Alexandria (My HC is Marcus also likes to read to relax.) where our reader is a scholar from Greece. The two of them start to talk philosophy (Or anything you'd like to come up with.) and whatnot. Marcus is turned on by this, he values intelligence. They have sex and well, reader isn't who we think! Reader is actually the Greek Goddess, Chaos; and basically says something along the lines of "I think I'm going to stick around for a while, so in exchange for us doing this again; and worshiping me. I will do whatever I can to allow you to win your battles, even if it seems all is lost." (My apologies if this makes no sense!)

My God

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Greek Godess!F!reader | WC : 4.1k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN |

Summary: see ask above

Warnings: Exhibitionism , oral F, p in v, breeding kink, worshiping, marking (scratching), kinda sub Marcus

A/n: I'm very very proud of this fic i really like it

Life in Rome was never easy—a place where survival often meant aligning with power, brute force, or sheer luck. But Marcus was different. He never let the harsh realities of Roman life define him. Instead, he focused on the pursuits of the mind—education, knowledge, and the arts held a deeper allure for him than the roar of the Colosseum or the blood-soaked sands of the battlefield. It was this quality, among others, that drew you to him. You admired his intellect more than any gladiator's victory or war hero's tale.

You found yourself drawn to Marcus not just because of his intelligence, but because of the way he made you feel—respected, seen, and, dare you think it, understood. There was a quiet strength in him, a confidence that didn’t need to assert itself through violence or intimidation. He was different from the others, and you couldn’t help but feel that he saw something different in you too.

That evening in the Library of Alexandria, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and the faint aroma of the sea beyond the walls. The library was a sanctuary, a place where the chaos of the outside world faded away, leaving only the soft rustle of scrolls and the whispered voices of scholars deep in thought. You had been there for hours, lost in a text that demanded every ounce of your focus. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the high windows, you noticed something peculiar.

One by one, the other patrons began to leave, their departure almost synchronized, as if they were being summoned elsewhere. A soft murmur of voices drifted away, and soon, the library was nearly empty, save for you and a few lingering souls. You couldn’t help but whisper to yourself, “Aphrodite must have sent Cupid, because this feels like a sign.” The idea that the goddess of love might have a hand in this sudden solitude made your heart flutter.

And then, as if on cue, Marcus entered the room.

He moved with the same quiet grace that you had come to associate with him, his presence immediately commanding the space without a word. His eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You could feel your pulse quicken as he approached, his footsteps barely audible on the marble floor.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, his voice soft but warm, like a familiar melody.

“Good evening, Marcus,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips as you tried to keep your voice steady despite the nervous excitement thrumming through you.

He settled into a seat across from you, a scroll in hand, but it was clear his attention was more on you than the text. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation,” he began, his tone casual but thoughtful. “About how philosophy shapes our understanding of the world. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

You nodded, eager to engage with him on a topic that was close to both of your hearts. “It is. The way ideas can influence how we see everything around us—it’s like unlocking a new way of thinking. I’ve always loved how philosophy challenges the status quo.”

Marcus’s smile deepened a glint of admiration in his eyes. “That’s what I appreciate about you,” he said, his voice lowering slightly. “You don’t just accept things as they are. You question them, you seek to understand them. It’s refreshing, especially in a world that so often values power over thought.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, the sincerity of his words making your heart skip a beat. “I’ve learned a lot from you, Marcus. You’ve opened my eyes to so many new ideas, and I’m grateful for that.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “And you’ve done the same for me. It’s rare to find someone who not only values knowledge but also understands its importance in shaping the world. You have a gift, and it’s something that should be nurtured.”

His words made your heart swell, a mix of pride and something deeper stirring within you. The way he spoke to you, with such respect and admiration—it was something you hadn’t experienced before. “You’ve always treated me with kindness, Marcus. More than anyone else,” you confessed, your voice soft but sincere.

“I’ve only ever treated you as you deserve,” Marcus replied, his tone firm but gentle. “You’re intelligent, capable, and deserving of every opportunity that any man would have. It’s a shame society doesn’t always see it that way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change things, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. He wasn’t just a man of knowledge—he was a man of principle, someone who believed in equality and justice. It was a rare quality in a world dominated by power and greed. “I wish more people thought like you,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“Perhaps one day they will,” Marcus said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “But until then, we’ll keep learning, keep questioning, and maybe, just maybe, we can inspire others to do the same.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his words. “There’s a book I’ve been meaning to read,” you said, your voice a little lighter now, as if the conversation had shifted to something more personal. “It’s the sequel to the one I suggested to you last time we spoke. I’ve been eager to see how the ideas develop, how the story progresses.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ah, yes, I remember. The way you described it made me curious. I’ve been looking forward to seeing where the author takes the arguments in the sequel.”

You nodded, excited to share this with him. “It’s on the top shelf,” you said, gesturing toward the tall bookcase that loomed over you. “I’ve been meaning to grab it, but…”

Marcus didn’t wait for you to finish. He was already moving toward the shelf, his long stride carrying him effortlessly across the room. “Allow me,” he said with a soft smile, reaching up to retrieve the book. As he stretched, his body leaned closer to yours, his presence warm and comforting.

Your breath caught as he handed the book to you, your fingers brushing his as you took it. The air between you felt charged as if something more than just a book exchange was happening. Marcus didn’t move away, didn’t break the connection. Instead, he leaned in closer, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the realization of how close you were, of how much you wanted this moment, making your thoughts spin. You had admired Marcus for so long, not just for his intelligence but for his kindness, his respect, the way he made you feel seen. There had been so many moments, so many little things that had led to this—his smile when he caught you lost in thought, the way he listened to you as if every word you said mattered, the quiet conversations you shared in the library when no one else was around.

And now, here you were, standing so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Your mind raced with memories, with all the times you had felt this pull toward him, this undeniable connection that you had tried to ignore but could no longer deny.

As Marcus leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, you knew this was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had imagined so many times but had never dared to hope would actually happen. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. You wanted this, wanted him, more than you had ever wanted anything. And as his lips finally met yours in a soft, tender kiss, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you—a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper, something that made your heart feel full and complete in a way you had never known before.

I owe Aphrodite big time, you thought, a fleeting smile curving your lips against his. Little did Marcus know, the goddess of love wasn’t the only divine force at play. Chaos, the very essence of unpredictability and passion, lurked beneath your skin, a secret you hadn’t even discovered yet. But that would come later—right now, all that mattered was the way Marcus was kissing you, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The kiss deepened, turning feverish as months of unspoken tension finally spilled over. You clawed at each other’s clothing with an urgency that surprised you, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the ties of his tunic. His hands were no gentler, grasping at the fabric of your dress, tugging it down your shoulders as his mouth moved hungrily over yours. The world around you seemed to blur, the lines between thought and sensation fading until there was nothing left but the press of his body against yours, the heat of his touch.

Marcus’s hands found your waist, and with a low growl of need, he pushed you back against the nearest bookshelf. The impact sent a few books toppling to the floor, their thuds barely registering in the haze of your shared desire. Neither of you cared about the mess, too consumed by the fire that had ignited between you. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you gasp, your back arching instinctively into him.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he continued his assault on your senses. The scent of old parchment and sea air mingled with the heady musk of passion, creating a dizzying blend that only heightened the intensity of the moment. Your breaths came in short, ragged bursts, the sound filling the otherwise silent library.

Marcus’s hands roamed your body with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers brushing over every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch sent sparks of electricity dancing along your nerves, each caress stoking the fire that burned between you. And when he finally claimed your lips again, the kiss was no longer tender but fierce, demanding, as if he needed you as much as you needed him.

You could give a fuck about who might see you, or what they might think. The world beyond these walls ceased to exist the moment you started unraveling under Marcus's touch. His tunic was already halfway off, hanging loosely around his shoulders, but you were far beyond caring. Your own dress was falling away, your breasts now on full display for him, and the hunger in his eyes made you feel like the most powerful woman alive.

Marcus’s lips traveled down your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He continued his descent, kissing down to your stomach, his breath warm and teasing against your skin. His hands were already at your waist, gathering the fabric of your dress into a bundle. He paused only to give you a slick grin before ducking his head beneath the fabric. The anticipation alone was enough to make your knees weak.

Then you felt it—the hot, intoxicating breath of his mouth, so close to where you needed him most. Your breath hitched as his lips found your clit with a precision that made you moan in surprise. You had to commend him for finding it so easily, his tongue darting out to taste you. His hands moved slowly, deliberately up your thighs, as if savoring every inch of you.

With a sudden motion, Marcus shifted your hips, lifting your legs to rest them over his broad, bare shoulders. The position left you completely exposed to him, vulnerable and aching for more. His mouth worked against your sensitive clit, licking and sucking with a skill that had you gripping the shelf behind you for support. The pleasure was overwhelming, making you a moaning mess as more books tumbled from the shelves, though neither of you cared.

His tongue was relentless, teasing you mercilessly. He started by focusing on your clit, making you shiver with each flick, but soon his motions became wider, exploring more of you. Before long, he was licking up and down the entirety of your pussy, his movements growing bolder, more insistent. You could feel him getting closer to where you needed him, his tongue dipping into you, desperate to go deeper.

The fever of his actions made you grind against his face, your orgasm building fast and hard. "Good gods above, Marcus," you gasped, your voice trembling with the intensity of your pleasure. He hadn't taken a breath, his mouth still worshiping your pussy as if he could die right there and be satisfied. Your legs began to shake uncontrollably, but Marcus kept his hands on your knees, holding you open as he moved faster, his tongue diving in and out of you with a frenzy that had you seeing stars.

When your orgasm hit, it was like a wave crashing over you. You could feel it building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, sending you over the edge. You rode his face, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure ripped through you. Marcus didn’t let up, his mouth sloppily lapping up your juices as your body trembled, struggling to stay quiet as your arousal overwhelmed you. He knew it, and the wicked gleam in his eyes told you he wasn’t making it any easier.

Finally, he emerged from beneath the fabric of your dress, pulling it down roughly, leaving you naked before him. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, and you could see the glistening of your juices on his lips, chin, and cheeks. The sight of him, his rugged face wet with your arousal, only made you want him more. Without a word, you grabbed the fabric still hanging around his waist and yanked him in for a kiss, loving the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Your hands roamed his body, guiding him backward until you found a random chair in the room. With a firm push, you made him sit, his muscles tensing under your touch. At first, he leaned back, expecting you to straddle him, but you had other plans. Instead, you knelt before him, your hands moving to lift the fabric at his waist before pulling it down. He lifted his hips to help you, but when his hand reached for your breast, you pulled away, fixing him with a smirk.

“Let’s get this straight…” you murmured, straddling his lap but keeping your hips closer to his knees than to his cock. You began to palm him, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath your fingers. He let out a low groan, his eyes darkening with lust. “You may be the one with the dick…” you leaned down, spitting on his cock, watching it glisten in the low light. “But I’m the one in power.”

You didn’t give him time to respond, your hand guiding his cock to the wetness between your legs. You ran the tip of his cock down your pussy lips, teasing him, teasing yourself, before slowly lowering yourself onto him. The stretch was glorious, filling you up in a way that made your breath catch. “This dick…” you moaned as you took him deeper, your body trembling with the effort to take all of him. “Is for me… only me.”

You began to grind your hips, feeling him press deeper inside you with each movement. His hands were on you again, roaming your body, before one found your breast. He brought his mouth to your nipple, sucking it softly, and you arched your back, pressing yourself against him. The pleasure was intense, his mouth hot and wet against your sensitive skin, his other hand steadying you as you rode him.

“My true god,” Marcus murmured against your skin, his voice thick with reverence. The words sent a thrill through you, knowing how true they were, even if he didn’t. You were Chaos, the embodiment of primal power, and he worshiped you without even knowing it.

You pushed his chest back, starting to build momentum, bouncing onto him with increasing speed. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your breasts, your body moving in time with his. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, before they drifted higher, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts. “So beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice full of awe.

Your body was beginning to tire, the exertion of riding him making your muscles burn, but you didn’t care. “Marcus…” you moaned, catching his full attention. “Fuck into me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Repositioning himself, he began to thrust up into you, meeting your hips as they bounced. The movement was rough, desperate, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts. You clawed at his chest, your nails leaving red marks as you leaned over him, your eyes locked with his.

You could tell he was holding something back, the tension in his body, the way his jaw clenched. “Are you going to cum?” you asked, your voice breathy and full of need. He nodded, his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Cum…” you lifted your body slightly, before slamming down onto him again. “Cum with me, Marcus.” You bounced faster, matching his pace, feeling him hit that perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. “Marcus, I need you to make me cum.”

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel your walls tightening around him, your orgasm building again, higher and higher. His cock was hitting all the right places, sending shocks of pleasure through you, until you were on the edge, ready to fall.

With a cry, you brought your hand to your clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles as you rode out your orgasm. The pleasure was almost too much, your body convulsing, trembling as you came, the feeling overwhelming. You heard Marcus groan deeply, his own orgasm hitting him as your walls clenched around his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum flood into you, filling you to the brim, the sensation making you shudder with aftershocks of pleasure.

He kept thrusting, riding out his orgasm with you, until finally, he stilled, his hands loosening on your hips. You were both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the intensity of what you had just shared. Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, breathing in his scent, grounding yourself in the warmth of his body.

Marcus’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if afraid you might disappear. His breath was still heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as you both came down from the intense high of your shared pleasure. For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply exist in that space, feeling his warmth, his steady heartbeat against your own. But the weight of your true identity, the secret you had been holding back, pressed at the edges of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes were half-lidded, softened by the afterglow, and when he caught your gaze, a small, contented smile curved his lips. He looked at you like a man who had found something precious, something worth holding on to. The thought made your heart ache with a strange mixture of guilt and affection.

“If you continue to worship me like this, Marcus,” you whispered, your voice still tinged with the breathlessness of your climax, “you will have many great wins in the future.”

He chuckled softly, a light laugh that vibrated through his chest. “Worship you?” he teased, his tone playful as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “I think you have that the other way around. I’m the one who’s been utterly undone by you.”

You smiled at his words, but there was something deeper in your eyes, something ancient and powerful that flickered beneath the surface. “Oh, Marcus,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his hair, “you don’t even know the half of it.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone turning more serious as he searched your eyes for answers.

You pulled back a little, just enough to look at him fully. The room seemed to grow still around you, the air thick with an unspoken tension. For a moment, you considered holding back, keeping your secret buried for a little longer. But then you remembered who you were, what you were, and the time for hiding was over.

“I’m not just a girl from Greece,” you began slowly, watching his expression carefully as the words left your lips. “I’m not just a student, studying philosophy and the stars.”

Marcus’s confusion deepened, his grip on you tightening slightly as if trying to anchor himself in this sudden shift in the atmosphere. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the first hints of unease.

You took a deep breath, feeling the power within you surge, the ancient energy of Chaos that had been dormant for so long. The room seemed to darken around you, shadows stretching and shifting as if responding to the force of your true nature. “I’m from Olympus, Marcus,” you said, your voice steady, resonating with a power that was impossible to ignore. “I am not just a mortal woman. I am Chaos, the primordial force that existed before all things. The void from which the universe was born.”

The color drained from Marcus’s face, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. He pulled back, but not out of fear. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your hips as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the woman he had just been inside with the god you claimed to be. “Chaos?” he repeated, the word almost foreign on his tongue. “You… you’re a goddess?”

You nodded slowly, the truth of your identity settling in the air between you. “I am,” you confirmed, your tone gentle, trying to ease him into this new reality. “I have walked this earth in many forms, but this—this is the form I chose to meet you, Marcus.”

He stared at you, his mind racing to catch up with the revelation. The weight of your words, of what they meant, seemed to press down on him, and for a moment, he looked lost. “But… why? Why me?” he finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Because you are more than just a man, Marcus. You have a strength in you, a light that draws even the gods. And in you, I saw something… someone worth revealing myself to.”

His breath caught, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit, but all he found was truth. “This is why you’re so different,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Why I’ve been so drawn to you…”

You nodded again, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yes. And if you continue to worship me as you have, if you continue to show me the devotion you’ve shown tonight, I will see to it that you have many victories, Marcus. In battle, in life… and in love.”

He was silent for a long moment, absorbing your words, the enormity of what you were offering. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a reverence that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know what to say… What can a mortal offer a goddess like you?”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, tender and sweet, before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Just be you, Marcus. Be the man I’ve come to admire. That’s all I ask.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you close once more. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he murmured against your hair, “but I’ll do everything I can to prove myself worthy of you.”

You smiled, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the coldness of your true nature, if only for a moment. “You already have,” you whispered, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms. For now, you were content to let him hold you, mortal and god, two beings intertwined in a world that suddenly seemed much smaller.

[bitethedevil]

If you’re taking writing prompts consider-

Raphael reacting to Tav/Durge confessing they’re in love with him

I made it a Durge because I haven't written a lot of Durge stuff (fun fact: the first longer fic I ever wrote was with a Durge warlock that had Raph as a patron, but I never released it). Raph is being a bit of a manipulative dick in this one, but what's new. Also, I'm slow as fuck at replying to my asks (especially prompts)

Love

Clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack.

His office was deadly quiet except for the sound of his claws tapping on the hard mahogany of his desk, a dangerous rhythm that she knew immediately what meant the second she heard it. The rhythm echoed her heartbeat as she waited for her patron to say something. She was in trouble.

He was leaning against his desk, looking at her and keeping her in suspense. A cruel smile stretched over his face, as he saw how she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She had defeated monsters, mindflayers, gods…even the biggest monster of them all, her father. Still, nothing made her stomach churn more than the thought of Raphael’s wrath.

The feeling humiliated her as much as it thrilled her and drew her closer to him. She had been a god in her own right with all the lives she took under Bhaal and the cult she had led in his name, but this mere cambion brought her to her knees.

She was like a moth to his fiery flames. Everything about him excited her: his cruelness, his gracious mercy at times, his power plays. He felt like home. There was something safe and known in that cruelty that drew her closer. It was something she understood the rules of.

Click clack…

“I have always questioned your loyalty,” he finally said and moved his claws up to his face to look at them as he spoke. “It is no secret that I am prone to play favorites, but perhaps I made a mistake when I took you in…”

His yellow eyes looked up at her. His comment hit her like a punch to the gut and she knew as well as him that that was the intended effect. She hated the feeling of disappointing him. She hated that she felt that way about it even more. She cleared her throat.

“What is this about?” she asked quietly.

That was the wrong question. She could see it from the way his tail flicked in irritation. She had taught herself every one of his physical cues. They were subtle sometimes, but easier to read in this form. The man had total control over his body, but the devil was just a tad less composed.

“What is this about?” he repeated his question in a smooth, even tone. “Many things, my dear.”

That was another thing she had learned: it was never just one thing. Raphael held grudges. He archived every little mistake in his head in neat files, so he could throw them in your face when you stepped out of line.

“You came crawling to me after your father spat you out, after defying me at every turn and without a crown for me. You begged me to take you in, and yet I question your devotion to my cause. You owe me a grand debt when it comes to loyalty. A debt you have not yet paid back with your services, and one that I now question if you will ever pay back if you keep associating yourself with the wrong people.”

She had wanted to give him the Crown of Karsus. She had liked him even back then. Her companions had fought her every step of the way, and with her dealing with Bhaal, she had too much on her plate to fight them on it.

“It wasn’t my choice, Raphael,” she pleaded. “You know—”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off impatiently with a wave of his clawed hand. “I have heard all your endless excuses…and I graciously forgave you, didn’t I? You would have been a bloody stain on my carpet long ago if I had not. What I cannot forgive is disloyalty.”

“Raphael, please,” she pleaded quietly. “Just tell me what I have done. I’ll make it right.”

Another flick of his tail. His nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, but he quickly schooled his features back into one of indifference.

“What were you doing in Waterdeep?” he asked slowly, each word as heavy as a brick.

That was what all of this was about. She had visited Gale. Gale who had been the very reason that the Crown of Karsus did not go to Raphael. Gale and her had started out as friends, but it evolved to something more along the way. It did not work out. Gale was too perfect, too functional for her. She broke his heart, and she would be lying if she said that this fact wasn’t taken into consideration when she gave up on trying to give to the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.

“I was just visiting,” she admitted. “Nothing more.”

“Just visiting,” he repeated with a hint of venom in his voice. “Just visiting an old flame that snubbed your patron of what was rightfully his, is that right? Is he well, our dear Gale? Does his new unburdened life suit him?”

“We are friends—”

“Friends,” Raphael said with a cruel laugh. “How awfully sentimental of you, dear. How soft you have become. I remember a ruthless woman who murdered her way through Baldur’s Gate. That woman, I could have used. It seems that your father has stripped you of everything that once made you interesting.”

That comment made her furious. It made her blood boil, but then why was she on the verge of crying instead? Why did she find herself pleading instead of yelling?

“Gale and I have been through hell and back,” she said. “It doesn’t change my loyalties for you. Please, Raphael.”

“I will NOT be made to look a fool!!” he roared with a sudden fire in his eyes.

The sound boomed through his office. She flinched. His tail flicked from side to side now. He looked her up and down. It seemed to please him how she was turning pale at his words and tearing up. He returned to his calm and collected demeanor as quickly as he got angry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked without a shred of sympathy in the question.

She tried to stop, but she couldn’t. She just wanted him to understand that she was devoted to him, and that this was all a mistake. She had not meant to cross him or make him angry, but merely to visit an old friend. His nails started tapping on the table again as he waited for her to speak.

“Can’t you— can’t you see that I’m only loyal to you?” she sobbed. Clack, clack… “I made a contract with you because I wanted to work for you. I’m yours, and only yours.” Clack, clack, clack. “Can’t you see how I only want to please you? How much I love you?”

Clack.

He froze for a moment at the oddly heartfelt confession that escaped her lips. She had not meant for that to come out, but he was great at pressuring her into saying things she didn’t want to admit. It was a humiliating confession. She hated being so vulnerable and weak. She wished that she could stuff the words right back down her throat. He wasn’t supposed to know.

A smile spread over his otherwise frozen face. He looked her up and down and let out a small huff of laughter. He looked like a man who had just been handed the perfect weapon. His hand left the table and beckoned her closer with a finger.

She walked over to him, unable to look him in the eye. He tilted her head up with a claw under her chin. He towered over her in that form.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

She looked into his yellow eyes. He was smiling at her.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated.

The humiliation in the confession was more apparent this time, and he was eating it up like it was the best meal he had had in centuries. He laughed her straight in the face.

“Oh, dear,” he said with a chuckle. “A creature of habit, aren’t you? You poor girl…”

She swallowed hard. She should have just shut up. His thumb ran over her jaw and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch set her aflame, despite the excruciating embarrassment she was feeling.

“Do I remind you of your dear old papa?” he asked, still smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Is that what this is about? It is always the fathers, isn’t it? Still searching for the approval of a cruel master, even now. Perhaps you haven’t changed at all, my dear…”

She kept quiet. He leaned closer as if sharing a secret. She could smell wine and tobacco on his breath. His thumb rubbed circles on her jaw.

“Tell me,” he whispered to her. “Where did your dear Gale fit into this picture? I’m awfully curious.”

Her eyes flicked to his lips for only a second, but he didn’t miss it by the way his smile widened.

There was only one acceptable answer and she prayed that she would choose the right one. She shrugged.

“He didn’t,” she said quietly.

That was the right answer from the way his smile widened.

“No, I would imagine not,” he said. “Too…boring…wasn’t he? He was not enough of a challenge for you, so you discarded him.”

There was a hint of guilt in her eyes at his words. He tutted gently and caressed her cheek.

“Who could blame you?” he cooed. “People like us won’t concern ourselves with boredom. You were right in choosing to focus on greater things. Gale was easy. Pleasing him was easy. He would not make you fight for it like I will.”

That promise made a shiver go through her. Raphael grabbed her arm and tugged her even closer, until she was standing between his legs with her chest pressed against his. His hand came to rest on her hip. He pressed his forehead against her, his nose touching hers. He was tantalizingly close.

“You are mine then, aren’t you?” he asked. “Only mine.”

She nodded. He gave a dangerous smile.

“You want to please me,” he said. “To make me happy…”

Another nod.

“You love and adore me.”

Another nod. His lips were so close she could almost taste them. His thumb was rubbing circles into her hip. His tail was flicking side to side, but not in rage. It was more like a cat that is ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey that it had been sneaking up on for a while.

“You will write a letter to Gale Dekarios and say that you are unavailable for any future visits,” he whispered against her lips. “That you have already done plenty for him and that you never want to see him again.”

His lips brushed lightly against hers before he pulled away, stealing her breath. She chased his lips, but he only smiled and pulled away further. She knew she had to earn it.

“Go. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” he said with a smile and let go of her.

[acaplaya-musings]

Geoff Castellucci Carol Of The Bells - thoughts/commentary

Excuse me while I go pick my jaw up from the floor because like MY GOD????

So yeah Peter Hollens' cover has been definitely dethroned in my mind! Geoff has done it again! This feels like the spiritual successor to his God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen cover and I love it so much!

Okay so the thing is that this dropped to Patreon late in the morning last Sunday for me (the day after Zat You Santa Claus appeared on VP's Patreon), when I was about to go out shopping with my mum, so I barely had just enough time to watch it (there was no way I could wait when I saw what the song was!), and thus didn't start typing stuff up until I returned home from shopping (yes, my premiere post was actually typed up after I had already watched the video, but it was still true of my thoughts before I had hit play). And then after I got home, I had other new videos to watch, a Christmas tree to decorate, a dog to walk, etc, and basically it's now nighttime, roughly 10 hours later, that I'm able to watch it for a second time. So I'm gonna do what I did with VoicePlay's Christmas upload, and rewatch it on my laptop while pausing to type up notes on my phone, so I don't forget to mention anything. (And I won't be doing Voiceplay-adjacent visuals for this one, so I'll have thoughts on the video itself here as well).

Review/commentary below the cut!

Love the beginning with the audible crackling from the fireplace! Really helps start to set the mood/vibe right off the bat and draw you in!

One of the Patrons drew attention to the fact that all of the "Geoffs" walk into shot in this one, and actually yeah that's a new thing for Geoff! And I gotta wonder if that was an additional editing challenge for him. It works phenomenally well though - like I didn't even think about it at first really!

Ooh that first piano note with like the background reverb(?) and the strings and stuff, now that sure sets a tone!

Obligatory appreciation for the hair - the grey streak is becoming one of multiple grey "highlights" and I love it. Okay moving on, just had to get that off my chest as per usual!

Oh wow that backing percussion! Almost sounds like a bit of war drums in there? (Seriously, this is basically God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen part 2 and it's THE BEST)

Dang it's close to like a full minute before we get the first proper vocal line (as in proper lyrics rather than humming or stuff) but it doesn't matter because he has me ENTRANCED.

In Geoff's most recent monthly webchat on his Patron, he had told us that there was like a couple or a few good subharmonics in his upcoming song cover, and OH HE WASN'T KIDDING!

"Merry Christmaaaaaaaa..." and that is where my jaw dropped, and basically stayed dropped for most of the rest of the video. SIR!

Okay so like it's a little hard to be sure, due to the heavy reverb effects on the sub (which I personally think was a great addition - makes it more epic!) but like uhhh did he hold that subharmonic for 14 seconds? Like I know he held a B0 sub for 15 seconds in Valhalla Calling, but like still, dude!

And I of course gotta give some love to Tenor!Geoff as well. Geoff is getting so good at using his upper register!

"All seem to say... Throw cares awaaaayyyy..." Case in point! Gosh that was so dang gorgeous!

I honestly wish I had more to say about this cover, because it is phenomenal, but basically I sat through most of that rewatch with a massive grin on my face. That was freaking stunning, and honestly a video I'd be dang tempted to watch year-round, because seriously, wow.

In about half an hour from now, VoicePlay's Zat You Santa Claus? cover will be dropping, and then half an hour after that will be my thoughts/commentary for it! (I swear I had to edit the bottom of both this post and the other one because I predicted Geoff's video to be premiering at some point after VoicePlay's, not before). I'm gonna be doing a couple of posts summarising all the videos we've gotten from both Geoff and VoicePlay this year, because why not, and I'll have them posted at some point before Christmas! Now onto Christmas With VoicePlay!

[genericpuff]

so, i'd been stalking your blog in silence for the past few days/weeks because i used to be a huge fan of LO (i paid patron, was on the discord, own merch and a volume, spent money on fast past for over FOUR years). but as it happened to most fans, i got frustrated and gave up fastpass, and for a while i was trying to stay away from LO critiques because it just made me mad to realize something that was a comfort thing for me was bad all along (and i didn't wanna go full blown anti-LO) but i just finished reading your analysis on the mid-season finale and oh my god dude.

the retcon on how persephone feels about apollo after over 4 years of seeing her hate him because of what he did nearly pushed me over the edge. i feel sick to my stomach, this has to be among the worst things rachel has done and i just wanna say thank you for bringing it up and talking about it so eloquently. i'm a victim of SA and its comforting to see people in the fandom take it as seriously as it should be.

also LO rekindled is a breath of fresh air, thank you for creating it and putting so much work into it <3

Aw man, it's wild when I see people go through the pipeline of realizing LO has issues, mostly because it's a common attack on the critical community that everyone in it are just a bunch of "trolls and haters", but really, a lot of us started in the same boat as you, myself included. I unfortunately just missed the Patreon era, but I remember when I was a diehard fan of LO, it was one of the biggest facets of my friendship with the person who introduced me to it, I would literally be swiping my app refreshing it over and over again in the last seconds leading up to new updates trying to get the episode to just load, I drew fanart, I even did a tattoo of it once for that same friend who got me into it, and yes, I was really pissed that there was an anti community surrounding it.

It's crazy to think back on those times. I do miss how the comic used to make me feel, but at the same time, I know there's no going back to that time so I try to make the best of what I have now within the critic community, and what I've gained since then in terms of dissecting and discussing literature.

I feel so much for your feelings regarding the SA plot, I'm also a victim of SA so it was one of the biggest plot points that drew me into the comic in the first place, so it was really hard to truly realize what the series had become as the SA plotline took a backseat and the characterizations fell apart. It felt like something that I had gone through - and many others who also related to Persephone's struggles - was being used for cheap drama and that feels especially apparent now with how the series seems to be backpedaling it, or at least, replacing it with different motivations to make Apollo the villain, almost like it's an attempt to distract us from the SA and make us want to see his downfall for reasons that Rachel can quantify in a more black and white "good vs evil" kind of way.

I'm so glad you like Rekindled, I made it for people like you and I who loved LO once upon a time but mourn for what it once was before it turned into what it is now. It's been such a cathartic project for me and I'm so happy that others enjoy it too <3

[rondo-of-darkness]

dinner is served, tellerstone fans.

(also based on a comic thing @ourtalechara drew)

It was an average day for Cassi, Byron, Harry, and Cassi's patrons.

Cassi was making and refilling drinks for the patrons (and maybe whacking some of them with her tablecloth), Byron was sitting in the corner watching them (as in Cassi and the patrons), and Harry was just selling newspapers.

Harry then entered the Singing Mandrake, looking around for an empty seat, choosing the one in the corner, next to Byron. This conversation Harry was about to start between him and Byron was either going to go well, or it would go horribly.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Harry asked Byron. "No, I don't think anyone was going to sit here anyway." Byron responded before Harry sat down next to him. "You're... Harry Teller, no?" Byron asked Harry, not wanting to call Harry the wrong name. This question was probably a horrible thing to ask. Harry's response to questions like "are you Harry Teller?" annoyed everyone, even himself.

"Teller? I hardly know-" Harry responded, before getting cut off by Cassi. "For the love of god Harry, please stop saying that." Cassi told Harry, very annoyed. "Teller? I hardly know 'er!" Harry responded to Byron's question as a joke. "..You know you can just say "no", right?" Byron said to Harry, a bit confused.

"I meant "yes". I'm sorry. Yes. Yes, I am Harry Teller." Harry responded to Byron out of embarrassment. "I- it's just kinda like.. I don't know. That's just my response to questions like that. It annoys a lot of people, even me a little bit." Harry told Byron, still a bit embarrassed.

"Ah, I see. Is there a reason you wanted to sit here? It doesn't bother me or anything, I just.. wanted to know." Byron asked Harry, genuinely confused about why Harry wanted to sit next to him.

Nobody really wanted to sit next to Byron. The patrons mostly just thought of Byron as "the weirdo in the corner with all the glowing bottles", Byron was aware of this, and Harry hadn't really dared to sit next to him before, which is why he was a bit confused.

"I don't really have a reason, I just thought that you seemed a bit lonely by yourself." Harry responded to Byron's question, feeling a little bit of pity for him. "I actually kind of like it here in the corner where nobody really talks to me. Though you are right, it does get a bit lonely here sometimes. I sort of just sit here and watch everything that's just going on in here." Byron responded, now looking at whatever Cassi was doing.

"How come you just sit here and watch people almost all day?" Harry asked out of curiosity. "You're a very fascinating and amusing species. Though a lot of other people of my kind do not really share the same fascination." Byron responded, a bit oblivious to the fact he was revealing that he was a devil. "You're.. not human?" Harry asked, feeling confused. "Ah, I might have spoken too much. Keep it to yourself, 'kay?" Byron said turning to Harry, a bit worried that other patrons around them might have heard.

"Don't worry. It's safe with me." Harry said, reassuring Byron. "I was a bit..." Byron paused, thinking of the right word before continuing. "worried that you might have shared it with others. I see you, and Cassi, and maybe some other people gossiping sometimes, that's kinda why." Byron said, still a bit worried. "Oh, you don't have to worry about me, Mr. Brimstone." Harry said to Byron, glancing at the devil, now looking straight at the wall across the mandrake. "I may well report the news," Harry said before continuing. "but that don't mean I can't keep a secret." Harry looked at Byron, before speaking again. "Besides," Harry continued, "who's to say I don't have a few secrets of me own?" Harry said, winking at Byron.

Byron felt his heart flutter, and his heart rate increase. "What the hell?" Byron thought to himself, confused about what this feeling was. To Byron, this weird feeling was caused by none other than dark magic used to endear oneself to another. (obviously, it wasn't)

"What was that eye signal?" Byron asked Harry. "Huh?" Harry responded, confused as to what Byron was talking about. "A spell to make one's heart beat more frequently?!" Byron said, trying to hold Harry accountable for something he didn't even mean to do. "N-no?" Harry said, still confused. "Then why did it." Byron responded, demanding an answer. "I-it was just a friendly gesture." Harry responded honestly, before speaking again.

"Wait-- "to make one's heart beat more frequently"?" Harry questioned. "Yes, "to make one's heart beat more frequently", because it did!" Byron responded, still trying to hold Harry accountable. "Hah, you got a crush on me or something? You are blushing a little bit, after all." Harry responded jokingly. A bit confused, Byron said, "...I do not want to crush you." "No, it's like.. when you like someone romantically." Harry answered. "Love is confusing. I can never understand it." Byron said, turning away from Harry and looking at what some patrons are doing. "It's okay if you don't understand! One day, love won't be confusing to you anymore, trust me." Harry reassured Byron.

Harry looked at the clock on one of the walls of the mandrake. "Well, I've got to go. I might be back tomorrow if you want to chat again." Harry said before getting up. "Bye, Byron." Harry said before walking away. "Bye." Byron said, looking at Harry as he walked out of the mandrake.

I'd like to hear anyone's thoughts/criticism on this if they have any!

[wardenred]

Whumptember 2: "Let me do this for you"

These characters have been hanging out on the fringes of my mind for a while now, why not take them out for a walk.

Tonight, the tavern was warm and jovial. Flames crackled in the fireplace that took up most of the wall across from the doorway. A minstrel sat perched on a high stool next to it, their deft fingers teasing a soft, soothing melody out of a lute. Glass clinked against metal as a group of merchants laughed together, celebrating a deal well sealed and toasting future opportunities; some of them had discarded tankards in favor of going straight for the bottles. Two tables away, three people in noble clothes hidden under commoners' cloaks looked to be enjoying a romantic evening. At the bar, a city guard flirted relentlessly with the maid. A slightly exasperated patron clearly couldn't decide whether he wished to interfere for the sake of finally getting a drink or would rather not spoil somebody's fun. The air smelled of fresh stew and mulled wine.

Amidst all of this, even tucked away in the farthest corner, Raj found it easy to pretend like he could have some of this, too, one day. The simple joys, the simple comforts. Life. 

Just as long as he paid all his debts first and didn't die trying.

He smoothed out the map in front of him and traced the tip of his nail over the shoreline, the faded blue expanse of the Whirlpool Gulf, the smattering of small islands to the west.

"Fortune guiding me, I shouldn't be gone for longer than a month," he told Ash. "My sisters should have enough coin or that long, but if I stall, I can count on you to check up on them and see to their needs, right? I’ll pay you back, obviously."

His friend drummed their fingers over the chipped edge of the table. A deep crease settled between their pale eyebrows; a deeper one at the corner of their mouth.

"You shouldn't be doing this."

Raj swallowed a sigh. "On the contrary. It's a fantastic opportunity—"

"To get yourself killed for real this time?"

This was... needlessly dramatic. "Excuse me, are you doubting my skills?"

"No, only your sanity. Raj, you've done two jobs with the Western pirates, and frankly, it makes for two more than reasonable. And aren't you now expected to work under the same captain as the last time?" 

Raj grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes. I suppose he'll be happier to see me than I him. Still, that's a good chance to turn the tables a little bit, after all the grief the guy gave me."

"Grief." Ash's expression was unreadable.

"Well, what else would you call it?" Raj asked with a fatalistic shrug. "No, don't answer. You'll come up with all sorts of drastically tragic epithets, whereas the truth is, it was—"

Ash leaned forward so sharply Raj kind of wanted to flinch back. Of course, what he did instead was freeze and stop talking.

"If you're going to tell me it was nothing, I swear to the gods..." Ash drew a steadying breath. "I was the one who patched you up after that stint, Raj. Don't you dare tell me you were fine."

"I was, though," Raj insisted, not so much ignoring the way Ash's dark eyes narrowed as acknowledging it and saying his part anyway. "I can handle a few beatings, as long as it gets the work done and paid for. So how about you stop fretting and we keep drinking?" He reached for the jug at the center of the table and topped their glasses with gusto. "Ths is meant to be a celebration! I fought for this contract!"

"Yes, because you're a blighted fool," Ash said stiffly. Still, when Raj brought up a glass in a toast, they clinked theirs against his. Hard. So hard, in fact, that the blood-like red liquid splashed over the rims, drinks mixing together.

Raj offered an easy smile. "That's all right by me. If memory serves me right, before ascending the throne the first Astragi king, bless his spirit and all that, served as the Last Emperor's fool. Therefore, being a fool is quite the noble calling with awesome career prospects. Cheers."

Ash snatched his wrist before he could bring the glass to this lips.

"Let me do this for you. No, listen! You'll still get the money. Even the credit, should that be what you're after. Lie low here in the city, or travel to the country for a while. I've got a cover-up in the works already. Once I'm back, we'll convince the bosses you were the one who did the job."

All Raj could do was stare. There was a feverish glint in Ash's eyes, a flush to their skin that could probably be explained by all the ale they'd consumed already. This crazy idea probably boasted the same origin.

He laughed. "Now which one of us is the fool?"

Ash tightened their grip on his hand. "Please, Raj. Let me do this. The risks for me are lower, anyway. I'm not the kind of person Captain Turncoat would harbor a grudge for. I can keep my head down, lay low, pretend to be boring and unobtrusive. You know I can."

"The captain isn't the only monster aboard that ship." Raj's throat tightened when he thought about this. Ash, spending weeks in the open sea with Turncoat's crew, treated with disdain at best, because pirates hated their organization even—especially—when they agreed to work together for mutual gain? Having all possible offenses pinned on them, all possible punishments dispensed their way? No. No, and nope, and fuck this shit.

"Please, Raj."

He shook his head, wrenched his hand away, and downed half a glass in one go.

Immediately, his mind felt fuzzy. The glass cluttered out of his weakened grasp and rolled over the table surface, spilling ale everywhere. The map would be ruined if it wasn't for Ash's quick fingers, already folding it away.

Numb and with no control of his body or tongue, Raj could only slump in his chair while Ash stood, walked over, and methodically searched his pockets for the job token.

No. No, please, anything but this.

Ash bent down to plant a small kiss against his temple.

"You'll feel better in an hour, tops," they whispered. "Stay safe. See you in a month, give or take."

Their footsteps echoed away, and Raj couldn't even turn his head to watch them go. By the fireplace, the minstrel was still playing, the melody rising and falling like the tides.

You fucking idiot.

Raj didn't know if he was aiming the thought at Ash or himself.

[matamorose]

#prev tags wait pls elaborate on the three types of tp misunderstanders

Hi sorry this took a second!! Hope you don't mind me crashing back onto your post

So I just kind of drew the "three" out of the air, but I think you can pretty solidly group People Who Missed the Point into about that many groups:

The aforementioned coquette bloggers and "hell is a teenage girl" types that unironically feel inspired and empowered by the horrific things that happen to Laura & the other girls in town (women as a whole in TP but I digress). As annoying as this is, I think it's equal parts people who haven't seen the show and just love the aesthetics/the Lana Del Rey side of things, tiktok types who want the weirdo street cred of being into twin peaks, and teenagers who are going to romanticize and aestheticize these kinds of experiences no matter what, especially if they can relate. (I have a good deal of understanding and sympathy for the latter: many of my lived experiences are represented in TP, and if I'd first watched it as a damaged and edgy teenager I probably would have found myself really leaning into Laura as a patron saint too). The "divine feminine rage" crowd on posts about a murdered child, though...

Probably the most extant is like, the casual TP enjoyer? Like the show exists in the popular consciousness as being A) Very Weird B) Full of Hot Chicks and C) Damn Good Coffee! Cherry Pie! I was floored when I first watched the show because nothing in the mainstream representation of it even hints at what the fuck it's about. So these types are like, the kind of people to buy a funko pop of Laura's corpse (?!?) and not be even a little perturbed about it. I've spoken to quite a few people who really liked the show when it aired, and the majority of them just thought the show was cool and weird, and didn't really ever think about. You know. The rape and incest and trafficking beyond the shock value of "Wow, so HE was the killer?!" It's a really odd thing, but the very core (stated repeatedly lmao, coming from two creators not especially known for explaining themselves) of the story-- that a child was raped and murdered and you should feel bad about that-- flies completely past a big chunk of viewers (even enjoyers) and is especially ignored by the cultural place/memory the series occupies. Hence the lowkey vitriol towards that cultural status in TPTR, imo

I swear to god if I see one more person on the TP subreddit unironically call Laura a whore or the "town bicycle" I will begin taking hostages. Mostly jokes, but reddit especially is bad for this one: people who get so bogged down in the Super Spooky Metaphysical that they miss the point of the story entirely. Laura is the center of the show, not diving into a 134-page discussion about how Jowday and Cooper are piloting like. Philosophical mechs to duke it out on the rings of Saturn. Sure, the fantastical aspects are a lot of fun, and it's great to see people's differing ideas on levels of metaphor, meaning, etc. But my god the "Bravo Lynch!" crowd can really run with blinders on-- yes, it's great to go hunting for old film influences, or esoterica that contributed to the show's mythos, but. Tell me right now, YouSirHaveWonInternetz123, what the thesis statement of the series is. No I don't care how many hours of youtuber analysis you've watched, tell me rn how you feel about what happens to young girls in TP. Ask one of these types or the bullet point before to read between the lines (as intended) in MLMT and watch everyone get really mad really fast

Obviously there are others, but I think these are the Big Three of totally missing the point of the work

I hate seeing the tags “female rage” “female hysteria” “coquette” “girlblogger” etc. on a picture of Laura Palmer. I can’t find the words to describe why exactly but it’s the worst. She’s a complicated person for whom no one would intervene. She’s not like, an empowering figure.

[longlivebatart]

Jordaens' The Holy Family with Shepherds

Welcome to Long Live Bat Art, the podcast for art lovers who don’t see art as much as they want to. My name is Sydney and thank you for taking this slow tour through an art gallery with a casual art lover. Today, I’ll be talking about The Holy Family with Shepherds by Jacob Jordaens. I hope you enjoy.

Jacob Jordaens was born in May of 1593 in Antwerp. He was the son of a linen merchant and firstborn of eleven. His father was wealthy, so Jordaens likely received the benefit of exceedingly thorough schooling. He was fluent in French and knew mythology and the Bible. 

Jordaens didn’t make a studious trip to Italy, but he did study Italian painters such as Caravaggio and Titian, and he also drew from his own country via Peter Brugel the Elder. You might recognize that name from episode three. 

Jordaens was an artist of many mediums, including painting and tapestry making. His main patrons were churches and wealthy people, but late in his career he got some royal commissions. 

He was taught by the same man who taught Rubens, Adam van Noort. Jordaens was admitted as a master to the St. Luke’s Guild in his home town in 1616, and married van Noort’s daughter Catharina in that same year. 

Jordaens was known for his scenes with crowds of boisterous and healthy people in them and warm, glowing colors. He also painted more allegorical pieces based on Flemish sayings, such as “As the old sing, so pipe the young,” which more or less means that bad influence from the older generations leads to bad decisions in the younger. Later on in his life, as Jordaens’ health deteriorated, his paintings lost their vitality as well, defaulting to cooler and duller colors. 

Jordaens also assisted Rubens on a few occasions, including on a project for Cardinal Infante Ferdinande and one for Philip the fourth’s hunting cabin. Jordaens even completed some artworks Rubens left unfinished before his death. After Rubens and Anthony van Dyck died, Jordaens was largely considered the best Flemish Baroque painter of that time. Jordaens’ way of representing peasantry influenced Jan Steen, who we covered in the second episode. 

Jordaens died in October 1678. One hundred ninety seven of his paintings survive. 

On to the painting.

The painting depicts the Virgin Mary, baby Jesus, and three men. Strangely, the three men are most likely the shepherds who brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Joseph is nowhere to be found.

The Virgin Mary is depicted like no other depiction of her I’ve ever seen- she has her usual blue veil and pale pink under veil and white clothes, yes. But she has one breast exposed. It’s to feed her child. I’ve never seen any depiction that shows Mary as not the Mother of God, but just a mother. She’s holding her exposed left breast between her fingers to steady her nipple for Jesus. Jesus Himself is leaning towards the offered breast, his hands clasped in front of him in a prayer position. Jesus is also depicted in a very human way. He’s a chubby baby with fat rolls on his stomach and chunky legs. He has either very fine hair or no hair at all. The shadows on his legs and the deeper shadow along his back are blue-toned.

The shepherd on the right of the image is holding a short, lit candle and a bowl of what looks like porridge or a similar food. The candle’s glow is much stronger than what an actual candle’s would be. Even though it’s level with Mary’s breast and Jesus’ head, its light reaches Mary’s face and down to her lap. Jesus is fully illuminated and his mother almost-fully. That shepherd is wearing a blue robe, his much darker and less vibrant than Mary’s signature veil. He’s looking at Jesus fondly and reverently. He has a wiry long brown beard and bushy mustache connected to it. 

The second shepherd is behind Mary and is either starting a small fire or just warming his hands over the glowing coals. He looks to be the youngest of the shepherds- he still has roundness in his face. His clothes are difficult to make out because the background is so dark. But he, too, is looking at Jesus and Mary. His expression is almost eager and definitely happy.

The third and final shepherd is seen in profile. He’s holding his crook and has a hat of what looks like straw. He has soft light brown or even blond hair and is looking at Jesus with his head tilted. He has a gentle expression on his face that looks like a combination of awe and fondness. He’s wearing a deep red robe. 

The skin of all the figures, with the exception of the second shepherd because he is illuminated by the light thrown by the red-hot coals, is pale and rosy in the cheeks. Mary and Jesus even have rosiness in their chins.

Now for my thoughts. 

The painting is gorgeous, but leaving Joseph out is an odd statement. He’s as important to Jesus as Mary is- Joseph is his human father. But I choose to believe he just got off a shift of baby watching and is taking a much-needed and well-deserved nap on some hay. 

The candle must be super-powered because of its reach, and I know most of that is just practical. Most artists like to have a strong light source, though not many use a candle or other visible one. It’s like the Lord of the Rings joke from the director- where’s the light coming from in the night scenes? The same place as the sound track. 

The skin, especially Jesus’, is fascinating to me. Jesus is shown like any other baby, with the fat and rolls and lack of hair. His skin is so life-like. 

It’s also refreshing to see a depiction of the shepherds after they gave their gifts. They didn’t just give them and peace out. They stayed, helping the couple who was probably exhausted and scared out of their minds. All first parents are, even without the whole ‘Son of God’ responsibility. They now have a completely helpless new human being that is dependent on them for everything, even holding up his head when he’s held. 

The approachability in the scene is what most likely drew me in. It just reminds me of something that’s something hard to remember- that Jesus was human, as well as divine. This very human moment, before he eats, is as approachable as I’ve ever seen Jesus. He isn’t an adult with followers, he’s a baby with his mother. 

As a Roman Catholic, it’s always been something hard to wrap my brain around- that Jesus was both completely human and completely divine. Nothing can be 200% of anything. But it’s what the Church teaches. Maybe it’s just something people say without believing, or even understanding. But that’s kind of the point of religion, isn’t it? To try to understand the mysterious, to try to know the unknowable. At least that’s what it means to me. Whenever there’s an aspect to my faith- or even my life- I don’t understand, I tell myself a simple truth: it’s ok.

It’s ok for me to not understand the entirety of the human experience. It’s ok for me to not understand a single part of my schooling or a tough math problem. But you know what’s not ok? To dismiss that experience as being unimportant or even wrong. Just because it’s not relevant to you doesn’t mean that it’s not relevant. There are people who depend on something you’ve never heard of. And pretending that thing doesn’t exist or saying that you don’t understand so why bother trying is a slippery slope to believing that only your experience and life is right. And that’s not a good position to have in life.

Other people exist, and especially people who you won’t understand. But unless they’re actively hurting someone or believing they should die, that’s ok. Not understanding isn’t wrong. Actively denying the existence of someone or something, however, is wrong. 

My challenge to you is this- try to find one fact about something you’ve never heard of. You can click around on the internet or open a random book in the library. When you do that, try to apply that fact to your everyday life. It could be a cool fact about geckos, so you share it with your loved ones. It could be a belief in a religion you’ve never experienced. So try to embody that belief, as long as it’s not hurting someone. When you broaden your horizons, you start to see that there's more to life than your experiences. That there’s a whole world full of things to learn, places to explore, people to meet, and experiences to try. So learn, explore, meet, and try. The world is waiting for you. 

If you liked this episode of Long Live Bat Art, please consider telling a friend and reviewing to help the podcast grow. A link to the transcript of this episode is available in the show notes below. And you can follow me on Twitter at Long Live Bat Art and tumblr at tumblr dot com forward slash Long Live Bat Art. That’s Long Live B-A-T Art. Thank you for listening to this episode, and I will see you in two weeks.

[xcalibxr]

"Ye Olde Fossil" was what the sign read.

Though the sign above the establishment was an ... interesting choice, it was the lively acoustic guitar playing being strummed in time with joyful singing of a group of patrons currently within the bar that drew you to the place.

You're new here, and the weathered, but kind-looking old man that is sitting in the corner at one of the older looking tables can see that as he waved you over with a twinkle in his remaining good eye. White sprouted between the grey peppering his wild hair which feathered out from underneath a dark brown sailor's cap to match more kept-together beard that decorated his chin, ending in a thick braid that hung in midair. He was dressed like a man of the sea, but those days seemed to be long behind him.

A wide grin split the aging lines of his face as teeth that had seen better days became the focus; one hand held onto a tumblr of alcohol that was partially drained (with an open bottle of alcohol standing by upon the table) and his other hand, fondly scratching the ear of a small dog that sat comfortably upon the bench next to him.

"Welcome to 'Ye Olde Fossil'," the old man croaked merrily, raising his tumbler as a barmaid passed with a circular tray holding ten newly made mugs of beer. "Everyone's in a good mood today so this place is in high spirits judging by all the singing going on, hehekeh! If ya've come ta drink, all yer drinks are on me tonight, so pull up a chair."

Once you were settled, the Old Man produced another tumbler from god-knows-where and topped it off for you before setting it down in your direction before continuing on.

"Name's Old Pete--used ta be just 'Pete', but 'round here in Maple they've taken ta remindin' me of how old I am all the time for some reason or another, but I don't take it ta heart, ya see? Anyway! This is a good place and safe, too, seeing as the owner can be a real beast when he's well and truly upset... but I wouldn't worry yer head about that! Ol' Drake's a good man even with his reputation of being a fossil. The men that support him here as his hands in the business are decent too, as rare as that is, but in an island were most of us are decent folk, there's gonna be a few bad eggs to be found."

Draining the glass, Old Pete poured himself another and sipped with relish before glancing down at yours.

"Mmn? Drink, drink! Don't let it age anymore than it already has--this is a good year, not the cheap stuff, don't cost an arm neither! But, ya know..."

Leaning in, the Old Man lowered his voice, as mischief flickered in his lone eye.

"It's said that there's a full stock higher priced alcohol in this place, incredibly fine stuff--worth yer weight in gold, even or somethin' like that--yet I've been 'round here for the past decade and rarely ever seen that really good stuff go out."

Sitting back as though satisfied with passing on the myth of the fabled liquor hidden away somewhere within Ye Olde Fossil to yet another person willing to listen, the Old Man sipped from his glass again as his feet began to stomp in time with the guitar tune that strummed up into a different song.

"Anyway, enjoy yerself today and try not to cause any trouble or you'll be seeing yourself out no matter what bits ya got! Try some of the grub here while yer at it so ya don't go drinkin' on an empty stomach, ya hear? It'll be on my conscience if ya do..."

Trailing off, Old Pete allowed himself to get fully absorbed into the new song ranging out in the bar, now clapping roughened hands in rhythm with his stomping foot as a cackle of delight bubbled up from his throat.

Drinks were bought and poured.

People sang (sometimes off-key) while others dined.

Laughter filled the air, and the day continued on just like that.

[sinsandsuccubus]

SEVEN DEVILS - Jack Harlow (II)

Context: “See, I was dead when I woke up this morning. I'll be dead before the day is done.”

Genre: Fantasy

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairings: Priest!Jack Harlow X Witch!Fem!Reader

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Long time no see, but I am back with Seven Devils after a long delay. There is one more part after this, so stay tuned.

Click here for Part 1!

Masterlist ☽☾

                                          ☽ ☾

Static electricity flickered throughout the room, the fairy lights cascading the room being the only source of light. Pages turned through the book, fingertips emulating deep blue between each flick.

“You know honey, sneaking up on a witch is never ideal.”

She flicks her wrist, spinning around and settling on her feet, her husband facing her with a gust of wind.

“I always forget you can do that.”

“Yeah, you do.” She chuckles, bringing him into a long, loving kiss. They part at the sound of feet rumbling down the steps, the books displayed around the room being tucked away with a flicker of blue light.

“Girls! What have I told you about sneaking up on mommy and I? More importantly, about coming into the basement?”

“But daddy! We’re hungry!”

“How does chili sound for dinner?”

“Come on dad, we had that two nights ago!” The littlest one of out the two followed her towering father up the steps, the man ducking his head to avoid the beams.

“Mommy, why aren’t we allowed in the basement?” The two moved towards the stairs, the woman crouching down to meet eyes with her oldest child.

“You’ll learn soon enough my love. One day mommy will tell you what she doesn’t down here. But for now, let’s head upstairs. Maybe I can convince your father not to make that chili.”

“Thank god mom. I was starting to get sick of it.”

                                          ☽ ☾

Memories flooded your vision as you stood in, your once, family kitchen. The aroma of beef stew filled the kitchen, a plethora of herbs laying on the counter. Weeks had passed since the night of the ritual, and you had only seen Jack a few times in passing; you and Diana spending most of your time preparing for a ritual that was due soon as it took place during the full moon. Smiling to yourself, you brought the steaming broth to your mouth, blowing the steam away before swallowing the liquid.

“It’s missing something…. potatoes!” You exclaimed, flickering your wrist, drawing your tote bag over your shoulder, keys flying into the other hand. Swiftly, you shut and locked the door, standing back to look at it as you thought about your sister.

“She has a key.” You mumbled before moving your way along to the market.

                                          ☽ ☾

Chattering fluttered from each stall as you browsed through the market, some of the patrons waving as you passed. One older gentleman drew your attention, your legs moving you to his stall.

“Good evening Miss. Y/N.”

“Good evening Mr. Johnson. How are your sales today?”

“They’re going pretty well dear, everyone seems to be fond of my wife’s pies. Although I think we should keep them for ourselves.” He leaned in and whispered the last statement, a chuckle leaving your lips, his wife then popping up from behind the booth.

“Andrew! You know we can’t do that! Our produce alone doesn’t just bring home the money. And what about Y/N? What would she do if we kept the pies to ourselves?” The woman winked at you, you picking up on what she was putting down.

“Yeah, Mr. Johnson! What about me? Are you just gonna abandon me… what about my needs?” You spoke in shock, head hung low to resemble pain, and hurt.

“No, no dear! Of course, I’d save some for you.”

“Mhmm. That’s what they all say.” Mrs. Johnson mumbled, to which you both burst out in laughter, your hands clutching your stomach as you doubled over.

“It’s always a pleasure stopping by your stall.”

“It’s always a pleasure to see you Y/N. Is there anything you’d like to purchase?”

“Yes, of course. Some of your red potatoes? And a few spices, I’m making beef stew tonight for Diana and I.”

“Ah, that does sound good. Why don’t you take some of the fresh rolls my wife made this morning, free of charge.”

“Mr. Johnson-“

“Please, dear. Take them. Besides, if you don’t eat them, I will.” The old man spoke with a smile, causing you to shake your head in slight laughter.

“Yes sir.” You handed him the money to pay for your original items, receiving a medium-sized bag full of potatoes and spices, alongside a large bag of bread.

You smiled at the man before noticing his gaze trail off, your eyes following his gaze.

“Ah, Pr-“

“Please, call me Jack.”

“Ah yes. J-Jack. What a pleasure to have you here.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. Y/N.” He turned to you and kissed your knuckles with sincerity, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Have you and Jack already met?”

“Ah yes, in the-“

“In the town square. She was the first person I stumbled upon when I arrived. I was mesmerized by her beauty.” Mrs. Johnson looked at you, a smirk hinting on her lips.

“She offered to show me around town. Right Y/N?”

“Y-yes. Thank you for the groceries, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.”

“Of course dear! Have fun! And use protection!” The elderly woman yelled out, laughter heard from behind you as you and Jack walked away.

“I’m so sorry for those two.”

“It’s quite alright Y/N.”

“Mesmerized by my beauty huh? What a great response.”

“I like how you remember that outside of our fake meeting.”

“Touché.”

“So… where are you taking me?” Jack mouthed like a kid, making you let out a sigh that turned into a chuckle.

“A secret.”

“Oo~ Some place secretive. How do I know you’re not kidnapping and plotting to kill me?”

“First off, it’s not kidnapping if you’re a willing participant. Second of all, I could say the same thing about you in the woods the other night.”

“Touché.”

The two of you burst out into laughter once more, you taking in Jack’s face. Noticing the crinkle of his eyes while he laughed.

His eyes were a beautiful shade of crystal blue in the light, his curls forming a beautiful aura around his face, almost like a halo.

You could say he was a saint.

Except for the fact he was watching you in the woods.

“You’re staring gorgeous.”

“You’re the one who just called me gorgeous.”

“Well, you are.”

“Are you bold about everything?”

“Pretty much. In fact…” He came to a complete stop on the path, looking between your warm eyes and your plump lips.

“May I?”

“I-“ You pondered the decision before the crunch of a branch startled you, noticing a bunny hopping along the treeline.

“We’re here.” You followed the bunny through the trees, ducking under branches as you turned towards the tall man, who had hung back with a pondering look.

“Trust me.” You held out your hand, which he gracefully grabbed, as you pulled him into the scenery before you.

It was stunning.

Trees towered over the two of you, their leaves colorful for the fall. The sounds of water trickling sent goosebumps over your skin, a ring of stones lining the pond that the water fell into.

Jack watched as you skipped along the edge, fear striking up his spine, visions of you slipping into the pond flashing before him, electricity flying up his hands.

However, it was when you settled on a high-sitting-flat-stone, that he calmed down. He followed you swiftly, sitting down next to you, feet swinging next to yours.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You paused.

“I’d like to show you something.” You stood, standing up on the rock. Jack's eyes grew wide as you began to strip, folding your clothing into a neat pile that you set next to him. Once having come down to your bra and underwear, you dove into the water, Jack standing up on his two feet to look for you.

Once your head appeared on the surface, you could see the sigh he let out, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Come on in, the water’s just fine.”

“I don’t know Y/N.”

“Come on Jack.” You spoke softly and seductively, Jack’s eyes instantly filling with lust as he began to strip down to nothing but his boxers, jumping into the water less gracefully. You smiled at him as he swam towards you, his curly hair falling within his face. You brushed it out of the way softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Follow me.” You spoke softly, swimming out further. He followed you a short distance before the two of you stumbled upon a waterfall. Smiling back at him, you swam through, waiting for him to follow, which he did.

Brushing past the water and vines, you two made it to the cave, light reflecting off the walls.

“Wow…” he spoke almost in a whisper, eyes darting around the area.

“I said the same thing when I first found it. Enchanting isn’t it?” You spoke, pulling yourself up onto a smaller rock. He climbed beside you, plopping down.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because I trust you. For some reason, even with the very short amount of time we've known each other, I seem to trust you.” He smiled at you faintly.

“Thank you Y/N. For trusting me.”

                                          ☽ ☾

The two of you reached the clearing, bodies slightly damp from the water the two of you swam through to leave.

“Don’t you bring a towel or something with you?” He spoke, attempting to fix his damp curls. You laughed, cheeks hurting with humor.

“Usually yes. But when I don’t…” Your voice faded before Jack looked at you, noticing a spark in your eyes. Suddenly purple energy surrounded your body, the water evaporating off your skin. You reached out to Jack, who didn’t hesitate to your touch, as you dried his skin off.

“I practice magic, Jack. I’m a witch.”

                                          ☽ ☾

The walk back to town was quiet, neither of you two speaking since your revealing of your powers. Jack had simply thanked you for his drying, however, had said nothing to you since. You began to wonder if you had done the right thing. You thought you could trust Jack, you had a sense you could.

Right?

Suddenly, the two of you were approached, a small crowd forming around you.

“Priest! Priest! Thank god you are here! Why are you with this wretched wi-“ The noise of the crowd turned silent, ringing filling your ears as you looked at the man you thought you trusted.

The man you had taken to your secret cave and clearing.

The man you were beginning to develop feelings for.

Then, you were brought out of your trance by your neighbor shaking your shoulder.

“Y/N. Diana has gone missing.”

-

Tags ♡︎

@heavyhitterheauxx

@gassyandsassy1

@velvetstreets

@harlowsbby

@harlowcomehome

@raelorns21

@harlowthot

@lcandothisallday

@pianoisland

@softtcurse

@mortirolo

@inluvwithladybug

[myherowritings]

PART 2. LOVE IS FAKE, MARRY A WEALTHY SUITOR

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.5k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. thank u guys for all the positive feedback on this series so far and i really hope u enjoy this chapter too ! ^-^ xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

It seemed your subtle pleas to the gods to see the mysterious businessman again had been answered, since only the day after Shouto gave you a $100 tip, you saw him at the cafe. 

You looked to the skies with a hint of suspicion. This seemed too easy— You were expecting at least a few weeks of your heart pining as you wondered where-oh-where your dreamy customer could have gone. But instead, after a mere 24 hours later, you saw him enter the store in a pair of pressed trousers and a light blue, button up shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. 

Blinking, you drew your attention away from his exposed forearms. You knew he was attractive from your first encounter, but was he always this hot? 

Sadly, you couldn’t focus too much on that since he had to get behind the line and obstruct himself from your view, and you had to take the order of the next customer. 

“Hi! I can take the next person in line.” You smiled. “Good morning! What can I get started for you today?”

After repeating that five or so more times and starting a few drinks on hot bar, you finally reached Shouto’s place and, thankfully, there didn’t seem to be too many patrons piling behind him. 

“Good morning, Shouto!” you greeted when he stepped forward to the counter. “How are you this morning?”

“Better now that I saw you.” 

Your smile faltered as your cheeks heated up, but you tried to brush it off with a laugh. While Shouto had the definite looks of a so-called businessman playboy, his words held none of the flirtatious intonation as one might expect. In fact, he sounded like he genuinely meant it— Like he was only stating a simple fact and had no reason to be shameful. 

It felt both like an attack on your heart and like a refreshing glass of water at the same time. 

“How about you?” he continued. 

“I could say the same thing,” you said with a chuckle, but you found yourself meaning everything you told him. Though you didn’t expect to see him again at the cafe so soon, you couldn’t deny the instant he walked through the doors, your morning felt just a little bit brighter. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, but this is a pleasant surprise.” 

Shouto had the decency to look a little bashful as he averted his gaze slightly. “Yeah. I…really liked the...cheese danishes.” 

Surprised, a small giggle left your lips. “Don’t tell me you finished all three dozen of them!”

“Well…” He looked even more sheepish. “I didn’t exactly… I guess you could say that.” 

“I’m glad you liked them so much you came back for more,” you teased, looking down at the pastries from the oven you just stocked. “Sadly, our fresh pastry today is a chocolate croissant. I can tell my manager to have cheese danishes made again soon though!”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try the chocolate croissants today then. Maybe five dozen this time.” 

Five multiplied by twelve… A whole 60 chocolate croissants? Were they all for him? You shrugged, not one to judge. If someone wanted to eat 60 croissants, so be it. Though you did hope he wouldn’t eat it all in one sitting. That might give him a stomachache. 

“Alrighty, five dozen chocolate croissants,” you repeated as you typed it into the register. “And would you like any beverages with that? Another flat white maybe?” 

“Actually, I’ll have a large macchiato with two extra shots of espresso this time.” 

You nodded with a hum. “Long day ahead?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“I hope the coffee and croissants can carry you through, Shouto!” you said, wishing his day would go by smoothly. “Will that be all for you today?”

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope so too. And yes, that’s it.”

“Great. $73.24 is your total then! Will you be paying in card again?” 

He nodded. 

“Go ahead and scan and sign when you’re ready.”

You busied yourself by writing his name and order on a large cup and starting the espresso pulls. Your manager was helping get the pastries and other orders ready this morning, so it was nowhere near as hectic as yesterday. 

“Your order will be to your right. It was nice seeing you again, Shouto.” You smiled, giving him a small wave and already wishing you could hold the line up to talk to him longer. “See you tomorrow morning?” you asked almost hesitantly.

He returned your smile with upturned lips of his own. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” Before he left the counter, he pulled out another $100 bill—did he go to a dry cleaners to have his cash steamed and ironed? It was almost ridiculously crisp—and handed it to you. “A tip to show my appreciation for your service.”

“A-Again?” you stammered, eyes wide. That was $200 in two days from just his tip alone. That was more than you made in two weeks when you worked part-time! “Are you sure?”

Whether he had money to spare or not, this was incredibly generous of him and you would never have expected this amount from anyone. And it wasn’t like Shouto made it a scene for everyone in the shop to look at and gawk; he was subtle yet unashamed. Like he wanted to do it for no other reason than to do it. 

“Of course. You deserve it for your work, Y/N.”

The customer behind him made an impatient noise and you winced. You wanted to be able to thank him more, but all you had time for was a simple, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Shouto nodded in response before walking to the other side of the cafe to wait for his order while you managed the other customers in line, a fuzzy but warm feeling lingering in your stomach from your bizarre interaction. Money or not, you enjoyed seeing him in the mornings and were already looking forward to your brief conversations that would take place the next days to come.

He certainly gave you something to look forward to amidst the inconsiderate customers who barely saw you as human every morning. Sometimes, that was all you could ask for. 

When Shouto left the store and the line had died down towards the end of rush hour, your manager approached you with a curious look on her face. 

“That guy named Shouto…?” Miyazaki said. 

You nodded. 

“A friend of yours?”

“You could say that… We just met yesterday’s morning shift,” you said as you finished up the green tea latte for one of the remaining stragglers from the last hour’s boom. “But he’s really friendly I think.”

“You only recently became associated?” she asked, lifting a brow. “It seemed like you two were quite chummy today.” Then, nudged your side. “He was rather attractive don’t you think? And rich-looking.”

Fumbling with the lid on the beverage, you stifled a surprised cough. Sure, you got along with your boss and thought she was one of the more understanding and kind individuals you have worked under, but gossiping about the looks and potential income of a customer with your 56-year-old manager was not on your bingo sheet as a worker here.

“I…” You called out the order for the latte before turning back to your manager. “He is.”

“Ooh, he’s rich?”

“I meant he’s attractive!” you sputtered, feeling abashed at her blunt words. You thought of the tip he gave you in your pocket and his orders of dozens of pastries. “Rich…maybe so. Not that it matters!” 

Miyazaki tsked. “Of course it matters! Marry rich and your life will be easier. That’s what my mother told me and what her mother told her.” She shook her head. “Should’ve listened.” 

You laughed, feeling only a little awkward. It wasn’t the first time you heard that sentiment from someone older than you. It wasn’t uncommon for family members or even workers you were close to to share that same advice—if you could even call it that.

While you agreed money could make a lot of things easier, marrying someone for wealth didn’t appeal to you. But you recognized that even that may come from a place of privilege to be able to say. 

“He seems like a wealthy suitor for you, yes?”

“Suitor—?” you choked out. “No! I mean— We just met! We don’t know anything about each other really.”

She sighed, “Young people and their obsession with marrying someone they ‘know’ for true love. When do you really know someone anyway?” Waving a hand she changed the topic. “But enough of that. What I wanted to say was next time that man comes in here, we can offer him a complimentary box of a dozen pastries— Since he’s spent so much in so little it feels like the right thing to do.”

“Sure. A complimentary dozen.” Finally. Work. A topic you felt much more comfortable talking about. “That, I can do.” 

“And then maybe offer a hand in marriage while you’re at it.”

“Mrs. Miyazaki!” you gasped, feeling only mildly affronted. 

“I joke.” She ruffled her hair and smoothed down her apron. “I’m going to make more pastries now. Can you hold up the front?” 

“You can count on me.”

“I know I can. Thanks for your hard work!” 

And with that, she headed to the backroom where the kitchen was to leave you alone with your thoughts in a quiet cafe. Rush hour ended so there were only a few customers trickling in, most much kinder and more pleasant to talk to than the bustling businessmen of the earlier shift. 

Throughout your small conversations with the patrons, you found yourself thinking back to two things— One, how interesting traditional values and teachings in collectivist cultures were and questioning where you fell into place with them, and two…wondering about Shouto. 

Tomorrow, he had said before he left. You’d see him again tomorrow. 

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to it more than you’d like to admit. 

— ✩ —

It was the fifth day of the week, the fifth time he had seen you at the cafe, and he was already tempted to see you again. Would it be invasive to get another pastry after work? Would you even be there working at that hour?

Shouto saw you this morning (along with all the other mornings before that) and yet he couldn’t quell the pull he felt towards you with only the short interaction time you had together. But he would take what he could get without being weird. 

He had been told in the past he could be too forward and dysregulate his feelings and scare people off, and that wasn’t something he wanted to risk with you, though he was certainly much better at it now with learning and practice. If he was reading things correctly, you at least seemed to enjoy seeing him during your shift. 

“You got more pastries, sir?” an employee from the medical supplies sector asked him gleefully. “I swear they get better each time!”

Shouto nodded with a smile. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be sure to relay your compliment.”

With the dozens of pastries he’s been ordering from your cafe (each order seeming to grow every time he visited after realizing just how much his employees enjoyed it), he would place them around the breakrooms and staff kitchens in the establishment. Those areas were always fully stocked with drinks and sandwiches and chocolates in case anyone needed a little boost, but nothing seemed to bring as much comfort as freshly baked pastries did. And a different baked good almost everyday seemed to give people more to get excited about. 

He owed it all to your sales’ pitch and blinding smile that made him want to buy it. And your personality, of course.

His Personal Secretary had started to wonder why she no longer was tasked with his early morning coffee runs, and Shouto had to find a way to answer without saying it was because there was a barista he wanted to keep talking to. 

Not even he was that shameless. 

The first time, his PS had just called in sick and Shouto decided he might as well head to a cafe himself for the first time in a while. He worried he might have been rusty while ordering, but you did such a good job at being welcoming and guiding the transaction that he found himself actually enjoying it. (Enjoying you, maybe. But it was too soon to admit that.) 

And now, after that initial meeting, he decided it was worth half an hour of his day to give his PS some early morning break time and visit the cafe himself. 

It was worth it so much, in fact, that the next morning on a Saturday, despite most of his employees being given the weekend off, he still went to buy some coffee and pastries. 

“Good morning!” an older lady called as he entered the front doors. Shouto had seen her assisting in shifts and baking pastries when you were busy working the cash register. “What can I get started for you today?”

He looked around the store—relatively quiet compared to the rush hour during the weekdays—and to his disappointment, saw no sight of you. 

The current barista laughed, seeming to read his very thoughts. “Looking for someone? Y/N perhaps?”

His gaze shot up, feeling like a kid getting caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to by his guardian. Cautiously, he gave a small nod. 

“‘Fraid they have the weekends off, actually,” the lady—her name tag read Miyazaki—said. “But don’t look so down, they’ll be back on Monday morning to greet you with a smile.”

He nodded again, feeling his face heat up. Was he that transparent or did Miyazaki just know too much? “Thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckled, waving him over. “No need to be so formal. Now, is there anything I can get for you? Or were you just visiting in hopes of asking our dear Y/N out?”

“No— I…” Shouto felt himself averting his gaze. “I’ll order something.”

At his apparent discomfort, her mischievous gaze softened. “Of course, hon. Sorry for teasing too much. I was just excited seeing how adorable you and Y/N were.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, that’s not my business. Anyway. What can I get started for you?”

He asked for a macchiato and a couple dozen of today’s pastries, paid, and tipped. (Though, it was initially met with a blatant rejection. He didn’t take it too hard; he knew some older members of society thought of tips as insulting and he’d never force anyone to take a tip if it made them feel bad. But after offering again, she thankfully accepted it.)

When he left the cafe, although the exchange was pleasant enough, Shouto still found himself disappointed he wasn’t able to see you. 

At least he had something to look forward to next Monday morning, though part of him wished the day would somehow come sooner. 

a/n: hope u enjoyed miyazaki’s words of wisdom u.u FHKDF i’m totally kidding, but if ur asian like me then u kNOW what convos like that are like omg ,, just had my mom and two grandmas tell me that recently :’/ kskskfd but anyway i hope u enjoyed this chapter and liked seeing a glimpse of shouto’s thoughts ;3 tysm for reading!

what to expect in the next part:

more shouto and y/n :>

maybe some ~flirting~ pfft idk idk u.u

some minor...misunderstandings 

“hello, zuko here” vibes

[someuncreativi2]

[] What the Alia Fabula AU Archons do after the game ends []

(Spoilers for first four chapters of Genshin Impact)

As we can see throughout Genshin Impact, the archons change along with their respective nations. This makes me think of all the ways they can change and what they might do at the end of the game. So, including my own fan made archons, I have set out what they would do after the end of the game.

Firstly, Venti. To me, I see him changing the least; he probably still drinks his wine and plays at taverns and protects Mondstadt and whatnot. After all, it worked as well this time as every other.

Next, Zhongli. I have no doubt that he will continue to protect Liyue, but considering he’s given up the position of Archon, I see him trying to blend in with humans more- adapt to their modern customs, fit into societal norms, et cetera.

For Raiden, I think her arc is characterized by accepting change; Inazuma changed, meaning her ideals have failed, but ultimately, she is fine with that. It is still Inazuma, no matter what. For this, and also the Archon quest in general, I see her as trying to be more laidback- not hands off, but she’s trying to let Inazuma run its course.

Nahida is a unique case. She doesn’t have respect like the other Archons, and she doesn’t actually know much about being an Archon, seeing as how the Akademiya locked her away for her whole life. Personally, I see her trying to widen her horizons as much as possible, not only because she is the god of wisdom, but because she has a genuine interest in learning more about the world and its inhabitants.

Then, there’s Marione. In this AU, Focalors is someone else completely- Sandrone impersonating the Archon for her own gain. In this time, Marione was lessened to just a servant of Focalors without any free will of their own. After the game ends, after Sandrone resigns from head of Fontaine, I imagine that Marione would go around and try to regain their lost respect; meeting with the other Archons, restoring Fontainian nature, and rebuilding their own reputation.

Murata, like Nahida, is an interesting story. In this timeline, her and the previous Archon had a friendly rivalry going on, that is until the Cataclysm made her the only Archon of Natlan. Out of rage, she waged war on everyone and anyone who she saw as responsible for her friend’s death. Her chapter would be summarized by self-reflection- no individual was responsible for these happenings, but most people don’t realize that because they haven’t given themselves time to process. After this, Murata would put her war-prone tendencies to rest, focusing on trying to give not only her people the care they need from their god, but also herself the time to emotionally heal.

Odelayo is, to me, one of the only Archons that might legitimately give up the title of leader for their own selves, next to Zhongli, of course. After hundreds of years of living in fear and isolating herself from the world, desperately trying to shield herself from being hurt again by someone she wants to love- whether that be her family, her people, or even Pierro- she realizes, through the other Archons, that she doesn’t need to continue thinking that love, the concept she holds dear, is anything but good. Whether it be self-love, friendship, romance, or what have you, yes, you have to be vulnerable, but love has its place, and love can help us realize a lot about our world and ourselves.

After the game, as I said, she’d resign from being the Archon of Cryo (truth be told, she never actually wanted to be a god, much less the patron deity of Snezhnaya). She turns to trying to enjoy her life with those she cares about, traveling the world to see it for the good it has to offer rather than the bad.

In relation to these ideas, I drew a quick (well not quick cuz it took 4 hours somehow) piece of Odelayo traveling around Inazuma in a boat because fun

Oh btw Raiden isn’t here because she’s like sight-seeing in her own city and not because I didn’t have room for her lmao

[redpandaramblings]

Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 3.

Part 1- Here

Previous part Here

Next Part Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship

Where we left off-

You glanced up at the sound of the door. In came your parents, then the Yokomadas. You did a double take as the final person, the omega you were here to meet, entered the room. They looked equally as startled as your eyes locked.

“Y/N?”

“Denki?!”

You slowly walked through the teahouse garden, your electric blond friend oddly silent as he kept pace with you. Your parents and the Yokomadas had allowed the two of you a bit of privacy to talk. So far, neither of you had mustered the courage to break the awkward atmosphere. Neither your parents or the Yokomadas had seemed to pick up on Denki or your mood. If anything, they were thrilled you two already knew each other. With a sigh, you sat on a bench by the koi pond, not looking at the blond as to settled down next to you. After several minutes, he spoke.

“So. What are you doing here?”

You snorted, and gently dumped your shoulder against his.

“Right back at you, Pikachu.���

“I’ll tell you. After you tell me.”

You chuckled humorously, and tilted your head back to look at the sky.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just here to appease my mother?”

Denki considered for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. You’ve been saying no to her for years. So tell me, why are you here.”

You take a deep breath and let it out again slowly through your nose.

“I… I think I wanted to be here. Needed to.” You wrung your hands, throwing a sideways glance at Denki. “I… I want to be mated. Have a family. Have someone who needs me and lets me need them. I used to think Kat… I used to think Bakugou was my person. But I’m not sure anymore, Denks. You know what he’s like and so do I, but I’ve waited for years, and nothing, and I’m so tired, and I’m not even sure he even likes me anymore, and…” You’re stopped by Kaminari gently rubbing your back.

“Breath, Y/n. Come on. Deep breaths.”

You inhaled shakily. You hadn’t even noticed you’d been hyperventilating. Quiet settled again, aside from the sounds of nature and your slowly slowing breathing. After a few moments, you spoke again.

“I’m just so lonely, Denks. I see him every day, and I’m still so goddamn lonely. So I think… I think it’s time to let go.” Your lips twitched slightly upward as you tilt your head to look at him. “Am I terrible?”

Denki huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You? Never.” He sighed, removing his hand from you back as he began picking at the hem of his sleeve. “I wish I could say I didn’t understand. But I do. I’m kinda here for the same reason after all.”

You gave an encouraging hum and reached out, taking his hand in yours and running your thumb over his knuckles. He interlaced your fingers, giving a squeeze before continuing to speak.

“You know how I feel about Shinso, right?”

“I think everyone but Shinso knows how you feel about him.”

Denki snorted. “Yeah. Not surprised. But that’s the problem. I’ve liked him for years. Little bit of a crush but at UA, thought I could play it cool and it would go away; but then the agency paired us together and, well.” Denki gestured with the hand not holding yours. “It was so easy! I’d go boom! And then he’d go pow! Then shoom! It was amazing! He was amazing… And so I tried to get his attention. I tried so damn hard. And you know me.”

You snorted, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a living room window.”

“Exactly!” He shouted, pulling away to stand up and pace. “I flirted. I used all my best pick up lines. I asked him out to the club, and he said yes. But do you know what he said afterward? He said though it wasn’t his usual scene, it was really good being able to hang out with a friend. I… I asked him to spend my heat with me.”

You inhaled sharply. Kaminari looked at you with an expression you hardly recognized. He collapsed onto the bench, leaning heavily against you.

“He said ‘I’m glad you’re that comfortable with me, but it probably would be better for you to ask someone else.’” Denki whispered, sniffling.

“Oh.. Denki.” You wrapped your arms around the blond, squeezing him tightly. Half out of instinct, you tried to pump out soothing pheromones while you gently scented his hair. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing, sweetheart. You’re a wonderful omega!”

That was all it took for Denki to start sobbing heavily in your arms. You squeezed him tightly as tears filled your own eyes. The tears fell when Denki wrapped his arms around you, hugging you just as tightly as you held him. There in the tranquil garden you both huddled together as you finally allowed yourself to cry. Years of hurt and longing fell from your eyes one drop at a time.

You weren’t sure how long it had been when the two of you slowly pulled away from each other. You used your thumbs to wipe Denki’s cheeks. He gave you a halfhearted smile.

“So,” you asked tentatively, “what should we do? They’re going to expect an answer from us about this whole…” You waved a vague hand “Marriage date thing.”

Denki hummed, puffing up his cheeks as he blew out a breath. “God, I don’t know. Certainly wasn’t expecting it be you, you know? No offense.”

You drew back, gasping in mock anger. “Full offense!” You could only hold your expression a few seconds before you started snickering.

Denki grinned his first really grin of the day. “Well excuuuuse me for insulting your alpha sensibilities.”

“You’re excused. For now.”

You both chuckled. Looking out at the pond, you spoke again. “I just wish I had the right answers. And I really wish we had more time.”

Denki furrowed his brow. “Well… Technically, we could.”

“What do you mean?”

Denki bounced on his seat. “Okay. So. Hear me out. We both need time to process, clearly. Also clearly, our families are just not gonna give us that. So… Why don’t we do this?”

“Wait. Wait. We do this?” you asked, both curious and incredulous.

“Yeah! Think about it. One! They mainly want us in relationships they approved of. They set us up, so clearly, they approve. Two! If we say we’d like to try out this match, they obviously aren’t going to set up any more dates; therefore buying us time. And bonus of no annoying randos. Three! We can say we’re going to take the relationship slow because we’ve both been burned before and want to make sure. Four! Four…” Denki trailed off, looking at his feet.

“Four is maybe if we can’t find a love match at least we’re friends who work well together?” You murmured.

Denki nodded, glancing at you with a rueful smirk. “Yeah. Exactly. Vibe on the same wavelength. Hell, we even want similar shit in life.”

“Actual house, few pets, stability…”

Denki nodded again. “Sucks, but would make sense for us to consider it. As much as I fucking hate the ‘You’re not getting any younger’ speech, they are kind right. We can’t waste all our time waiting for things that aren’t gonna happen.”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “God, don’t you hate it when they’re right about shit like that?”

“You have no idea.”

You stood, stretching. “Well, I guess we go tell them, then.”

Denki groaned. “There isn’t enough saki in the world for that conversation.”

“And just so we’re clear, this stays between us for now, right? No one knows but us, our folks, and I guess your cousins.”

“Agreed. I don’t want to think about what anyone would say. Bakugou would kill me!”

You winced. “Unlikely. I doubt he’d care. But if Mina finds out, everyone will know.”

“You’re not kidding. No worries from me, I don't want this getting out any more than you do.”

“So… Engaged, I guess?”

Denki dusted himself off and stood. “Deal. Engaged.” Denki stuck his hand out, and you shook it.

You both turned and started making your way back to the teahouse, taking your time and going the long way to be sure to avoid and of the other patrons. This was fine. A good plan. Nothing could go wrong as long as no one found out.

And there you have part 3! Sorry the wait and thank you all for being patient! If anyone has any questions regarding the fic or how this particular omegaverse operates, please feel free to shoot me an ask. Also, please note that @snuggleyourredpandas is my main account, so it you see a message reply from them, that's me!

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @one-simp-more, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I'd have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

[the-witty-pen-name]

Tell Me Your Mine, Darling

Western AU 

18+ ONLY

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

Warnings: prostitution, mentions of smut, alcohol, cursing, violence, mentions cheating 

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Hey! As always, this is unedited! Please let me know if I missed anything to include as a warning. I’m on the fence if I should make this a longer story, I like the idea of this being a stand alone, but let me know what you think! I’d love to hear any feedback cause this is my first attempt at a Western AU :)

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The player piano echoed throughout the whole saloon, bouncing off the walls as patrons moved about the crowded room. The peppy music was perfect for dancing as a few of the men threw back shots of liquid courage and asked some of the women working tonight for a dance. It was a night where the people who came in through the batwing doors could forget about their troubles and the existence of sins, and partake in merry drink and debauchery. The night air hung heavy and the room smelled of sweat, cheap liquor and even cheaper perfume. 

The women were scantily clad in dresses only slightly less revealing than their undergarments, and the men still in their clothes from long days of travel. Cowboy hats, rugged trousers, and boots that lost their shine years ago. Girls carried around large trays of shots and lagers, passing them around to the drunk souls who struck rich for a night and opened tabs at the bar. 

It was a busy night both downstairs in the saloon, but also many of the girls were leading men upstairs to their beds, for a warm place to lay their head and anything else they can afford. That was the secret that kept this dilapidated building up and running. The music and the watered down liquor wasn’t enough to keep the sheriff from closing and condemning the building. 

If the owner was honest, he knew what kept the sheriff from coming and toting him away to rot in one of the two cells down at the jail. Not only was the sheriff partial to a drink or a few each night after the sun goes down, but he was particularly taken with one of the girls who worked there. Sure, the sheriff must’ve had his turn with every girl in the joint, but there was something about you which made the sheriff absolutely smitten. Of course, no one dared admit to seeing his obviously growing affections but the owner knew as long as you were here, and his glass was refilled, he had nothing to worry about. No one quite knows what happened. He went from coming in every Saturday night asking for whichever girl is free and then it went to asking only for you, every week without fail. 

People theorize that maybe it’s your honeyed smile or the sweetness in your voice. The ability to deceive every man into thinking they’re the only one to ever touch you. The ability to put on the act of the farmer’s daughter while having the dirtiest mouth on this side of the Mississippi. No matter what drew him in, the sheriff had declared you his girl and anyone with half a brain knew better than to try to say different. 

Nothing was any different about tonight, you watched from one of the stools at the bar while the other girls worked the room. Sitting with your legs crossed, your dress skirted up high enough to show the tops of your garters, you sip on your drink stealing glances at the doors waiting for him to arrive. You can’t help but let out an impatient sigh, balancing your high heel on your toe as you watch the clock that’s mounted on the wall behind the bar. 

“Slow night?” the bartender asked as she topped off your drink. You smiled, but it fell a little flat, not meeting your eyes. 

“Every man here is scared to come near me,” you chuckle dryly. Not that you were necessarily complaining- but you worried more and more as the savings you kept under your bed dwindled. The sheriff was a regular who paid incredibly well, but he was feared. And no one else would touch what he called his. You wanted to save up to get out of this town, salvage whatever was left of this life and do something. You didn’t want to live cooped up in that room and in this town for the rest of your days. You were luckier than most, that you understood and never tried to forget that, but still you found yourself daydreaming. 

You thought about the men you’ve slept beside and the wild stories they told you. You didn’t want to live a hard life, the tedious and unfulfilling work they told you about. But, oh, you were so envious of how they traveled. Seeing the naked lands of the country and going to different towns. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to do, but you wanted to have the option. So in a little cigar box under your bed. You scrimped and saved what you could from each week. But, being the sheriff’s favorite girl, meant no one else dared touch you, meaning you have been having to open that little box of savings more and more. 

“That ain’t the worst thing in the world,” you heard a voice next to you. Soft, and velvety- you’d recognize the voice anywhere as Dottie, one of the older women who had been working there much longer than you. Middle-aged, but completely sensual in her mannerisms and her voice. She had the ability to captivate an entire room with her prominent curves and everything you know, you learned from her. 

“I know, I know,” you try to explain, but she feels your frustration. She understands it, and she knows it better than you do. She’d been there herself. The restlessness, the feeling of being incomplete, the utter fear of your life being wasted away under men whom you’re never going to fall in love with. She knows.

But she also knows the harsh realities of this world and how it treats lost souls like you, and she doesn’t want to see how it can hurt you like it hurt her. She understood how demeaning this line of work is, and how from here there is no way to move up in the world. It’s a limbo, where you're stuck in this saloon, listening to the complaints of men who despite their hardships will always have it better than you. However, the alternatives for women like you are far less desirable outcomes for your lives. 

“Appreciate the gift you’re being given, sweetness,” she chuckles, watching as the bartender makes her usual. “As long as that sheriff keeps coming around, you’re working less for the same room and board the rest of us pay.” 

You know she’s right. You know there’s so many things wrong about this town you can’t change. You can’t afford to worry about things like that, while so many of the people in this little one room saloon are just trying to survive tomorrow. It’s never going to be an ideal, and the world is much too cruel for miracles to happen for a woman like you who sold their soul. 

Jesus befriended Mary Magdalene, so it never made much sense to you when folks in this town claimed you were damned to spend your own eternity in hell. You weren’t sure if the people in this town actually read the Bible. Granted, you didn’t know much about religion yourself. But long ago you learned religion was a luxury only the wealthy people in this town could afford to follow, and they were the ones who could afford to participate in the sins you peddled. But, that was just one woman’s observation. 

Dottie disappeared back into the crowd as quickly as she arrived, and soon you were back to watching the doors again, waiting for the sheriff to relieve you of your ever growing boredom. The place was in full swing as a posse of men you don’t recognize entered, talking about how they were on their way to the coast, to mine for gold and become millionaires. You can’t help but roll your eyes, and you keep to yourself as they whoop and holler, making demands of the barkeep to send out a round for the whole place on their dime. Their rowdiness makes you flinch, and for the first time tonight, you find yourself anxiously waiting for the appearance of the sheriff so you don’t have to entertain the likes of them. Maybe God does like you, because before one of the men staring at you has an opportunity to saunter over, the saloon doors open suddenly and you can be saved. 

You know you shouldn’t find it thrilling, but there is something about being his favorite that fuels your ego on nights like this. The most commanding man in the town, calling you his- making you have this untouchable status for the night. It was the closest you think you can ever be to royalty. In that bar, on the nights he regulars, you’re a Queen. It’s a rush that's definitely spoiled you and yes, in the moment, you absolutely revel in the power you feel as he changes the atmosphere in the room- with his hardened blue eyes locked right on you. 

“Evening, sheriff,” you coo and shoot him a smile, genuinely happy to see him. 

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Lee, darling?” He smirks, placing his hands on your knee so you uncross your legs and he can stand between them. The feeling of his hands on the exposed skin of your upper thighs sent a tingle right up your spine. His thumbs slowly rubbed circles on your skin, making you shiver. 

You rest your hands on his chest, rubbing gently, your hands shamelessly feeling the strength of his chest under his shirt. You straighten out the gold sheriff’s badge on his chest, and you can feel him tremble slightly at your touch, which strokes your ego more than it already was. 

“I forget,” you tease, straightening out his tie. He smirks, looking down at you as his hands trail up higher, resting on your hips under the skirt of your dress. “I need you to keep coming back and remind me,” you flirt shamelessly. 

“Your usual, sheriff?” the bartender asks over the loud music, people settling back into their own business after the excitement of the sheriff arriving has died down. Lee replies with a quick thank you but doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Did you miss me, darling?” he quips, rubbing your sides, his thumbs trailing across the waistband of your undergarments. 

“I always do,” you wink, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his jaw. “It’s so slow when you aren’t here,” you practically whine, pouting your lips slightly. 

“I’m sorry about that, sugar,” he mumbles, leaning in and trailing kisses down your neck. 

“It’s your fault you know,” you tease, your nails scratching his scalp affectionately. 

“Is it now?” he chuckles, as he nips at your skin. 

“No one else comes near me,” you admit, and you feel him smile against your skin. 

“Good,” he murmurs against your collarbone. 

“Ice is melting,” you chuckle, referring to the drink he’s ignoring on the counter. He just chuckles, pulling away only long enough to finish the drink in one long sip, and you watch as his Adam’s apple moves, and how the condensation of the glass drips onto his knuckles. 

After he places the empty glass on the counter, you pull his arm to lead him upstairs with you. He takes your hand and let’s you lead the way, he knows like the back of his hand, and at this point better than his own house.

“Impatient, darling?” he teases, “Not going to ask me for a dance?”

“You never say yes,” you giggle, “Figured you want to have some privacy.”

“I might’ve said yes,” he retorts and you can’t help but roll your eyes. 

“Would you have?” you counter and he shakes his head no with a devilish grin. 

“One of these days, doll.” 

“I’ll be an old maid,” you joke, continuing up the stairs and down the hallway towards your room. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says. You don’t know exactly what he means, but you don’t push him for an explanation. As soon as the door clicks closed behind you both, Lee’s lips attach to yours like if he waits a second longer he’d evaporate. 

“Been dreaming about this,” he mumbles against your neck, leaving a trail of love bites that send a shiver up your spine. “Think about you every night I can’t visit you.”

You noticed how much more intimate your interactions with the Sheriff were gradually becoming. You weren’t sure how much of it he meant. The way he fawned over you and treated you like something more. Plenty of times, men behaved this way, never admitting except behind closed doors that that craved a much deeper sense of intimacy. You had always assumed the Sheriff was no different.

He’d take care of you, and you saw over time the way he handled you changed. It used to be rough and impersonal, oftentimes as well relying on you to do all the work so to speak. But, overtime, his visits became more of a mutual endeavor, and soon he was kissing you like how he is now, or begging to let him settle his head between your parted thighs, saying he felt good making you feel good. 

“I’m addicted to the feeling of your skin, darling,” he whispers as he lets his fingers linger as he pulls the straps of the dress down your arms. When the dress pools at your feet, he stares in awe like it’s the first time seeing you, and then soon enough his lips are on yours again and his hands are free to wander where they please. 

“Most stunning thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers as you work on taking off his shirt, teasingly slow at undoing the buttons. 

“You say that everytime,” you point out and he chuckles, running his hands up and down your sides. 

“Cause I mean it everytime,” he smirks, walking you back until the back of your knees hit the back of your bed and you lay down with him on top of you. 

One time a month or so back, you were sitting on top of the bar counter with him settled between your legs. You were using a rag to wipe blood off of his face after a messy fight that happened. Well, a fight that he started. 

“I didn’t like him looking at you like that,” he grumbled, still fuming and he winces slightly as you press the damp cloth to the cut by his brow. “Shouldn’t be touching you like that,” he slurs, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. 

“Just means I’m doing my job right,” you chuckle, amused at his possessiveness. “It don’t mean nothing,” you say.

“It don’t mean nothing when it’s me either,” he pouts, with his eyes closed like he could fall asleep standing up. You are convinced he’s just drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He leans on you slightly to keep himself upright, and you move to wipe the blood that is smeared by the corner of his lips. 

He’s so handsome, you can’t help but observe. From a distance, sure he’s gruff and rough around the edges but he’s got the most handsome face you think you’ve ever seen pass through. You’ll never admit to yourself that you were taking your time patching him up so you could just look at him like this for a little longer. It’s always nice sometimes to pretend a situation is something that it’s not. 

“Tell me your mine, darling,” he almost whispers when his eyes flutter open again to look at you. His gaze on you felt heavy and you weren’t sure what to make of it. 

“I’m all yours, Sheriff,” you can’t help but chuckle, thinking he’s just fooling. Just trying to tease you. He frowns and looks so  sad, those damn blue eyes more expressive when he’s drunk. 

“Tell me your mine,” he asks again, like a whispered plea as his eyes roam over your face. 

“I’m yours.”

By the morning, he’s always gone. He always leaves more than necessary, insisting to you the night before not to tell the owner. He doesn’t want him taking a bigger percentage. He whispers not to worry, and to let him take care of you. He knows how much he affects your wages and he wants to do the right thing. 

Lee doesn’t like to pay you. It’s a horrible reminder to him that you don’t actually care one way or another if he shows up or not. It’s the terrible wake up call come morning that you aren’t actually his, as much as he asks you to say it. 

You’d just have to say the word and he’d do just about anything to make you love him back for real. But he knows that this can’t ever go further. You deserve to go off and see the places he hears you tell the other girls about. You don’t think he knows about you wanting to leave but of course he does. 

The pictures of far away cities are hung on your mirror held up between the frame and the glass. There’s a picture of New York that sometimes he’ll stay up staring at, knowing your heart ain’t tied down yet to one place like his is tied here. He can’t leave and he knows he can’t in good conscience ask you to stay. He knows you would, but not for the reasons he wants. 

Good god, you’re still young and have a spark in you that he damn well knows he doesn’t want to be the one to put out. He wants nothing more than for you to look at him and see you could be happy and be in love. But what life is that compared to the life you’re dreaming of. You have hopes, dreams, and Lee knows he isn’t at the center of any of them. 

So for now, he settles for the time you share with him when he comes by like tonight. Where he hopes he can silently tell you with his touches how much he feels for you. Where he can carefully tread the waters of sweet sentiments in hopes you’ll return them without him asking. It’s not real, none of it is. 

He can hold you close and touch every part of your body like it’s only his to see and feel. He can hear every noise you make and watch every reaction to his touches and it fuels him for now. It’s enough for now to leave bruises on your skin and pretend it’s enough to keep others from knowing you’re his. It’s not, because the marks won’t matter. 

He can feel himself inside you, and feel how your body reacts to him. The way to him, nothing will ever come close to the feeling of you around him. He’s addicted and he can’t go back. He’s been ruined by you, and no one else will ever come close to adding up to you. 

But it’s not real. He’ll go home in the morning, and lie to his wife one more time, swearing that it’s the last time he goes back. He’ll tell her he worked late and slept in the Sheriff’s office. He’ll make the promise that he’ll be home on the weekend. But it’s not real. Because, he knows that he’s going to find himself going back to you. And he prays to God you won’t be there.

Taglist:

@missyellowbirdie @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @weenersoldierr @msgodofmischief @lowercasegenius @demirunner​

[binniesthighs]

wetter | reader x minho

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho 

Genre: smut, angst,  pwp 

Tags: harddom!minho, sub!reader, fuckboi!minho, fratboy!minho, waitstaff!reader, hookup au, degredation, penetration (r), oral and facefucking (m receiving), several mentions of gagging bc of deepthroating, fingering (r), semi-public sex (bathroom), quickie, cumshot (face), several allusions to infidelity 

Word count: 2.5k 

Requested: “hard dom!minho... with degradation...pls...”  &  “my thoughts are filled with hard dom!minho with degredation 🤤” (original ask)

There’s something intoxicating about hooking up with a person when the only thing that you know about them is the heat from their lips. 

Some would argue that this makes them less of a “person” but more of a fantasy. If you had know their name, it would’ve made other strings twist in the mix. If you had known their name, maybe you would have been inclined to look them up maybe, or even worse, fall asleep with their name running over and over in your mind. 

It was best when they tasted like sin and like the daydreams that you had never uttered. 

He wasn’t like the other men that you would lead into the spotless bathroom of the country club which practically shone from the hard work of janitors who were paid less than the meals served at the god-forsaken place. As a part of the wait staff, your pay was dismal, but at least you could get a good fuck out of it once and a while. 

Then men that would frequent the country club and golf course were always the kind that had starving hands and dicks that would twitch under their belts from the slightest brush of your hand. They were the kind of men who had wives, mistresses, and even handsome young men who could be at their beck and call. You liked to think that you were unlike those who they secretly craved. If anything, you were their daydreams. 

This man seemed to be no different--at least in looks. 

He sat with his legs spread where he socialized with his young friends on the veranda. The small group ate their salmon on bagels and caviar along with expensive cocktails that you barely knew the names of. A couple of them already had girls on their laps, and they fed them cherries which stained their plush (and likely fake) lips. 

This man sat alone with his cardigan and perfectly pressed pants and loafers that appeared to have never been worn before. He had barely touched his food, but rather seemed to satiate his appetite from the teasing and dumb laughter of his friends. Judging off of his chunky and extravagant watch, there must’ve been no way that he had paid for the thing himself. Daddy or Mommy’s money made him appear as if he was some heir or prince. He even smelled like one too. 

The male patrons would often follow the way that your hips moved when you walked to and from their table, or how your hands would rest on the crystal glass tables as you took their orders. You knew they must have been imagining what your fingers would’ve looked around their cocks. 

He even gave you the same look. 

You had guessed that he must’ve been college age or some kind of graduate. His friends wore Greek letters, so you assumed that he must have been one of the “brothers.” A long time ago, someone had told you to be especially careful of his breed of boy. 

“Care to accompany me away from this crowd?” He had whispered into your ear, tickling it, when you had reached across to grab the plates. 

 The other boys had decided to go to the pool or the gym--not that it mattered--and his hand crept behind your waist as soon as he had excused himself from the rest of the group. 

“I’ve got to call my mom real quick. If she wasn’t such a nag all the time...” 

He held your hand as if he had known you, but it was likely not to rouse suspicion. 

“Nice to meet you.” He sneers, looking back and passing the crowds of women in their feathered hats and other golfers in their finest designer polos and slacks. 

You nod, noting that his hand feels strong and domineering in your own, and you can’t even begin to wonder where he might be taking you. If you were lucky, they would take you to their rooms and lay you down on the California King Sized Mattress, then you wouldn’t have to bend uncomfortably. However, this wouldn’t always be the case. Most of them favored coat closets, bathrooms and powder rooms. 

You kept your head down as he pulled you further down hallways, praying that none of your coworkers would take notice. Some of them already had, however it wasn’t like any of them cared...not when they would often indulge in the same vice. Unhappy marriages were where most of you found some brief moments of happiness. 

The young man snickered finding his hiding place and promptly lead you along with him into the towel closet which had been unlocked by the pool boys. The door was painted white and louvered with slits for airflow. It was then when you knew this would have to be one of the times when you would have to bite your tongue back. 

He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned to shove you back against it, and smear his heavy breaths over your mouth where he slicked his tongue against yours immediately. As he did so, his heated fingertips set to shrugging off your apron and hastily throwing it aside. You returned by sinking your fingers under his leather belt and jingling the metal around. If he was to see you bare, you wanted to see him too--something told you that he had something to show under his designer cardigan and this cotton shirt which must’ve cost a similar fortune. 

His abs were toned as you had expected, and they rippled under your fingertips. The young man popped the button to your pants, and you reciprocated doing the same. Just like the others, it barely took anything for him to get hard. His length swelled against your stomach and he grinded it into you too just so you could feel his eagerness. 

“You were practically asking to get fucked? Weren’t you? You whore.” 

The young man smiled out his poisonous words, but they felt as luxurious as they usually did when you had heard them grace your ears. He kissed you once again with a mixture of teeth and tongue that ran your lips raw while you pulled down his pants to his ankles and tugged at the elastic to his briefs. 

“Fuck, you really do want it that bad don’t you baby?” 

His hands palmed at your own quivering sex which had slicked with your own arousal from his greedy advances. His hand pushed at the confines of our underwear and pants where he started to rub incessantly, then ate up your shuddering moans which floated from your lips to his. 

All at once, he removed his hand and left your knees to buckle from the sudden lack of contact. With a deathly glare, he brought his fingers to your gasping mouth. 

“Wetter.”  He demanded before dipping them onto your tongue. You lathered them with your salvia where he twisted them around your muscle with the taste of bitter sweat and your own cum. 

Once he saw fit, he drew his soaked fingers back down to your waistband and resumed teasing at your sensitive skin. 

“You’d like to taste my cock wouldn’t you? Are you hungry enough for it, kitten?” 

You nodded, trying to hide your whimpering from his touch. 

“Get on your fucking knees then.” 

He nearly shoved your shoulders to the ground, but you didn’t need him to prompt you. You pulled down his briefs on your way down his body, springing free his hardened member that was wrapped in thick veins. You firstly jerked at his hooded shaft beading with his cum, and you kissed at his tip roughly too for good measure. 

“Did I say to tease me? Take me in your throat, you slut.” He slapped at your cheek, then aligned his dick with your lips. “What? Scared that it’s too much for you?” 

“No.” You answered while testing him from below. “I can take it.” 

“Show me.” 

You did so--even though his considerable length burned and stretched out your throat at first. You knew that sometimes they liked it when they saw you cry, so you let the tears well at their own will. You hummed against his dick while he pushed at your gag reflex. With your right hand, you took his shaft back to twist at it while your head bobbed. Your steady pace kept your gags at bay, but every so often he would jerk his hips a little with a grunt, and you would nearly loose your composure. 

“Is that as deep as you can take it? Fuck...here I was thinking that you would feel different...” 

The young man laced both of his hands to the sides of your face: the exact place to give a cue into his intentions. 

“Let me know if you need me to stop.” He growled. 

He fucked your face deeper and deeper, gradually working up to a pace that felt comfortable while you puffed up your cheeks. Gag after gag he teased, and the strings of your drool slicked and bubbled on his cock while dripping down your neck too. 

“Your pretty, tight, little throat feels so fucking good on my cock. Is that how you like it you cockslut?” 

Hot tears dripped down your cheeks while you nodded the best you could in response, and your feet startled to tingle where they had fallen asleep where you knelt. 

“Oh fuck yes.” 

All that you could do to steady yourself was claw at his lower back, then moan helplessly against his length which stretched you out so well, it was impossible that it had felt this good before. 

The young man pulled out after leaving your lips raw, pausing to pant like a wild animal while still firmly holding your head. You gasped, open mouthed, and sucked in air greedily while your spit strung from your lips to his cock. 

“Stand up.” He commanded, and pulled you to your shaking feet. “Ready to get fucked sweetheart?” 

“Y-yes.” You said, lightheaded, wiping the drool from your mouth onto your uniform sleeve. 

The young man smirked out before turning you face first into the door. “Good. Don’t make a fucking sound doll. That is, unless you want to get caught? To have someone see you fucked out like this?” 

“N-no...”  

“Lets feel then how tight this hole of yours is.” 

He let out a devilish sounding chuckle while bringing his hips to yours and coaxing his cock into your leaking entrance. He was just as thick in your hole as he had felt in your throat, and you squeaked out feeling the challenge. With your face pressed against the wooden door with ventilation slits, you could see the feet of those walking past, barely even knowing what had been occurring on the other side. Light from the hallway peeped in and striped over your whole body which the man ravished. 

“Spread your legs farther...that’s it...just like that.” 

The stranger thrust slowly at first, like he could just barely give you a taste of his full length; like you barely deserved it too. 

“Fells good, doesn’t it? Such an obedient little fucktoy for me, aren’t you? I bet you were dreaming of this happening weren’t you? ...Looking at me the way that you were...” 

“P-please...” You begged for him to quicken, but that wasn’t even your place. 

“Do you fuck everyone like how you fuck me? I should have guessed that you would put out for anyone with those coy glances. I’m no idiot.” 

“H-harder...fuck me harder...” 

“Harder?” The rich young man scoffed, “I get to decide when I go harder.” 

The man rolled his hips, and the patting of skin filled the darkened room. He gasped out while finding his rhythm, then reached around his fingers to tease at your lips once more. 

“Wetter.” He chanted. 

You did as you were told, he and rewarded you with the harsher grinding of his hips. Once his digits were properly wetted again, he brought them back to your throbbing sex, and rubbed at it with the same ferocity that he snapped. 

“Cum all over my fingers you whore, cum like you fucking want it.” 

His words were dizzying, and you gently rocked yourself over his hand and focused everything you could to drawing out your orgasm which was nearly there. 

“That's right. Fuck my fingers kitten.” 

The stranger too began to shake and you could sense that he had started to let go as well. The door rattled where he had you pressed against it, but he didn’t appear to care in the slightest. 

“Oh god,” You peeped as quietly as you could, and felt your orgasm begging wildly. 

He stopped for a couple moments to tap lightly into your arousal nearly on the edge, then laughed wickedly at the way that your whole body shook in response. All the while, his hips maintained their quick drags. 

“Cum for me.” He demanded once more, and you obliged, finally erupting over his fingers with the cream of your cum lathers over your thighs and wrapping around his digits. 

The words came out airy and broken, “S-shit....s-shit...” 

He had become unchained, then turned his whole attention to the way that his fingers dug into your hips and how he could graze you so deep inside, it was like nothing you had known of before. He then grabbed at your ass with the bite of his fingernails while he pumped with hitched breaths. 

“Back to your knees.” The command was sudden, but soon you found your shaking legs right back on the ground. 

The stranger jerked himself fervently with eyes screwed shut and his own soft moans trailing from his pink lips and wetted tongue. 

“Look at me.” He whispered. With one more flick of his wrist, he sent himself spewing his white and warm cum all over your face; ruining every feature. You closed your eyes to protect them but permitted your tongue to him freely where he jerked out the last of his milkly liquid directly onto your taste buds. His cum had painted your cheeks, and dripped from your jaw. At last you swallowed down the most you could with the bitter aftertaste that you had loved so much. 

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.” The man reveled at his work. 

You gasped out for him and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the rest away, although he appeared somewhat disappointed by this. He too took a towel to wipe off his length and sweating forehead. After, he was silent picking up his clothes, and jingling his belt once more back over his waist. It often ended like this: the few words spoken in the moments before they left. 

“Thanks for that babe.” He grinned. “Name’s Lee Minho. ‘Hope I’ll be seeing you around again.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

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