#alabaster-crashes-down

[stygianoaths]

Luke Castellan and his team of godkillers but they don't kill with weapons stained with ichor, but with the illusive Mist that warps the mind of mortals so easily, it shakes their faith.

In eons past, these mortals revered the Olympians with offerings and prayers daily, told their stories that inspired fear and awe all the same. It was something the pantheon had gotten hooked on, something more addicting than the ambrosia and nectar the texts had waxed poetry over. And the council of twelve did their damn best to keep it around. After all, there was no other high out there that can compare to the feeling of being in control, of being powerful.

But like any high, it wears off, sooner or later.

So that's exactly what happens.

Alabaster C. Torrington, with the help of Dr. Claymore, "discovers" new texts that discuss Greek gods that have never been heard of before; gods who are kinder, wiser, more trustworthy, than the ones everyone has come to know in this era.

It's interesting, how the origins of these gods and their lives seem to have no relevance or connection to the other pantheon and its history. No Titanomachy or Gigantomachy to speak of. There are a few parallels, but they are pleasant, like the love stories of Dionysus and Ariadne or Pygmalion and Galatea. Otherwise, it's like an alternate timeline of its own, where every god present is named a god for a reason.

It's fake.

But the mortals don't need to know that. For what's false, if persisted in, would become true anyways. Furthermore, it isn't like a new pantheon will harm any of them. The lucky ones with clear sight may win the heart of a deity who would actually see them beyond their fleeting mortality, who would care for them.

It takes a while, though, for the mortals to adjust to this suddenly newfound information. They are stubborn creatures, Luke knows, who tend to fear the unknown and new. Yet the youth crave it like bears after a beehive laden with honey. With time, they'll come around, he knows. Maybe he might not be there to see if the plans work out for himself, but someone would, and that's all that matters to him. He just needed to be the one to start the movement.

Luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

The faith spreads through idealized modernized takes on the mythology, as silly as it sounds. It's very of the era, isn't it? Books are being published on these gods who endure hardships and come out irrevocably changed but for the better. Ethan flips through one by an author under the pen name S.J and devours it in three hours. It reads nicely and he wonders when he'll get a chance to meet the main character of the story, and ask her if the myth holds true. It is, obviously, but it's different hearing it from a god. The fanfictions are even better, but Lou Ellen Blackstone gets drowned out by Alabaster's "lalalalala" before she can start talking about the recent one that was updated a few hours ago. Eh, so what if it's a little spicy?

Nonetheless, the new band of believers grows, and it's like a sucker punch to the gut for the Greek pantheon.

Apollo comes to camp and drops to his knees before his own cabin, surprising the campers. He looks terrible. Dionysus had already looked miserable, but the children attributed that to his sour personality. And, as usual, no one noticed the girl by the hearth who had disappeared weeks ago. But Apollo, golden boy Apollo, well, he has eyes that are sunken and sickly yellow, matted hair, muscles shrunk, and hands that shake as if they are beyond his control.

"They're killing us," he whispers to Lee Fletcher, "all of us."

"What do you want us to do?" Lee asks. Apollo coughs into his fist and looks down to see a smear of gold staining it.

A nosebleed. Gods don't get nosebleeds.

His children, gods bless them, are trying to heal him, but to no avail. It's kind of funny, how on any other occasion, such an act would have been annoying. If the solution was to simply heal, don't you think he would have tried that? But, weak as he was, he felt touched. Loved, even.

But love wasn't always enough to save another. He, of all gods, should know that.

"Can you write?" he asks. Lee scratches his head.

"Write?"

"Stories. Poems. Songs. Anything."

"Um, no, not really. Dyslexia kicks my ass, and you know archery is more my thing. But Will does sometimes. Healing is his forte, but I always see him writing something in a notebook, though that could just be medical notes, now that I think about it-"

Apollo disregards that last part and begs Will Solace to take up the pen and fight back. It's their last hope. If nothing is done, this camp and its children will become all that is left of the Greek Pantheon, for textbooks and website links are not enough to keep the faith going, especially if left to collect dust or rot in an archive.

"Write us new myths. Stories that can happen now, that we can make happen. Redeem us, so that we can live. We'll do it. We'll do any of it," Apollo begs.

"Anything?" Will asks. Apollo nods.

"Anything."

The Fates looked at each other from above. How time has changed. In the past, battles were fought with swords. Now, they had to be fought with words.

#inspired by that concept of 'downsizing' apollo mentions in TTC #where people basically killed helios and selene off by associating apollo and artemis with the sun and moon respectively #like if their existences are based on the faith of the people #then when you shake that foundation #the building comes crashing down #also the mist is something that applies to all pantheons iirc in the riordanverse; it's a layer in the duat for the kane chronicles #so essentially anyone who has control over the mist aka sense of reality is one overpowered motherfucker (looking at you torrington) #anyways #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #riordanverse #luke castellan #alabaster c torrington #alabaster torrington #ethan nakamura #lou ellen blackstone #lee fletcher #will solace #apollo #dionysus #hestia #moirai #the fates #dr. claymore #i've tagged everyone except for one character #the author S.J #can anyone guess who that is? ;)

[adiluv]

✦ : ❝ 𝐥'𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐨 !

꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which you're dear to him. 415 words.

꒰warnings꒱ reader is a professor of the armed archeologists, self-indulgent fluff.

꒰adi moment꒱ honestly felt like that one stock image of the person breaking their chains while i was writing this—thank you dr. ratio for helping me actually break through my writer's block! ♡ anyway, hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི ˆ ˘ ˆ꒱ྀི১

Despite the assumptions that one might make upon learning of your relationship with the self-declared "Mundanite," let it be known that Veritas Ratio is not a subtle lover. Far from it, really, at least when you get to know him.

And, for both better and worse, there doesn't exist another being within the universe that knows him just as intimately as you.

Undeniably arrogant, yet painstakingly obvious. Sharp-witted, with seemingly no care for the feelings of those around him, yet, in his own way, surprisingly caring of those plagued with misfortune. He says what he means and means what he says, if only because he cannot bear the inefficacy of beating around the bush, yet it means little when most find themselves in desperate need of a dictionary while attempting to converse with him.

It's contradictory, to say the least. Hypocritical, even, given just how misaligned these traits are. But such is the nature of the man you call yours, a decision that elicits both confusion and envy from students and staff alike.

Admittingly, however, it's rather difficult to bring yourself to care.

You can't, really, as the depths of his adoration become increasingly transparent over the course of your unlikely romance. As the walls he'd devotedly built come crashing down before your bright eyes, alabaster head all but abandoned as he embraces your presence, almost akin to a flower that turns to embrace the Sun's warmth.

No, you can't when he rushes to seek you out the moment his classes come to an end, muscular arms wrapped firmly around your waist as while you grade exams, chin resting atop your shoulder as he scolds the never-ending idiocy of his students. When he comes to dub you as his third panacea, mind and soul wholly entranced by your love, leaving him uncharacteristically tense whenever you're called away for an expedition.

Because it's practically impossible to care when you visit his home after returning, chatting with the man while he works on his latest sculpture only to find that its features come to resemble your own as the evening progresses. When he awakens the next morning, long before dawn, carefully untangling your bodies as he prepares to depart for his daily workout.

When, right before leaving, he presses a chaste kiss to your temple, half-asleep mind barely cognizant enough to understand the words he whispers against your skin.

"Σημαίνεις τόσα πολλά για μένα."

... He's not subtle. Not at all. ♡

꒰𝟏.꒱ "Σημαίνεις τόσα πολλά για μένα." — "You mean so much to me."

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#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆ #gn reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail dr ratio #honkai star rail veritas ratio #dr ratio hsr #veritas ratio hsr #dr ratio #veritas ratio #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail drabbles #hsr drabbles #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr fanfic

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 7

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: I apologize in advance lol.

Masterlist | Read ch 6 here

Your feet buried in the sand, just inches from the gentle waves crashing to shore. You could smell the salt in the air, feel it on your skin as the wind carried droplets of water until it reached you. The sun kissed the horizon of the ocean beside you, painting the waves in streaks golden.

This was possibly your favorite thing about New Asgard, the ocean.

Or, second favorite, you thought, as you squeezed the hand holding your own.

"And Thor wouldn't listen to me, of course," Loki continued the story, his feet burying in the sand just as yours did. One of his hands interlocked with yours, the other holding his shoes. "Not until the whole tent came crashing down on him."

You giggled, the soft wind carried your laughter and messed up your hair, "Thor never was the brightest at learning our 'contraptions', as he would call them."

"No, I guess not," Loki mused, a smile of his own lingering on his lips.

You looked up at him then, watching as the fading sunlight reflected against his bright eyes and shaped the curves of his smile. You'd never tire of the sight, of him by your side.

"You should come with us next time," Loki suggested, apparently just as lost in you as you were in him.

"Camping?" You raised a brow.

Loki nodded, stopping in his tracks. He dropped his shoes to the sand without a second thought, so he could take hold of both your hands. "You'd make it better."

His voice, however, began to sound far away. You frowned, looking around as the golden sunlight seeped away, making room for a grey and stormy sky. The wind picked up speed, cutting into your skin like needles. The sea, once calm and serene, now raged and thundered against the shoreline.

"You always do." Suddenly, Loki's voice was nothing but an echo.

You didn't have time to hold him tighter before his hands were snatched away from yours.

Stumbling forward, you tried running after him, but the sand began to swallow your feet. Panic settled into your chest and got your heart racing.

You looked up, but you shouldn't have.

His eyes were bloodshot, his feet held off the ground as he struggled against the bruising grip on his neck. When Loki looked into your eyes, tears were running down both your cheeks. Blood trailed down his mouth as he choked for a breath. "Run," it was a plea, so quiet and weak past his lips.

The last thing you heard was a sickening crack.

You woke up with a scream lingering on your lips, sitting up on your bed and already clawing at your chest for the air that you desperately needed yet couldn't get a hold of. You didn't know if you were sobbing or coughing, perhaps a bit of both.

The tears were non-stop, dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your pajama shirt. You threw the covers away from your body, feeling trapped on your skin. Burying your head on your trembling hands, you did your best to try and catch your breath.

It had been a while since you've had a nightmare this haunting.

─── ·❆· ───

You felt numb. The day began and you couldn't feel anything besides the emptiness in your chest. Foolishly, you had thought you'd finally outgrew the bad memories, the grief. You wondered if you ever would.

As you walked through the hallways of the TVA, you thought back to yesterday; to the rain, the northern lights, and him. He who had those same dark curls, those same bright eyes, and alabaster skin that you saw in your dreams and nightmares. Each day it became harder and harder to believe the lie you insisted on telling yourself.

As if on cue, you heard the stomping of someone running to catch up with you.

"Good morning," Loki greeted, just a tad out of breath as he fell into step beside you.

You closed your eyes for a moment after hearing his voice. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you nodded without looking at him. "Morning."

Loki noticed, he felt the shift in the mood, heard it in your tone. You know he did, because he hesitated. "Um-" He tried to start; you could perfectly picture his eyes being unable to find a place to focus even if you weren't looking.

"I've been thinking," he tried again, and you could hear the tentative smile on his words, "For the next time you manage to borrow Mobius' tempad, I- I have a place I would like to show you, if you'd like."

There were tears brimming in your eyes. You weren't sure why. Maybe because this was such a Loki way for him to try and ask you out. Maybe because you could feel your heart melting for him as it found its home again after being in the cold for so long, and that terrified you.

"Yeah…" You cursed under your breath when your voice came out broken and strained. You cleared your throat. "I don't know when he'll let me borrow it again, so," you shrugged, quickening your steps, "I guess we'll see."

Loki fell behind just for the time it took for him to mull over your words. It didn't take much effort for him to match your pace again. "Yes, of course."

The sadness dripping from his voice made your heart clench. You didn't want to hurt him. But you didn't want to hurt yourself either.

Finally reaching your desk in your secluded nook of the library, you immediately busied yourself with threading over the fresh stack of documents resting on top of it. Pointedly avoiding Loki's concerned look.

"I can help you with those," Loki suggested, already reaching for a spare chair.

"You really don't have to," You tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, turning on your table lamp.

"I want to," he told you with that softness reserved for you only. "We can finish it twice as fast and maybe stop for tea-"

"Loki, stop!" You suddenly snapped, finally turning to look at him. "Can you just leave me alone for one goddamn second?" You hadn't meant for your voice to come out as harsh as it did.

Loki lowered his head so you weren't able to see the pang of hurt in his eyes. His hand went limp as he slowly let go of the chair. Still, he took a step closer to you and asked; "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Of course he would be able to tell. Of course he'd put your pain above his own.

You surrendered the facade with a sigh, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. "I keep seeing…" It was difficult to think of it, let alone say it. You closed your eyes. "The day I lost him, I- I keep seeing it over and over. Even after all this time."

You had gotten better, for a while, keeping busy in the TVA had somewhat helped. But you knew you only buried the feeling, never dealt with it. And then Loki—this Loki, the one who would be yours—found his way to you, and everything crumbled again. Those bright eyes of his were still the same you've always known, after all; and between the memories you had together that only you had lived, and the way his soul tangled with yours as if they never parted, you didn't know what to feel.

Your chin wobbled and a sob fell past your lips. "And I just want it to stop hurting… I just him back."

Seeing you like this, it hurt. Loki took half a step closer to you, his glassy eyes gauging every twitch of your muscles. If you told him to leave, he would, even if it's the last thing he wanted. Your pain pierced his soul like an arrow, tearing and making it bleed. More than anything, he found himself only wanting you to be okay.

No names were needed. Loki knew, just from the way you were adamantly refusing to look at him; he knew you were talking about… him.

Carefully, testing tentative waters, Loki reached for one of your hands. He held his breath when you tensed as his skin touched yours. His fingers closed gingerly around your wrist and he pulled your hand up with a gentleness he didn't know he was capable of.

You let him. You weren't sure why, but you did.

Loki brought your hand to rest above his chest, flat against his beating heart, and held it there, with his own hand still grasping yours tightly. He hesitated. He was afraid, he realized. Afraid of losing you.

Only when Loki opened his lips to speak, did he taste his own tears that had fallen. "I'm here." It was nothing but a breath. "I promise. I'm here." He tried, it was all he could give you; himself.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers shaking. You leaned your forehead against his shoulder as another sob escaped you. As the waves pulled you under.

In a place out of time, time stood still. For a precious second, only you and him existed.

You looked up after what felt like an eternity, your lips hovering as you struggled to hold his gaze. "But you're not him." The half smile that stretched the tear tracks on your cheeks held nothing but sorrow.

As if ripping apart a piece of his soul, Loki reluctantly let go of your hand. "What is it you have against me?" He whispered, pleaded.

You'd never seen him this vulnerable. His ocean eyes glimmered under the dim artificial lights of the library, eyebrows pulled softly together in what looked more like loss than confusion.

"And what is it you have with me?" You found yourself whispering back, just as desperate. "For you, we never met." Your voice broke and then dripped with frustration, "You have nothing to lose. So what is it that you want from me?"

It was selfish to put the blame on him, just because he brought back the same warmth you've been missing for so long. But you were hurting, and broken things tend to have sharp edges.

Loki's lips hovered open and he shifted his gaze down, almost as if ashamed. He held the silence for a beat longer. "I guess I just…" He stopped, and forced himself to look into your eyes. "I saw how much you loved your Loki… I think I was jealous, and I was selfish, for wanting the same thing he was lucky enough to have." His smile was that of someone who knew when he'd lost. "You."

All emotion drained from your face. It felt like a bucket of icy water being dropped on top of you.

Had Loki actually fallen in love with you?

For a moment you wondered if, in every reality and every lifetime, you were destined to fall for each other. As the universe's own twisted version of soulmates.

You would've laughed at such a sweet thought, if it hadn't just made your heartbeat skyrocket. Because deep down, you knew you'd fallen for him as well. Again. As you always knew you would.

In every lifetime. As you promised you would.

And it terrified you, because what if you were destined to fall, yet also destined to lose?

"I'm sorry," you breathed, tasting the salt of your tears on your lips. You took staggered steps away from Loki. "I'm sorry, I- I can't."

I'm sorry, I don't know if I can pick myself back up if I ever lose you again. So I'd rather not have you at all.

"Please, I-" Loki started, yet he didn't know what he was pleading for.

But you shook your head vehemently. "I need," your voice stumbled, "I'm sorry- I just need a moment alone."

You turned around then, walking away and taking Loki's heart with you. His eyes refused to watch you leave again, luckily he had tears to blur the memory.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ch 8 coming soon.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

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#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki #marvel #loki series #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #what once was mine #loki fanfic #my story #loki laufeyson x reader

[avocado-writing]

notes: full version of this. contains mild brat taming, spanking, holy imagery. reader is genderless. special love to @dhampling who read over the start for me, and M for being my beta 💕

pairing: astarion x LG!Paladin!Reader

rating: E

words: 3k

Astarion looks at you, and he wonders. 

He wonders, back when he was a spawn stalking through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if his sheer proximity to you might have burnt the alabaster skin from his bleached, undead bones. That is the force of your radiance. 

Every part of you is a perfect fragment of your god. Sunshine-brilliant and drenched equally in his glory and wrath, there could be no doubt that you are a child of Pelor. You carry his emblem on your armour and his love in your heart. Your skin has a dreamy pearlescent lustre, soft and hearty, and you seem to glow from the innate light within you.

It makes Astarion sick.

You are so nauseatingly good. When he met you on the road near the crash site it was your first instinct to help. Not to second guess his nature, not to wheedle any masked truth from him, but to draw your sword and offer protection to a stranger.

He got the jump on you, of course - but he recalls how easily you laid him out on his back in return. When he was staring up at you, forcibly unarmed, and the sun framed your face like your god had in that moment blessed you with a halo just to spite him.

And still you had reached out a hand to him in friendship.

You hadn’t withdrawn when the truth of his condition came to light. He figured someone of your vocation would try to run him through without a second thought. But instead of offering him the point of your blade, you offered him your neck. 

“If my blood will strengthen you then I will gladly share it,” had been your words. He wanted to prove you wrong for your kindness, to drain you dry just to spite you - and your taste had been ambrosia. Sweetly blossoming on his tongue he had almost lost himself in the taste of you, until once again your firm hands pushed him away.

No. He would not get to end you that night.

Every day the two of you bickered. You, the stalwart immovable paladin; him, the nefarious rogue always up to something. The two of you were total opposites. It seemed almost cruel that fate had forced you into being travelling companions. And yet…

And yet.

Whenever you finished swapping barbs (well, the threw barbs at you, and you remained unbothered in the face of them, deflecting his venom with the pavise of your cool-headedness) he would see you smile as you turned away. He’d be well aware there was one on his own face, too.

Stupid. Weak. 

How he managed to get you into bed after that party at the Grove, he’ll never know. It was a gamble and the dice were not in his favour. But he gave it a go anyway, drolly mentioning the quality of the wine and the overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere. When he suggested meeting you later that night he braced himself to be staked.

But that hadn't happened.

You’d been surprised, definitely. Eyebrows raised and smile sudden, but you’d said yes. You’d even giggled at the idea, dizzy like a schoolchild. 

And, admittedly, he felt an erotic thrill as he sauntered to meet you in that clearing. One he thought himself incapable of experiencing any longer. He was never excited about sex any more. He’d tried to convince himself it was due to his stygian soul, that a creature like him lying with someone as pure as you would be a defilement, would be sullying your holiness - something to bring you down a peg or two. Make you not so out of everyone’s reach.

Out of his reach.

Perhaps, though, in the corner of his mind he tried to wall up, he just relished the idea of being close to you.

And close to you he was. Your grip on his cock was warm and sweet as he slid inside you. You bared your neck and he found the bite marks that were becoming a permanent fixture on your skin, the softest place on you - every other inch was hard muscle. A reminder of that shield you carried, the righteous sword you swung. He made love to you in the most passionate way he knew possible.

He hadn’t realised he’d wanted to hear the sound his name made from your lips as you came around him. It burned into his soul.

He expected you to fall asleep quickly, after, but no. You’d actually held him. As if he weren’t some creature of the abyss but…

Well, your equal.

You hand had caressed his back in a way he’d never known before, soft and sweet, reading his scars like braille but not asking for their origin. Instead you’d opened up yourself a little and let him hear some of the chapters of your life.

He wasn’t surprised when you told him you swore your oath as a teenager. You grew up in the church, devoted from youth, and he could picture you: pocked-faced and wide-smiled, knowing exactly how you wanted to live the rest of your life. 

So sure-footed. He was jealous. He was smitten.

“Do you ever regret it?” he’d asked, burying himself into the warmth of your body. You’d shaken your head and looked him dead in the eyes, so utterly sincere that it moved him.

“I rarely regret anything. Not my oath, not the nautiloid… not you,” you’d whispered before kissing him. 

And, true to your word, you never did. 

Nowadays? You make him feel safe. Protected. Watched over both in and out of battle - whenever anyone tries to take advantage of his vampirism, when they act like he is a thing rather than a person, you are the first one to his side to defend him. 

It forces him reevaluate how he feels about himself; question if he is, in fact, a being worthy of love. 

He hates it. 

He is looking at his reflection in the mirror of you. Yes. You do see something worthy in him, something worthwhile and deserving of your nurture. It makes him so damned scared. Because if that’s true, it means maybe there’s more to him than the vicious little cretin he portrays himself as. Maybe he is worthy of it all. Of kindness. Of love. 

Of you. 

His soul begins to itch. He needs to do something to realign his universe, put things back into the way they’re meant to be. He needs to be a rogue, damn it!

Your adventure has called you back out to the Emerald Grove. With Isobel safe after the attack at the Last Light Inn you were comfortable leaving the Shadowlands for a while under the knowledge that before you fought Kethetic things were unlikely to get better, but also unlikely to immediately get worse. Astarion erects his tent on soft grass, relieved to not be surrounded by magical darkness, and waits for you to be distracted. 

It does not take long. You are swept up in good-natured conversation with Wyll, discussing some sort of swordfighting technique he neither knows nor cares about. When he is certain that no eyes are on him he simply melts into the gloom of evening. 

Where he belongs. Pathetic creature.  

As far as he can tell, nobody notices him. The shadows cling to him like a second skin, like his body was made to have them mould around him, and he heads into the Grove. It is easy enough. The druids are all busy, guards down ever since the tieflings left, he just needs to not make too much noise and they are easy to pilfer from. Nothing too big or obvious. Nothing they really need. A healing tincture here, a handful of rare herbs there, a couple of silver pieces left loose on a stone desk. But the more he takes, the less it thrills him. 

It occurs to him that none of this has the same impact that it used to. Once, the idea of robbing good people blind filled him with glee. Now, he can only picture your face every time his hand flits out to snatch something up. How disappointed you’d be with him. He is trying to fill a hole in himself and it is one that you have made. It sounds violent, but truth be told it’s anything but - he has been split open by your kindness, as if you were simply trying to carve away the rot and allow him to properly heal. That healing has barely started, and he's trying to patch over the necessary work with old bad habits which used to bring him joy. Not any longer, though. 

No. His soul isn’t in it today.

He returns to camp with his heart and pockets heavy. He wonders what he should do with his ill-gotten gains. Return them? Perhaps, as quietly as he took them in the first place, making sure no attention is paid to him. Gloss all of this over like an artist sealing a painting, finish this nasty piece of work. 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that, when he pulls back the fabric door of his tent, your presence there makes him actually jump.

You’re sitting on an old wooden chair, dragged over from your own quarters, legs crossed with one of your pauldrons in your lap. A cloth is grasped in your hand and you’re taking your time shining the metal. He catches you doing this a lot. You like to make sure your armour is in tip-top condition, every day. You once told him cleaning your plate mail is an act of worship for you, and he found that quietly ridiculous; Pelor forbid you get any blood on the thing saving your life every battle.

He freezes when you look up at him. The door falls closed, trapping the two of you in the canvas together.

“You’re up late,” he says, trying to affect nonchalance. He does not think you’d be here if this was a social call, at least not with such a serious countenance. 

He’s been rumbled.

“Mm. I was in bed when I received a missive.” You hold the pauldron up and breathe a stream of warmth onto it, watching it fog before polishing the same spot.

“What sort of missive?”

“Nettie said she saw you skulking around the grove.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bloody druids and their bloody perception. He’s going to torch that bloody Grove and all of those green-fingered bastards in it.

Except no, he’s not. He’d never. Not now. But he still finds himself going on the offensive, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Oh! ‘Skulking’, was it? Was that the actual word she used?”

“Yes, Astarion.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just harrumphs. 

“You know that I do not lie,” you add on, as if his silence threatens to be damnation of your oath. 

“Mmm, I’m aware of that, and it is incredibly vexing!”

Finally you put the pauldron aside, all attention on him now. Hands clasped in your lap. Serious. 

“Turn out your pockets for me please, Astarion.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

You sigh.

“Is that because you’re denying you went and robbed our druid friends, or you just don’t want me to see what you took?”

His face burns. He doesn’t answer.

“Please, Astarion. Be a good boy.”

Oh. Oh. His body has an… involuntary response to that, one he wasn’t expecting at all. He feels himself throb as those words settle about him. 

“You’re not in charge of me,” he protests, but there’s little oomph behind it, because slowly his defences are beginning to fall. You need do so little and he is laid bare at your feet. He would lay himself bare at your feet.

He wonders if he can push you further. He wonders if this is all working for you as much as it’s working for him.

“I know I am not, my heart. But when you act like a brat I have little choice but to treat you like one.”

His mouth falls open at your brazenness, a perfect pink ‘o’.

His lips say, “I’m not acting like a brat!”

His cock says, I am and it’s on purpose. 

“Pockets,” you say one more time, and he feels the full force of your gaze upon him. Half-hard and flaming-cheeked, he gives in. Slowly he divests himself of all of the grove’s trinkets and treasures, laying them out on the floor at his feet in a slow display of shame. You remain absolutely neutral through it, face hardly moving an inch. When he unhands the final bunch of herbs you finally speak.

“Come here.”

If his heart needed to beat, it would be racing. He feels himself twitch in his underwear. 

He comes to you.

You reach out, wrapping a strong but sure hand around his wrist, fingers encircling its width perfectly… and then with a single tug, you topple him over into your lap.

He squeaks. Well, really, it is more of a moan, as he lands across your knees, your palm running across the swell of his arse. He’s never been so humiliated. He’s never been so aroused.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, voice feather-light, as solemnly as if you were swearing a vow. 

Ever since he escaped Cazador, he never lets anyone do anything he doesn’t want to his body. He won’t let them have control over him ever again. But this? You? That is different. He knows if he said a single word to the contrary, you would cease. You would not exploit him or take him for granted. He knows that he is precious to you, a thing to be treasured.

And for that, he trusts you to the ends of the world with him. To take care of him. 

To give him what he needs.

So when you ask him if he wants you to stop, even though he knows what’s coming, he whispers, ‘no.’

The first smack steals the air from his lungs, a breath he did not need but must have taken on his way over to you. It is a firm sting, and his cock goes from half-mast to full embarrassingly quickly.

Your hand goes back.

On the second smack, he finds himself mewling, a desperate little noise beckoned from the back of his throat from your ‘punishment’. It is one of rapture. He begins to try and rut into your thigh for some sort of relief, but you open your legs wider in order to remove his purchase on you. 

He whines. It isn’t fair. You keep going.

On the third, his arse has begun to smart. If he had blood his cheeks would be rosy, he’s sure. And yet each strike is like lightning up his spine. He has begun to leak into his britches just from this, and he feels pathetic and small, but so thoroughly safe and looked after in your embrace.

You ask him if he wants to continue. He nods so violently his neck threatens to break.

If this is the penance Pelor would have you deliver, perhaps he can find it in himself to be a religious man after all.

His head empties as you keep striking, but he hears the way you pause after every slap to listen: take notice of if he wants you to stop. When the only sounds you hear are moans of satisfaction, you keep going. He lies there, bonelessly aroused and limp-bodied, his whole universe centred entirely onto your hand and his cock.

“Do you want to come, Astarion?” you ask, eventually, voice heavy with desire. He nods, and for the first time he realises he has tears of overstimulation trickling down his face, so desperate is he to find release.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” he groans. 

“And you’ll be a good boy if you do?”

Fuck. Anything you want.

“Yes…”

Your hand snakes round to cup him through his trousers. It only takes a couple of strokes over the fabric, and your touch is enough to finish him off. He comes in his underwear like a teenager who cannot control themselves, mewling and sobbing in desperation. It is like a blinding light across his eyelids, he swears for a second he sees your god in the white-hot intensity of his orgasm. The best one he’s ever had. 

You’re an angel, a fucking angel sent to be his salvation. 

As he rides out his climax against the meat of your palm, he feels the other one rubbing across his sore backside. It occurs to him you’re using your Lay on Hands to soothe some of the sting for him, which, if he were more lucid, he’d find utterly ridiculous; however as it is the ache in his arse is still pleasant but now less demanding of his attention. 

You manoeuvre him to sit up, letting his whole body collapse into yours. He is aware, through the cotton-clouds of his thoughts, that you are whispering his praises. Telling him how well he did. Reassuring him how much you care for him. Letting him know how proud you are. He’s never been so pleased in his life, and rubs his face into your neck, like a pampered cat seeking attention.

“Are you alright?” is what you ask eventually, after you’re sure he’s returned to himself properly.

“To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I was better,” he manages, and you laugh in a gravelly little chuckle. 

“Good. Your happiness matters to me.”

He can’t think of anyone who that’s ever been true for. He’s humbled that you have the sincerity to voice it. You are so… you’re so…

Wonderful. 

Even now, you care. He’s never had that before.

“Astarion…”

“Mmm?”

“Tomorrow, you’re returning those things to the Grove.”

He groans and you laugh again.

“Come on, now. You said you’d be good.”

“Fine! Fine. Just… don’t make me think about those nature-loving freaks while I’m bathing in the afterglow, hmm? I just had an orgasm that sent me into the astral plane. I’d like to enjoy it there a little longer.”

You do not argue. He feels your lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of his neck. 

Later, you’ll carry him to the nearest stream and wash him, your hands dancing across his skin like worship. You’ll treat him as if he is a holy relic. Precious. 

It will be then, in the water and softness of your touch, he will realise that he loves you.

The next day he gives back what is stolen. He can’t look at your thighs without his cheeks burning.

taglist & those who seemed interested: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @clairetheflower @foxiecelery @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @hopeful-n-sad

#Astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x y/n #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion fic #bg3 fic #astarion x tav #Astarion smut #Also it says your skin has a pearlescent lustre. That isn’t meant to reflect skin colour - rather how matte it is

[eureka-its-zico]

This is sooooo random (‘m sorraay 🤭🥲) BUT

Zoro x Vampire Reader AU??? Idk It. just. Makes. SENSE (in my head)

Her sassy little ass having all these supernatural powers BUT he‘s still stronger than her when it comes to physical strength

THE TENSIONNNN 😩

Her sitting on his big thighs, lips ghosting over his neck, gentle scrape of her teeth along the pronounced vein in his neck (i‘m a giggling mess rn)

I‘m going feral for this man 🧍🏽‍♀️

So. I did a thing for you. Idk if you’ll like it, but I felt like since it is spooky season why not 🤷🏽‍♀️ this isn’t edited so…sorry bout that.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Vampire!reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: PinV, strangulation, semi-rough smexy, mentions of gore

It was nights like tonight when you reveled in the hunt. The little game of cat and mouse that always left you wondering if you were indeed the predator or if Zoro allowed you to be.

If you worried more about your survival and not the next time you’d see him you might have been able to tear yourself away.

All rational thought seemed to go out the window, however, whenever your eyes caught sight of powerful arms leaning against the wood of the bar. Broad shoulders that housed scar after scar that your nails had left as they’d dug into his skin.

Even now you could hear the low grunt pressed against your neck. The way his body stuttered with a delicious severity as you marked him. Zoro had only allowed himself a moment to pause before he was back to spreading you open and bare underneath him.

As much as you enjoyed feeling him unravel beneath you, Zoro loved it even more when it was you who bleed for him.

You walked the shadows of the room with your borrowed blood pounding in your veins. The excitement of the hunt makes you light on your feet. You are almost to him your hands about to cover his eyes to make him guess who when he’s already speaking your name.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

It is what you said. The last time you’d seen him playing back in your mind until you felt your blood boil. He’d called you weak. How could you be weak when you could levitate objects and strong enough to crack a man’s larynx with your pinky. You were born to prey on those the world deemed weak and strong and yet…

Zoro surpassed you in strength and speed without ever breaking a sweat. He was never scared of you killing him, because he knew you couldn’t. Not unless he allowed it.

“Change of plans.”

He wouldn’t look at you. Only his peripherals glided over you as you leaned against the bar facing him. He was lazily drinking the last few drops inside his mug. Your eyes hungrily watched as the pulse in his neck ticked in time with each swallow, and the hunger that dried the back of your throat began to grow.

You could feel the irritation rolling off him in waves. While Zoro wouldn’t look at you directly, he was taking you in. You knew it was a matter of time before he realized your parlor wasn’t alabaster, but pink and rosy.

You’ve had your fill of someone else that wasn’t him.

You could hear the metal of the mug creaking in protest. His hands collapsed the metal around his fingers until he suddenly released it. The same hand he’d used to crush an unsuspecting mug now lashed out to grab at your arm before you could pull away.

A part of you wanted to try and pull your arm free. You hated the way the men in this bar regarded you like another weak piece of flesh. If only they knew what you were - if they knew Zoro was the only one able to tame you.

He crashed into the bathroom and didn’t release his hold on you until he slingshot you inside. His foot slamming the door shut behind him just before he locked it.

“Who was it?”

A shiver caressed its way down your spine at the rage that darkened his voice. The way it clung to your skin and promised to hurt you if only you misbehaved.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

Zoro was just there. His body pressing yours against the wall and a strong hand wrapped precariously around your throat. He squeezed just enough to make you gasp, your canines extending out like a snake set to strike.

Most people would be afraid, but you could already feel him growing hard against your stomach.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Who did you feed on?”

The hand on your throat tightened a little more, just enough to force your legs to rub together for some friction.

“You want to know how I sucked him dry,” your words struggled to free themselves from your lips. His hand was tightening as you spoke. “The way he groped at my breasts just before I tore open his throat.”

As you talked, you could hear his free hand struggling to remove the sash at his waist. His swords fell with a clank to the floor as his foot kicked your legs wider apart. You’d purposely worn this dress just to provide him with easier access to your cunt. You knew once his hand slid between your thighs, he’d feel how wet you already were. The wet sound of two fingers pushing past your folds filled the room and you your knees buckled.

Zoro knew how to drive mewling sounds of pleasure from your lips just like this. His fingers working you open - stretching and curving - just right until his hand was soaked. Your strangled breathing became more labored as your hips struggled to meet each flick of his wrist.

“How did he taste?”

“He tasted like a pig,” you sputtered, your hands clawing at his hand as you felt your climax building.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Please, Zoro, I-“

He knew what you wanted. You wanted to fuck him. You wanted to feel his cock stretching your walls and hitting that sweet spot only he knew how to guide you too. You wanted to bury your teeth into the delicate part of his throat and feel his warmth fill you from mouth to cunt. But he wasn’t going to give it to you. Not until you answered him.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No, fuck! It wasn’t you! I just want you!”

You knew he would’ve made you continue to beg him if he wasn’t just as desperate. The minute you felt his grip on your throat release just enough, you pounced. You moved him back to the sink. Your hands working his pants down just enough that his cock spring free.

You placed one foot on the edge of the sink and pushed up. Zoro’s hand instinctively grabbing at your ass to help hold you steady as you placed your other foot on the opposite side of him. He helped line himself up at your entrance before he pushed his cock inside giving you no time to adjust to his width.

It didn’t matter. You loved every inch as his hips pistoned up into you. His hands controlled the speed and depth as your perched feet stayed on the sink. The sound of your bodies meeting sent wet sounds of filth to fill the small space. You were so close - so close

Without warning, you reared your head back and struck down on his throat. The delicious copper taste of blood flooding over your tongue seconds later. For a brief moment, you felt Zoro’s body stutter at the shock of your teeth pressing down into his flesh, but he easily recovered.

Zoro held a map of every place your canines had been on his skin. You would continue to claim him and he would continue to let you. For he was the hunter and you his prey.

#anon #answered #I hope this is something you like nonnie or close to what you wanted #it is a Drabble so also sorry bout that lol #roronoa zoro #opla #opla zoro #one piece #one piece live action #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro smut #zoro smut

[odyssean-flower]

Everything Shall Return to the Sea Chapter 1 (Yandere Neuvillette x GN Reader)

Summary: A lonely soul rescues a mermaid on the beach and finds their life changed forever. Warnings: Angst, reader has depression, obsessive yandere thoughts Note: This was written before the 4.0 update

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

The morning chill was seeping into your skin, despite the towel you had wrapped around you. However, you paid it no mind. 

You were sitting on a bench, watching the sunrise at the beach. The sun had yet to emerge from the horizon, and the sky was still a deep blue, dotted with stars here and there. 

There was no one around, too early even for the early-risers. And yet you sat there, alone, gazing at the horizon idly.

You were here on vacation, though your somber mood and days of mostly holing up in your cabin make it far less deserving of the cheerful and relaxing feelings that the word brought to mind. 

Truth be told, you didn’t even know why you decided to come here. You had been riding the train when you saw an advertisement for a beach vacation. Something about the bright blue ocean and white beaches tugged at something in your heart, something that you thought had long died. So, you ended up renting a beach cabin for a week.

Honestly, now that you were here, you felt like you did something incredibly foolish. A change of scenery wasn’t going to miraculously transform your mindset or your life. All you did was feel lonely in a sunnier location.

Loneliness was your only constant companion throughout your life. Your parents died when you were young, and you had no other relatives. You grew up in an orphanage, always overlooked and ignored by the other kids and adults, and only ever had fleeting, shallow friendships. You didn’t really have any hobbies either. Even now as an adult, you never connected with anyone at your job, with your days mostly consisting of going to work and returning home.

Still, at least this scenery was beautiful. The horizon was lightening before your eyes, turning from blue to amber, heralding the sun’s slow rise. The stars gradually disappeared one by one. The gentle crashing of the waves and the faint cries of seagulls served as pleasant background noise as you gazed ahead. The damp sea breeze grazed against your cheek and ruffled your hair.

Right now, you could almost understand why people found the beach so relaxing. 

If only… you thought. If only I can just exist in this moment forever…

But of course, the world wasn’t so kind. The sky gradually lightened, the sun making its slow ascent above the waters. There were more people now, some of them shooting you weird looks for being here so early. You decided that it was time to head back.

As you walked along the shore, you suddenly spot something lying in the sand up ahead. You didn’t know what it was at first. It was long, its upper half white and its lower half blue and glittering. It also seemed to be moving faintly, though that might just be the waves. A beach toy? You thought. 

You steadily approached it, but the closer you got, the more you wondered if you were hallucinating.

The “beach toy” was larger than you thought. It would probably tower over you if it were standing up. Its upper half resembled the torso of the most handsome man you had ever seen. His long white hair, mingled with what looked like blue streaks of hair, was fanned out beneath him. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes long enough to brush against the tops of his cheekbones, and his chiseled features and torso reminded you of a classical statue. His alabaster skin shone in the sunlight. As your gaze traveled down his body, his human-looking waistline melded into iridescent blue fish scales. The scales tapered to a point before flaring out into translucent fins. 

It was a mermaid’s tail.

You were looking at a mermaid.

No, you idiot, you laughed at yourself. This is probably some kind of super-realistic toy or an elaborate art installation.

It really was a beautiful piece of work, though. It looked so real, like it could open its eyes at any moment. You found yourself kneeling down and reaching out to touch the tail. It was smooth beneath your fingertips. Smooth, warm, and pulsing.

Your hand jerked back and you whipped your head towards the mermaid’s face. Its eyes were open now, and looking at you. Though his gaze was weak, you could sense the scorn and wariness directed at you.

The mermaid’s mouth opened, but only a faint gasp came out. You stumble back when you saw what you took for lines on his neck flutter. They were gills.

Your thoughts were racing through your mind. No way, no way, this has to be some kind of prank. There’s probably a hidden camera somewhere…

You look around. There was no one around as far as you could see, no one running up to you and telling you that this was a joke. It was almost too quiet. 

“Are…are you really a mermaid?” you tentatively ask. The words sounded ridiculous, but there was no other conclusion. You briefly wonder if this person was just wearing a fake mermaid tail, but his skin blended into scales much too smoothly for that, and nothing could explain the gills.

The mermaid regarded you for a few brief moments. You could sense his annoyance, probably at how long it took for you to come to the realization. His head moved up and down imperceptibly. A nod.

“Okay…” Holy crap, I can’t believe this is actually happening, you thought in a mixture of fear and surprisingly, joy. I’m meeting a real mermaid! “H-How did you get here, sir?”

The mermaid only stared at you. He didn’t even open his mouth this time. Maybe he can’t talk on land? It was then that you notice the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The mermaid was weak. It must have been washed up onto the beach during the night and was stuck here, unable to push itself back into the sea.

Now you knew what you had to do. Still not quite believing the situation, you told the mermaid, “Okay, I get it. You want to go back to the sea, right? I’ll help you.” 

The mermaid’s eyes widened slightly like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Did he think I was going to take him away and sell him or something, you wonder idly. 

Although, dragging him back into the water looked to be a formidable task of its own. For one thing, he was massive, so it would take a considerable amount of your meager strength to move him. There was still no one around. It was all up to you.

A part of you thought, I could just leave and call for help. The last thing my life needs is to get involved with a magical creature, and I’m nowhere near capable enough to help him. Not getting involved with others and keeping to yourself was how you survived. But it was overpowered by the weak but desperate gaze aimed at you. You’re the only one who can help me, the mermaid seemed to be saying. 

He needed you.

That thought spurred you on, and you got to work. You gently but firmly grasped the mermaid’s tail–which made him twitch a little–with both hands and started to drag the mermaid back into the sea. He was heavier than you expected, and you almost fell on your butt a few times, but you made gradual progress. You kept apologizing to him as you dragged him through the sand. It felt criminal to treat such a beautiful otherworldly creature like this. 

The mermaid’s eyes were fixed on you as he watched you struggling and wheezing. You really wished he would close his eyes again. His stare was unnerving. You’ve never been looked at like this by anyone, much less a beautiful mermaid, and it was just your luck that it had to happen when you were sweating and gasping for breath. 

Finally, when the sea was up to your knees and the tail was fully submerged in the water, the mermaid’s strength seemed to return. Now supported by the buoyancy of the water, the mermaid turned around and dove beneath the water. You watched in awe as his tail moved in a synchronized rhythm, his long white hair streaming behind him. 

The mermaid’s head surfaced a short distance from you. He didn’t say anything. You couldn’t read any emotion in his eyes. He was simply looking at you like he was waiting for something.

Suddenly, a strange urge to ask him to take you with him rose up within your mind. You had no idea where it came from. It was a preposterous idea, of course.

Instead, you simply gave him a small wave. The mermaid didn’t return it, only staring at you for a few moments longer before slipping back beneath the waves.

You stared at the spot where he once was until the ripples disappeared.

You never saw the mermaid again for the rest of your vacation, even as you went out to the beach every morning to stare out at the waters, trying to catch a glimpse of white hair or blue scales. 

You didn’t know what you were hoping for. You had no idea what you were going to do if you saw him again. Try to talk to him? Take a picture? 

Maybe you just wanted to feel like you were chosen. You were the one who found him, and you were the one who saved him. 

Maybe, you just wanted to feel that connection again.

The mermaid occupied your mind even long after you returned from vacation. Who was he? What was his name? Where in the sea did he live? Were there others like him? Were there others who also saw him?

These questions soon turned into a hidden passion. You began to spend your leisure time researching mermaid legends, collecting mermaid pictures, and even attempting to sketch that beautiful mermaid you saw. Your ears perked up at any mention of mermaids. It was a good thing that you lived alone and kept to yourself, or other people would have thought you’d gone mad. 

You scoured the internet for any information on mermaid sightings. Most were completely bogus, but after some time you managed to find a forum about mermaid sightings in the area you visited in some hidden nook of the web. It was a small forum where other mermaid enthusiasts eagerly shared theories, stories, and blurry photos of what could either be mermaids or giant fish.

At first, you simply lurked, but the easygoing and welcoming nature of the forum users eventually convinced you to share your own story. None of the other users had seen that white-haired mermaid before, but the response was more passionate than you expected, as you answered the bombardment of questions. Though some were disappointed that you didn’t take any pictures, everyone was more excited about the fact that there was someone else who shared their experience. No one doubted your story at all.

The forum soon became a place you frequented as soon as you got home from work. The other posters became familiar friends to you. Their posting habits, their active hours, and even the details of their life they shared became ingrained in your memory. And, as you were surprised to discover, the same went for the others. 

Your fixation on mermaids gradually faded. The forum became a place to vent, ask for advice, and simply to talk to someone. You started to share more and more about yourself, talking about things you never told anyone and, through the responses you received, you discovered things about yourself that you never existed.

You were still mostly invisible at work, but now it no longer felt like you were in free fall. It felt like there was a safety net beneath you now. 

When the other users threw you a virtual birthday party, you sobbed.

So this…is what it feels like to be a part of a community, you thought as you watched the familiar, dear faces sing “Happy Birthday” to you.

The mermaid books on the shelf behind you were dusty from being untouched for months.

In the depths of the sea, far beyond where the sun’s rays could reach, a lone mermaid was gazing up at the surface.

His long white hair billowed around him as he stared upwards unblinkingly. The blue horns–signifiers of his high status–jutting out of his hair gave off an eerie glow. His hand was absentmindedly touching the end of his tail–the same spot that you grabbed.

Even now, he still couldn’t get your eyes, so filled with loneliness, out of his mind. The warmth of your touch still lingered on his scales.

He never liked humans. He disliked their smiling faces as they tore through his people’s habitat and disturbed the peaceful creatures living in the depths. However, he never did anything to them, because that would put his people in danger.

He disliked humans…but then there was you.

The hesitant touch of your hand on his scales that turned into a firm grip, the defeated eyes that came alive as you tried your best to rescue him, the soft apologies that spilled out of your mouth…

All of that stirred something in the mermaid’s heart. Something he didn’t know existed.

Unbeknownst to you, he had come up close to the surface every day during your vacation as well. You never saw him, because he stayed right below the surface, observing you. You looked so frail as you stood at the spot where you found him, your toes barely touching the water. Sometimes you would take a step forward like you were about to go into the sea, but you would always stop and walk back. That was a relief for him. He didn’t know what he would do if you really did it. Then he would wonder why he was even worried about a human at all.

He didn’t really have any intention of revealing himself, but seeing your disappointed look as you walked away after another day of not seeing him almost made him want to emerge from the water. Those sad eyes…what had you endured to make them like that? And why did he want to know?

“Lord Neuvillette!” One of the other mermaids called to him. Neuvillette reluctantly turned around after a few seconds. 

Neuvillette didn’t understand these feelings that tugged at his heart, but he did know this: he wanted to see you again. No matter what. 

#genshin impact x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin impact #my works

[mrs-snape5984]

“I think, I know just what you’re longing for…”

“I may be undone, but nothing seems to undo you…” (“My Thieving Heart” by Sivert Høyem feat. Marie Munroe)

Wow…I’m crawling back to the surface of tumblr, coming from hell. My last crash has been one of the worst so far…I couldn’t stand up, I couldn’t get myself something to drink, I couldn’t eat, I wasn’t even capable of thinking in a proper way. Since I couldn’t even type anymore, I had to ask my sweet friend @vulnus-sanare to help me out by sending messages to some of my friends. I didn’t mean to make anyone feel worried about me, so please forgive me for my long silence.

This beautiful artwork, which I’ve requested from my lovely friend @opalchalice, is based on a dream, which I’ve had some weeks ago. Lia, I’m sorry for the delay, but I wanted to transform my dream into a short one-shot fiction to honour your fabulous work the way, it deserves to be seen. You know, that I’m a fan of your art, my dear….but this one…damn, Lia! You overwhelmed me with this stunning piece of art! Thank you so much for your understanding of my ideas. I’m beyond grateful for our verbal exchanges and I’m proud to call you my friend. You’re so talented and kind, Lia. Please…never change!

Now…back to my dream. Since I’m struggling immensely with brain fog, due to my disease ME/CFS, I noticed that my ability to write seems to fade away. This isn’t my best work and I’m very aware of this fact…so please keep in mind, that I’ve written this under the torture of my sickness and be gentle with me.

TW: smut and a slight mention of lactation kink…well…I leave it like that. 😅

🔞 🚫mdni 🔥💦 (1012 words)

More to love

It was midnight. From afar Julia could hear the faint tintinnabulation of the church tower bells…ringing once…and her bare feet touched the cold grass beneath herself. Twice…and she felt a cold breeze caressing her blushing cheeks. Tilting her head back, Julia closed her eyes and listened to the remaining ten strikes of the clock tower. Her nightdress was billowing in the wind, sending shivers down her spine.

Suddenly Julia sensed some arms coming from behind, tightly wrapped around her waist, when she was pulled back against a tall presence. A surprised gasp left her lips, but the familiar personal scent of her husband soothed her nerves immediately. “What are you doing here alone in the middle of the night, Jules?” Even after so many years, the deep voice of Julia’s husband caused a certain weakness to her knees. Severus‘ hot breath tickled the soft spot behind her ear, leaving goosebumps all over her alabaster skin. „You‘ll catch a cold, darling,” he murmured lovingly, burying his face in Julia’s wild curls. “Mmmh…so divine…,” she heard him whispering hoarsely, his voice was dripping with desire.

Severus’ hands roamed over her tummy, clenching the satiny fabrics of her nightdress in his lustful grasp. “Severus…,” she breathed, pressing her back against his chest. “…this isn’t the right pl…,” but one of his hands silenced her resolutely, whilst his other hand passed the plunging neckline of her nightdress, massaging her voluptuous bosom with a firm grip. “Shhh…stand still and be quiet, Jules,” Severus urged her, playfully pinching her erected nipples, causing a muffled whimper from his wife.

Suddenly, Julia felt two more hands grazing over her bare legs and her eyes widened in disbelief when she perceived another man kneeling beside her, shoving her nightgown up to her waist. But this wasn’t just any man, who touched her so intimately! The silky raven hair…the adorably crooked nose…and oh, those mesmerising obsidian eyes! She didn’t understand how this was even possible, but the man on his knees was no one other than a second version of her very own husband…observing her reactions with a seductive smile on his lips.

Julia couldn’t suppress a guttural moan escaping her lips…smothered by Severus’ hand on her mouth, when bold fingertips brushed against the edge of her panties…pulling them aside in a swift move. Another groan found its way up her throat as soon as a finger dipped into her moist depths. “Gods, you’re already so wet for us, Julia,” the deep voice of her husband cut the silence of the night, a subtle hint of mockery seemed to be layered underneath the lecherous tone of his words.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for us, Jules,” Severus murmured close to her ear, still holding her in place from behind her back. His hand released her mouth…only to be replaced by his arm, tightly wrapped around her neck. The tickling sensation of Severus’ breath on her delicate skin sent goosebumps all over her body, which didn’t stay unnoticed by him. His amused chuckle echoed through the air, only to be followed by a strict demand: “Wider, Julia! We know, you could never get enough of us…”

Severus’ commanding tone and the mysterious situation left her speechless and aroused. The wetness between her thighs glistened in the moonlight, causing a never known neediness to creep up inside herself.

“Damn…you’re dripping already,” Severus teased her from his kneeling position, before his thumb started to draw circles on her throbbing clit, causing her to moan in delight. “Just give in and enjoy the magic, Jules…,” his dark voice growled and Julia couldn’t make out, who of them said that. The confusion mixed with her growing excitement made her feel slightly light-headed. Two fingers entered her moist entrance, adding a new layer of greediness to her already tense body. While her husband held her in place, his magical likeness drove the redhead crazy with the gentle and yet determined play of his digits….fingering her deliberately slowly…teasing her clit with his thumb until she begged for more. “Oh, gosh….yes! Please, Severus….fuck me! I’m begging you,” Julia whimpered desperately, almost crying from this lustful torture.

Suddenly a third Severus joined the scene. Julia noticed how good he looked with his man bun, a cheeky strand of hair falling over his eye, just like she had seen it countless times before, when her husband was focused on brewing his potions. His voice sounded so mockingly when he approached her, pinching her hardened nipples through the silky fabrics of her nightgown. “Well, well…what do we have here?,” he groaned huskily before he licked over the delicate skin on Julia’s neck. “Damn, you’re truly insatiable, Jules…but so am I!” Ripping off her dress, Severus revealed Julia’s soft, full breasts and bit his bottom lip in anticipation. “Fuck, Jules…you know, what I want…,” he murmured under his breath before his mouth found its destination…embracing her stiffened nipple with hungry eager. “Let me be your good boy, Jules…,” Severus mumbled before he started to suckle greedily until a small trace of milk drooled from the corner of his mouth…causing her legs to tremble.

“Aah! Severus…yes…do with me whatever you want…,” she whimpered needily, closing her eyes in pleasure.

“Oh no, Jules…open your eyes, my darling,” her husband growled from behind her back. “You will watch us, sweetheart…we want you to see everything, what we’re doing with you…and you will enjoy the view until you’re coming undone.” Julia couldn’t do anything else than nodding obediently, when Severus held her in place for his companions…pressing his hard cock against her back….

Suddenly Julia woke up from her naughty dream, with a loud gasp escaping from her mouth. Blinking rapidly, she looked at her familiar surroundings, feeling the soft surface of the bedsheets beneath her bare skin. Her gaze fell on her peacefully sleeping husband on the other side of the bed. Tenderly Julia bent over to place a little kiss on Severus’ adorably crooked nose…before she slipped underneath the covers to worship him the way, he deserved to be treated…..

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

#Severus x Julia #Sevy x Jules #Severus x OC #my dream #transformed into an one shot fic #commissioning artwork is my goddamn coping mechanism #this is my red carpet for all the artists of snape fandom #fuck me/cfs #severus snape #i love snape #snape #i love severus #pro snape #snape love #pro severus snape #snape content #severus snape art #severus snape fan art #severus fanart #severus snape fanfiction #snart #severus snape fandom #snape art #me/cfs #severus snape smut #snape smut #smut

[lokisgoodgirl]

Praise Him [Loki Laufeyson x Female Reader] 18+

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Set just before Thor Ragnarok. You know Loki’s secret...and it’s not all security council meeting that’s keeping “Odin” busy on Asgard. (w/c 2.6k) Warnings: Smut. 18+ advised, NSFW, minors DNI!

You paced past the palace guards quickly, nodding to several that you recognised who smiled knowingly to each other as you made your way towards Odin’s rooms.

Your long, cream chiffon gown trailed the stone marble floor behind you, half gathered in your hand as you made your way quickly down the flight of stairs that led to your destination.

You didn’t have a chance to knock before the door edged open, a warm flickering light beckoning you inside. Show-off, you thought. 

  Odin stood in his dressing gown by the fireplace, staring into the flames as they licked the edges of the grate. "Does it bother you", he started, "that everyone in this palace thinks you’re an old man’s whore?" He turned questioningly towards you as he said it… all traces of the regal dialect he saved for daytime hours gone from his voice. A familiar green shimmer rained around his frame, simultaneously stretching and slimming the figure within it, fading to reveal his true form. His long raven hair was tucked behind his ears revealing more of his alabaster jawline while a dark green tunic covered his upper body, leading down to those tight leather trousers he wore so beautifully. "Well?" He drank from his goblet, eyebrows raised for your response.

You sighed. He asked you this at least twice a week when he was feeling particularly insecure, and your answer was always the same. "Loki...I do not care what those people think. They mean nothing. You are my King, my lover, the only one who can bring my pleasure I had never known  - your thoughts are the only ones I care to stay in".

 As you had spoken, he had begun walking towards you and you felt the lust radiate from him hotter than the warmth of the fire. Hands dove into your hair and brought your lips crashing to his, his body melting into yours as he towered above you, bending you to his will. His hand found the slit in the long layers of your dress which gathered around your feet, feeling the familiar cool pressure sliding rhythmically up your inner thigh. Without breaking the kiss, he ran two long fingers through your folds, back to front, stopping momentarily to dip the very edge of them in to your waiting heat before exiting your dress once more. "Mmmmm, have you been thinking about us all day my love or was that a particularly good kiss?" he winked as he brought the two fingers coated with your juices to his lips, sucking them lightly. It never got old. You loved him with your whole heart, your body, your eternal soul – and tonight, you would show him in a way you knew he would understand.

"Let me worship you, my King" you said, trailing your fingers down his chest. "Worship you like you deserve. All your subjects praise you as Odin but I wish to praise you for what you are. My King, Loki. My God, Loki." You pulled at the leather fastenings of his trousers wantonly, biting your lip.

You didn’t know if part of his brain had shut down from over-stimulation, or he was very much in God-mode, but he wordlessly turned and made his way stridently to the finely upholstered chaise lounge near the balcony. When he looked at you again, you knew your little game had been accepted. His blue eyes had darkened to deep pools of desire as he reclined on the seat, spreading his legs in a deep V and resting one forearm carelessly on the arm of the chair. The entire scene before you almost made you cum for him where you stood as the light flickered flirtatiously on the sheen of leather still obnoxiously covering his body.

‘Kneel’

Gods above, his commanding voice still did things to you even after many months of secretive evening liaisons. The way it reverberated from your ears to your pussy was an instant high that no one could hope to match – and you hoped they never would. You took your time crossing the space between you, ensuring he had a full view of your low cut bodice as you sank to your knees before him, ‘Oh I see you, darling. It’s a nice dress – but the colour is far too virginal for my tastes’ he smirked down at you, hips making small jerks of anticipation as you saw his length grow under the thick leather, begging to be freed.

You leaned between his legs, cleavage balanced on his growing cock as you placed a kiss on the centre of his chest, hands caressing up his thighs. He moaned, thrusting upwards fruitlessly at the thought of sliding his length between your mounds. "My Love..." you murmured, beginning to unbutton his tunic. "My King." You placed deep kisses on the exposed skin, working lower and lower with practised restraint. "My God".

As soon as the final word left your lips, his stoicism was broken. Loki’s head fell back with a guttural moan filled with need as you toyed with the leather fastening of his trousers once more. Without lifting his head, Loki waved his fingers and the trousers dissipated in a flash of green revealing his perfect cock, thick and ready for your ministrations.

"How can I serve you, my King?" You looked up at him innocently with wide-eyes as he raised his head in disbelief. "You know exactly how, my devoted vestal virgin" he smirked, "and make it slow, I want to feel how much you love the taste of my cock inside that pretty mouth of yours."

You moaned compliance, placing a single lick on the tip of his throbbing member as your hand wrapped around the base to angle it just so. Loki was long and thick, but not uncomfortably – he was just perfect...in all ways, it seemed. You kissed up the sides of his length, elongated, messy kisses which coated the sides of his cock with your saliva while whispering sweet praise; you are the greatest King Asgard has ever had, can ever hope to have…you should be worshipped my beloved...your body should be worshipped the way your mind should be valued above all others...mmm let me taste my God’s cock deep inside me, make me worthy of you..make me worthy of your touch...

Loki’s breathing was a series of deep inhales and short exhales, pacing himself. You knew he was listening, hanging on every word that spilled from your lips while worshipping what was between his legs, while worshipping him. His index finger found its way to your jawline, tracing a smooth stripe from below your ear; his signal to take things further. Obediently you took the head of his cock in your warm mouth, sucking lightly on the tip while swirling your tongue gently. Faint moans escaped your throat as you saw him relax further, chin resting close to his chest as he watched you intensely. His eyes never leaving the sight of his manhood penetrating between those insatiable lips he ravaged so often.

He would never tire of this sight. You slid his whole length down your throat, taking him by surprise. He threw his head back again, releasing a strangled growl of pleasure louder than he intended. His fingers moved again releasing a liquid glow and you knew that a sound barrier now encased the room. You were truly concealed from prying ears who may be curious about Odin’s carnal habits. This theory was confirmed by the sounds that now rained loudly from your God’s lips, curses in old Nordic spilled in quick succession as you sucked his perfect length with the slow and steady rhythm you knew he craved.

"Who’s my loyal subject...my true believer, you are...aren’t you my precious girl…you would do anything for me, for your King." It was not a question that required an answer, but you hummed your enthusiastic agreement as he joined your efforts by thrusting his hips slowly upward in time with you.

His hands were gripping the seat now, you could see the defined muscles on his thighs standing to attention as he fought the urge to spill hot cum down your throat. "You are worthy of my attention because I choose you, you dirty girl...look at you on your knees worshipping your God in the only way which befits you." He grimaced, teeth bared to the vaulted ceiling with his eyes closed – you knew that had been a close call. The words coming out of his own mouth could tip him over the edge, and he didn’t want this to end – not yet.

 Sensing the change in pace, you slid his member over your tongue and returned to placing kisses on his length, rougher this time and more needy. You could feel the wetness between your legs which had been building since you came through the door, it had spread to the tops of your thighs from the friction of your activities. You turned your attention to his balls which hung tight and proud underneath his perfect dick, scratching your nails down them lightly. He hissed his approval as he re-centred himself after the near misfire, "mmmm, again" he purred, and you complied. You lightly sucked the head of his cock, pulling the skin of his balls gently as he moaned in pleasure, but the sounds that he was making were becoming too much to bear – your pussy was crying for attention.

  You raised your head gently to look at him, his usually perfectly coiffured hair increasingly dishevelled with the effort of holding back, "Your Grace, can I show you the full extent of my admiration?" you cooed. He nodded darkly, sitting up on the chair and beckoning you to his lap but you shook your head, your curls sticking momentarily to the pre-cum coating your lips. "The bed – my King". Loki rose and took your hand, as you guided him to the enormously plush bed in the centre of the room.

He sat on the edge with the same proud stance as before, legs spread, forearm resting on one muscular thigh now coated with a thin sheen of sweat watching you undress. Your virginal gown fluttered to your feet and you kicked it to the side, enjoying the narrowing of his eyes when your nakedness was revealed in the soft glow of the firelight. You crawled on to his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you brought him in to a deep kiss and his hands found their way to your ass, cupping both cheeks with ease as he scooted you closer to his centre.

   You raised your hips, brushing the head of his cock with your dripping pussy, ‘darling, you’re so wet...so needy for me, my beautiful believer’, his smooth voice murmured with anticipation as you hovered above him. "Yes, my King…I need you inside me, I need to feel your power thrust into me, to undo me as only you can". Slowly you sank down an inch on to the head, and Loki’s eyes fluttered shut as the tight heat enveloped him. "Mmm, does my God like that? Is my cunt worthy of such a prize?" Loki’s eyes bore into yours, pressing down on your ass, willing you to drop further. You relinquished another inch. "How did I become blessed with the King of Asgard deigning to fuck this unworthy pussy the way he does? There is no-one more powerful in all the Nine Realms your Majesty... you could have anyone you choose" you whispered into his ear, feeling him shiver despite the heat of the room.

With one swift movement, he snaps his hips upward, impaling his whole length inside you. Now it’s your turn to moan – undignified grunts of pleasure dropping from your lips and being caught by unending kisses from the God beneath you. With a loud moan, your raven-haired lover fell backwards on the bed, pulling you with him. His cock slipped out of you and then re-entered with ease to your dripping channel, eliciting another moan of need from both of you. "Who do you serve, my darling?", he hummed as your hips rocked back and forth along his length. "Only you my God – I serve only you" you murmured as you felt his thumb skim over your clit, timed with perfection to your thrusts.

You could feel your orgasm building, not least of all because of the sight beneath you – Loki, completely undone and ravenous with need. He watched you with an intense fascination as he always did when he was completely in the moment. You could feel his thrusts becoming less controlled, his breathing becoming ragged as his free hand traced your breasts, your waist...looking for something to steady his rapidly approaching climax. Perfect.

"Loki...will you bless me with your cum? Will you do that for me...your most loyal subject?" You gave him your most seductive gaze, his eyebrows knitted with concentration as he fought to hold back the explosion rising inside of him at your words. "When you haven’t made your offering little one? I think not", he managed to retort. His voice was strained. The effort of maintaining a semblance of sarcasm making him quiver. "I want every piece of you, every drop of your sweet pilgrim cum to be running down my royal cock – a sacrifice to your God".

He propped himself up on his elbows, bending his knees to bring you closer to him, and wrapped your legs around his waist before sliding his hands underneath your ass once more, lifting you barely off the bed.

The angle was exquisite, his cock pressed straight to your core – it was too much. He kissed you, not the kiss of domination, but of pure and passionate trust. "Cum for me, my darling – show me how much you love me", He didn’t have to ask twice. From this angle, his thrusts were slow and purposeful, hitting their target every time. By the seventh thrust, you were spinning into your orgasm; his name falling from your lips like a prayer, praising his name like a choir in church.

His forehead pressed against you as he finally let go, a ferocious growl tumbling from his throat as he rode his own climax to completion, moaning your name into the ether as his seed spilled into you, mingling with your own.

 For a few moments, the crackling of the fire was the only sound in Odin’s chambers as you and Loki sat intertwined on the bed, his cock still sheathed inside you – the two of you savouring the moments where you could truly be yourselves. Finally, he spoke, ‘thank you, my darling." You looked at him, concern on your face as you cupped his smooth cheek in your hand, "whatever for? You know I can’t get enough of you."

He returned your smile weakly. "No, not for that...although that was...particularly enjoyable – no, I meant thank you for keeping my secret... all...this", he gestured to the room surrounding you. You sighed, ‘Loki...you trusted me with your plan out of...well, everyone. That means more to me than anything. Fortune can come and go, but this..." You kissed him gently, ‘...this is the path I choose. You are my King, with or without a crown." Loki buried his face in your thigh to the side of him, gently biting your flesh absent mindedly as he pondered your words. ‘I love you, Y/N’, he whispered. The sincerity of his voice told you everything you needed to know. ‘I love you too, Loki’. 

And for that, you would always praise him.

#lokismut #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki fanfic

[monstersandmaw]

Male moss leshen x gn reader - Part One (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Content: our two main characters meet first as children when the reader gets separated from their group on a school science trip to Wistman’s Woods, only to be rescued by a mysterious young forest spirit with a mask. Years later, the reader returns and wonders if it had been real after all... Wordcount: 6166

Surprise? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a while (Discord folks, this is the one I mentioned a while ago after I got back from Orkney, hence the mythology dump halfway through!) and I figured I’d share the first part.

Hope you like it :)

You hadn’t meant to get left behind.

One minute you’d been watching the slow, inexorable stretch of a snail across a small rivulet that led down into a mossy gully below, transfixed by its alabaster body and swirling brown shell, and the next, the group had moved on and you were completely alone in the tangle of twisting oaks and mossy boulders of Wistman’s Wood.

“Oh no.”

You’d spent the morning with your class on the nearby moorland, studying the heather and the soil and taking samples to bring back to the little science laboratory at school, but now the colour green pressed in on all sides — thick on the boulders and roots, and slick on the steam-bed — only to be cut through in a spiderweb of darker, twisting lines of trees like veins in the fog. That fog had rolled in earlier after you’d all eaten your packed lunches on the boulders along the path up to Wistman’s Wood amid flowering gorse and jewelled, silver spiderwebs, but that felt like a long time ago now, and the daylight was fading.

Moss dripped down in draping folds from gnarled and coiled branches, shrouding the oaks that were so old they’d watched the druids dance among them, and clumps of bracken waved their beckoning fingers at you as you stared around and realised you could hardly find the path any more.

Panic clutched your throat and locked your knees. Your little backpack, blue with yellow roses embroidered on the back, was devoid of food and your water bottle was almost empty. Spying an odd, looping branch in a tree that looked like it had been made to let the weary body of an eight year old rest there a moment, you scuttled over to it on shaking legs and sat. If you went back in the direction you’d come — over the moor — it would take hours and you weren’t sure you knew the whole circuit anyway. If you went on, you would most likely find the party soon. It couldn’t be that far.

After taking a puff of the wet, green air for courage, you hopped off the branch, squeezing the twisted form in grateful thanks for the calming pause, and then scrambled up the path. Your foot slipped on a scummy, green-slimed rock and you pitched forwards, landing on your palms with a grunt of surprise. Hands smarting, you pushed on, scrambling up the incline out of the rock-strewn gully and emerging at the top into fog so thick you couldn’t see more than five feet in front of you.

“Hello!” you yelled but the sound was muffled, dampened by the weight of the air, and your voice sounded pathetically small. “Hello?! Help! Where is everyone?”

Ferns and lichen hung down from the trees like the hair of a great tree monster, and branches snagged at your clothes like the reaching fingers of a fairytale monster as you crashed in panic up the incline. You had to get out. They were going to leave without you. You’d catch a cold if you stayed there all night, and the stories Miss. Tremayne had told you all on the bus that morning, about the faerie folk and the blood-eyed ‘Wisht Hounds’ and the old spirit of Crockern that walked the hills at night, all crowded in on you until you let out a strangled scream and crashed to your knees in a small, leaf-strewn clearing.

With snatched and rapid breaths, you tried to get a hold of yourself, but it was no good. Tears sprang hot to your eyes and rolled down your cheeks to spill onto the copper carpet of fallen leaves beneath your scuffed and dirty hands.

A twig snapped nearby and a magpie gave a hoarse, rattling laugh.

You looked up, sniffing back tears and scrubbed your hand across your face to leave a muddy trail across your cheeks. “Hello?” you sobbed. “Miss Tremayne? Mr. Lee?”

In the drifting fog, you started to recognise a pattern to the boulders around you and froze. You were kneeling at the heart of a small circle of standing stones, each one only a foot or so high. In the moss of the nearest one, you could just make out a spiral of bare rock intertwining with the vibrant green of the moss, and on the next one over, you found a different pattern. Beyond the clear bubble of air inside the circle, the fog pressed in, close and silent, and all you could hear was your own, tight breathing.

Someone would come for you soon. Someone had to notice you were missing soon. It didn’t matter that you were the weird kid who played with frogspawn and thought snails were neat and knew how to identify all three kinds of newt native to the UK. Someone would notice that you weren’t with the rest of the school trip.

All you had to do was wait where you were. The first rule of bushcraft when you realised you were lost was to stay put and not panic. One of those two you could do.

Wistman’s Wood really wasn’t that big, and they’d count everyone in on the bus, so you wouldn’t be left behind.

You sat down and waited.

And waited.

You were shivering by the time evening was properly closing in, and the fog was still drifting all around, and beyond the circle of stones, the noises of the night were starting up in a faltering chorus. A vixen’s screaming bark far away on the moor above made your blood run cold, and an owl’s soft, wavering call from the trees nearby drew an answering whimper from your own throat.

Leaves rustled everywhere as if the trees themselves were breathing, though there was no breeze that you could feel. The moss beneath your hands felt warm, as though the sun had been on it all day. You spread your dirty fingers through it and tried to draw some comfort from the warmth, imagining it was the thick coat of a friendly animal, but it was no good.

After what felt like hours, you curled up into a ball on your side and wept.

The ghost dogs would get you and tear you to pieces or the wild hunt would take you away.

Footsteps light as pattering rain over the autumn leaves jerked you awake some time later and you sat up to see a soft, golden glow on the edge of the ring of stones. Silhouetted in the fog just behind the lantern was a dark outline that looked a little too thin to be human and too short to be an adult.

Your scream of surprise and horror filled the clearing and was immediately answered with a gasp and a quiet, “No, it’s alright. I won’t hurt you,” from the other side of the stones. The voice was strange, like two rocks scraping together or the creak of a tree in a high wind, but it seemed kind.

“Who are you?” you hissed.

“I… I’m a friend. Why are you out here?” Whoever it was, the small glow wasn’t enough to illuminate them properly in the fog, and while they seemed young — perhaps about your own age — you didn’t recognise them as anyone from your class.

“I got lost,” you said, and fought off tears again. “Do you know the way back to the road?”

“Which road?”

“The… the one where we got off the bus,” you said. “There was a white building nearby. I think it was a pub.”

“Oh,” the unusual, reedy voice said. “You mean the human road to the south.”

Your heart iced over with wild fear. “You’re… You’re not human?”

“No. You can’t see in the dark, can you?”

“Of course not,” you said. “I’m not an owl. What are you? Are you part of the Wild Hunt? One of the ghosts? A druid?”

The creature laughed, and the sound was like a small brook rushing over loose stones. “No. You’re cold,” they added. “Here, I’ll come and warm you, but you mustn’t be afraid of me. I might look… scary… but I won’t hurt you.”

The light bobbed nearer, and you saw long, root-like fingers holding a lantern made of the lacy remains of old leaves and glowing from within. The arm that held it looked like it was made of dry, cracked wood, interspersed with patches of moss and little rocks that glittered in the light. When the creature knelt beside you, you sucked in a breath as the bare skull of a badger loomed down out of the mist. You knew it was a badger because you’d looked at them that week with Mr. Lee in science class.

Shaking, you waited to see the rest of the creature.

“I won’t hurt you,” they said again. “Please don’t be scared of me.”

“Ok,” you breathed, not sure what else to say. You hugged your knees in close and fought off the urge to close your eyes, pretending none of this was happening. “What about the Wisht Hounds and the ghosts?”

“They won’t hurt you,” they said cheerily, kneeling down beside you and setting the lantern on the mossy grass. “They guard the wood with me but they won’t hurt you if you don’t mean the place any harm.”

“Oh.” You looked up them and tried not to stare at the creature. “Ok.”

If they’d been human, you guessed they were around your own age and height — small, skinny and two legged — but their whole body seemed to have been made of wood and stone and bits of moss, and they had an animal pelt wrapped around their hips and the badger skull over their face. Glimpses of dark, almost-human skin showed here and there though, especially around the neck and collarbones and down the right side of their chest and arm, though the arm holding the lantern was like an old tree branch.

“Come on, you’re getting cold,” they said, and went down onto all fours. “Lie down.”

Not knowing what else to do, you obeyed, using your rucksack as a pillow, and they reached out and simply pulled the forest floor up around you like a blanket. The warm scent of moss enveloped you, and the comforting weight and heat of it took you by surprise.

“There,” they said as they tucked it up around your shoulder before curling up behind you and wrapping their arm around your middle. “Try to sleep. They’ll come looking for you soon, but if they don’t, I’ll show you to the edge of the woods in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Rest now.”

You closed your eyes and found yourself drifting off almost immediately, as comfortable and warm as if you were tucked up in your own bed.

The shrill of a distant whistle jolted you awake and you found a pressure on your shoulder joint, shaking you gently before it moved up to touch your neck with a shy, tender caress. “Wake up,” the creature hissed and you sat upright with a jolt. The blanket of moss and grass simply tumbled away from your body and became seamless forest floor again, as though it had never been disturbed.

You jerked around to stare at your new friend. It was still pitch dark, and your rapid exhales fogged in the air around you, making twisting, ghostly shapes in the small light of the creature’s lantern that had never gone out.

“Told you they’d come looking for you,” they said with a playful laugh.

You heard the baying of dogs in the distance and tensed.

“Not my hounds,” they said, drawing back and looking around twitchily. “I have to go. Please… Please don’t tell them about me? They probably won’t believe you anyway, but… please?”

You nodded. “I won’t tell anyone. And thank you for helping me.”

The creature tipped their head to one side in something you thought was a smile, though the bone mask that covered their face made it impossible to tell.

“I won’t forget you,” you croaked.

At that, the strange creature leaned forwards and hugged you. They were warm, and although the parts of their body that touched you were hard and unyielding, they slotted perfectly against you where you sat in the dead centre of the stone circle. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you,” they croaked. The cold press of those root-like fingertips against the warm skin of your neck made you gasp suddenly, but as a torch beam glanced off the trees, they rose and sprang away like a deer, vanishing into the shadows of the gnarled trees in the blink of an eye.

Someone shouted your name and you staggered to your feet. “Here!” you croaked. “I’m here!”

The yells went up, more dogs barked, and in a few minutes, you were being wrapped up in a blanket and seen to by the rescue team.

The half mile walk back to the road passed in a blur as everyone fussed over you and the events of the night rushed through your mind.

What kind of creature had that been?

You kept your promise though, and never told a soul about them, and when you woke the next morning, you found a small, leaf-shaped mark on your neck where their cold finger had touched you. No more than an inch long, it was the colour of a coppery autumn oak leaf, and whenever you brushed your fingertips over it, you shivered. The creature had marked you somehow, but you never minded. You loved the mark, and it made you feel special, cherished, and protected.

‘Badger’, as you came to think of them because of the skull, lived on in your imagination all throughout your childhood, and sometimes you even dreamed of them, running through the small woods with their ghostly black hounds barking and playing at their heels.

Whenever things got too much, you would pile up blankets atop you in bed for the weight and warmth, and curl up on your side, and remember the way they had pulled the forest floor up over you to keep you warm. Your fingertips would trace the small leaf mark on your neck, and you would feel grounded and calm again. Your parents had thought you would be traumatised by the event, frightened of foggy nights and of the woods, but you had never felt safer than you had on that lonely night with your strange friend among the twisted oak trees and the mossy standing stones.

Your career inevitably led you into wildlife conservation and the protection of rare landscapes just like Wistman’s Wood, though considerably further north.

“You should be going somewhere hot and dry for your holiday,” your colleague grinned at you as you both shrugged into your heavy coats and prepared to lock up the field office. The weather for the past week had been truly awful, even by Scottish standards, and your cramped, barely-insulated, converted shipping container office in the heart of the Highlands — affectionately nicknamed the ‘bothy’ after the more traditional shelters dotted across Scotland and Wales — had taken an absolute battering. Still, you’d somehow got a lot of work done together, and it was time to head back to the centre with the data.

With a laugh, you shook your head and adjusted the jacket around your shoulders with a shrug. “I know, but I’ve been wanting to go back to Devon for years and I’ve finally got enough leave stored up to make it worthwhile.”

Ben’s brown eyes twinkled and he shook his head at you. In his lilting, Orcadian burr, you best friend and fellow ranger chided you affectionately. “Ah well, I always said you were daft, didn’t I? At least it’s nareaboots stopped for the day anyway,” he added, cocking his head to listen to the last lashings of wind and rain on the roof and tiny perspex window. “Come on, I’ll buy you a pint at The Selkie tonight. What time are you off tomorrow?”

“I’m getting the 8.25 train to Inverness from Golspie, then the bus to the airport. My flight’s not til late afternoon.”

You chatted as you locked up your very basic field office and battled the last throes of the autumn storm to get your stuff into the Landrover. With the windscreen wipers on maximum, you jolted down the rough, winding forestry track through patches of forest and open heath, ignoring Ben’s comments on your driving — “Like you’d do any better!” you retorted. You both let out a grunt of relief though when you got back onto the tarmac that would eventually take you to the small, seaside town just before sunset. Not that there was a visible sun to see setting behind the perpetual, pewter-grey clouds.

That night, Ben got more than usually tipsy, and you found yourself listening to his beguiling accent as he talked of the folklore of his native Orkney Islands, prompted by the name of the pub in which you were drinking — The Selkie — and his insistence, again, that the mark on your neck was a mark of the fairfolk. What choice did you have but to refute it and claim it was a birthmark? Even if you could have told him without breaking your promise to Badger, he probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.

Although…

His large brown eyes glittered as he talked of the selkie-folk and the finfolk, and his expression grew almost dreamy as he told you of their island summer-home of Hildaland, and the safety of the city beneath the waves that was their winter refuge, Finfolkaheem. Ben had always been a good storyteller, filling nights around the stove in the bothy with evocative tales of Scottish folklore, but he talked of it now as vividly as though he’d been to these fantasy places and seen them for himself. His accent got stronger and stronger, and his tone more yearning until finally he realised what time it was, blinked, and sighed. “Ah, but it’s late, and I’ve made myself homesick.”

Ben was tall and strong, though not in the lean, chiselled, way of runway models and gym-goers. Stocky, with a stout layer of fat around his gut, he looked made to weather whatever the elements had for him, and his wild, brown hair was already turning very silver though he couldn’t have been a day over thirty.

“You’ll have to call Mag when you get home tonight and make yourself feel better,” you said, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. “Though I doubt he’ll thank me for letting you get so tipsy.” You’d never met Magnus, but Ben talked of him often enough that you felt you knew him just a little.

His handsome, weathered face took on a softer look, and he smiled at the sound of his boyfriend’s name and pushed himself to his feet as well. “Aye, he always knows how to cheer me up, that’s for sure, despite being the grumpiest, most miserable-looking son of the sea I ever met.”

Ben's stories of the hidden folk of his island heritage haunted you all the journey south for some reason. Images of the tall, stern, shapeshifting and sorcerous finmen, and the soft and kindly selkies, mermaids, and mischievous trows who dwelled in the barrows and the secret places in the earth brought to mind your own childhood experience in the wood, and your thoughts turned yet again to the creature you had come to call Badger.

The following day, as the tyres of your hire car finally crunched over the gravelly tarmac outside the lime-washed, 18th century roadside inn that you recognised from all those years ago, you bit back a yawn. It was just after half four in the afternoon, and the light was still pretty good, so after checking in, dumping your bags in your room, and changing into walking clothes, you set off up the trail towards Wistman’s Woods to stretch your legs after a long day of travelling.

The air was clear, and no mist hung between the trees that evening, but otherwise, nothing felt like it had changed. The woods slept on like King Arthur’s knights, and you stepped reverently over the rocks, placing your palms carefully so as not to crush any snails or other creatures lurking in the spongy, verdant plant life. Tourists and social media had done irrevocable damage to ecologically sacred places like this the country over, but so far it seemed to have escaped the worst of it. Slowly and without haste, you wove your way into the heart of the small oak copse that clung to the line of the little river below.

Small birds flitted here and there among the branches, and the air smelled thick and wet with the coming autumn. You expected to find mushrooms popping their bonnets up from the grass as you passed, and out of the corner of your eye you almost imagined the tiny forms of fairies flying around, but when you turned more than once to look, it was only the dancing clouds of gnats that caught the last rays of sunlight.

Eventually, after rambling around for a while, you found the circle of stones and came to a halt outside it. In the interceding years between that night and the present, you had immersed yourself in folklore as much as you had wildlife conservation, and you stared at the stones in wonder. If the fairytales were to be believed, you had been lucky to have survived your encounter at all, let alone with the freely-given help of a supernatural creature.

The golden light of the dying day flashed along the dewy moss that adorned the spiral stone and your breath caught.

“Were you even real?” you breathed into the silence. “Would you even remember that one lost child all these years later?”

You sat down cross-legged — outside the stone circle this time — and rested your weight back on your hands behind you, face tilted to the twisting canopy of vibrant, shivering oak leaves overhead. It was chilly, but not unpleasantly so, and the moss beneath you was once again as warm as a summer’s afternoon.

After only a few minutes, all the birdsong fell quiet, the sun dipped below the hill, and twilight descended on the woods in the blink of an eye.

With the new chill came a tangible stillness to the woods, like everything was holding its breath until morning, and you felt the back of your neck prickle. Freezing in place for a moment, you strained your ears until finally you heard the faintest shifting in the ferns behind you.

Twitching around, you found a tall, gangling creature standing perhaps three or four yards away, no longer with a badger’s skull, but adorned with what looked like the ancient skull of a red deer stag.

Its large, forking antlers stretched up and away from the head in perfect symmetry, and across the darkly-stained bone of the old skull itself were engraved tiny runes. The creature looked emaciated and it hunched over at the shoulders in order to fit into the space between the twisted branches of the oaks on either side, and its lanky arms dangled down well past its hips. Its left arm seemed entirely made up of interconnected sections of wood and bark, adorned at the shoulder like a pauldron with moss and at the elbow with small rocks like ball bearings, and the limb ended in three long, pale, root-like talons like a thumb and two fingers.

The right arm though had a much more human-like quality to it, with a human hand covered in that dark, tannin-stained skin, and the bark coverings seemed more like armour than anything else. Their collarbones seemed to show human skin beneath the patches of bark and wood and moss on their torso, though the colour and texture was like that of skin from ancient bog bodies — dark and leathery looking — and the muscles of their neck were sinuous and withered until it vanished behind the deer mask.

From their shoulders hung a great, woven cloak with moss and lichen and spiderwebs blending seamlessly into soft, dark green wool, and it was held in place by carved and engraved, triangular brooches that seemed to have been made from deer scapulae. Their long, mossy, tree-like legs ended in roots instead of toes. Around their narrow hips, they wore an animal skin loincloth, and at their side hung a carved wooden cup or bowl on a twisted vine cord.

You stared a long time before swallowing thickly. “Is it you?” you whispered at last. “Are you the one who saved me all those years ago?”

Slowly, the creature inclined their head. “You… remembered me?” Their voice was much deeper now, but just as rough and scraping, and they sounded astonished.

“How could I forget you?” you laughed, all apprehension draining away as you scrabbled to your feet.

In a sudden rush of wild elation, you ran towards them and without hesitation flung your arms around that skinny, bony waist and squeezed.

A low, earthy laugh rumbled from the creature and they enveloped you in those strange arms, hoisting you right up off the ground and hugging you tightly to their chest. “I felt sure you’d forget about me,” they mumbled.

“I made you a promise,” you said, wheezing as their grip got somehow even tighter. “Oof, you got bigger!”

The strange creature laughed a little harder and set you down carefully. “So did you,” they said. “Why did you come back now?”

Their voice had an otherworldly note to it, like a high harmonic in a cathedral, and it made your whole body reverberate with the sound of it.

Clearing your throat, you said, “I had some holiday time to use up and… it’s been too long. My friend from work, Ben, he’s been talking a lot lately about selkies and the fae-folk from where he lives, and it made me think of you. I had to see if you really were… real.” You looked up into their face and tilted your head a little. “You outgrew the badger skull, I see.”

A snort of laughter sounded from behind the deer skull, which made you more certain than ever that it was a mask and not a part of them, and they nodded. “A long time ago. This one belonged to my mother.”

“Your mother was a deer?”

Again, the creature laughed delightedly and it sounded like a small rockfall tumbling down a cliff side. “No, my mother was a spirit of these lands. A creature with the face and heart of a beautiful woman, and a hollow, rotting back and the tail of an ox from behind.”

You tried not to grimace at the strange imagery.

“She loved my father, who was a mortal man and who loved her all his life. They were mated, and when he died, she…” they shook their head. “She stopped wanting to live and… returned to the forest, leaving only her memory and her mask behind for me. It had been her father’s before it was hers.” They looked to one side and brought their root-like left hand up to touch the twisting trunk of a nearby oak. “She is still here, in a way. In the way that all who have gone before are remembered here by the forest.” They paused and added ruefully, “As I shall be, one day, I suppose.”

They sighed, a sound like the wind through the leaves above, and looked down at you.

“What… are you then?” you asked.

For a moment, the creature’s chest rose and fell without words. Eventually, they said in their harsh, broken-boulder voice, “I am… a guardian, I suppose. My kind are known by many names across the world: leshy, green men, dryads and hamadryads, lares, Sylvanus, woodwose…” they shrugged. “But I am only a half-breed,” they added with a wry chuckle.

Completely fascinated, you asked, “Do you have a name?”

That again gave the creature pause. “Yes,” they said after a while. “But not as you would understand it.”

You frowned.

“I am named the way a river gully is named, or a wild animal, or one of the high tors is named. Not… Not like a human with a single word.”

“You’re right… I don’t understand,” you breathed, still frowning.

“Here, let me show you,” they said, and they reached out that dendroidal left hand towards your temple. You shrank away instinctively but they shook their head. “I did not hurt you before and I will not hurt you now.”

“Sorry.”

With a slow incline of their head, they tried again. This time when their fingertips touched your temple, you did not flinch, and an image filled your mind. After only a second, it became apparent that it was not an image but an experience.

It centred on the stones of the circle behind you, illuminated as they had been only a few minutes earlier at sunset. Pure, radiant, golden light streamed down and, like stained glass, lit up the moss and lichen that rose a few inches from the stone’s surface. Midges danced in the air above the stone and a drop of dew beaded at the tip of one of the fronds, sparkling for just a second before it rolled down and soaked into the moss. You tasted fresh-fallen rain on your tongue and smelled the earthy, green scent of moss, and the last rays of the day warmed your skin. This was who this creature was. He, you realised. The creature was male.

He let go of you and you gasped, swaying on the spot as the colour and warmth of the vision receded into the grey-blue of dusk.

You blinked. “All that in one name?” you croaked, and he laughed. “And here I’ve been calling you Badger all these years.”

“Badger,” he repeated. “For the mask?”

“Mmm.”

“I like it,” he said. “They’re cheeky and resourceful creatures. It’s quite the compliment.”

You twitched your eyebrows upwards. “Well, at least it’s not been an insult. One more question?”

“Doesn’t have to be your last,” he said, clearly amused. “Ask away.”

“Are you responsible for this mark?”

You turned and exposed your neck to him, and he hummed softly. It sounded like a tree stretching.

Again he reached for you, towering from his seven foot height, but to your surprise, he eased himself down onto one knee as he traced the soft, warm fingertip of his human hand over the mark. “Yes,” he said in a tiny voice. “I didn’t mean to mark you, but I’m glad I did.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked down sharply, almost catching you with one of the prongs of his antlers, and a little, bitter laugh escaped him. “I wanted to keep you safe, but I was only a child too when we met. I didn’t know how to control the magic in me — the magic of these woods — and I didn't know what I was doing. That symbol will mark you out to all the supernatural as someone… loved.”

You smiled and pitched forwards to hug him again. “Thank you. My whole life, whenever I’ve felt lonely or afraid, I’ve touched it and it’s like…” you sighed, unsure how to describe it. Brushing your fingers over it again, you went on, “It feels like it did when you covered me with moss and kept me warm.”

He shivered. “With you so close, I can feel when you touch it,” he said.

His arms encircled you slowly and he drew you close. He smelled like autumn — like misty sunrises with dewy grass and glittering spider webs — and you nuzzled your cheek against the side of his head. The mask moved a little by accident and he tensed.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Do not be,” he said, leaning back a little way without fully letting go of you. He did readjust the mask though. “How long are you here for?”

“Two weeks,” you said as you stepped back to look at him properly. “I planned to go walking on the moors, as well as visiting here again to see if you really were real.”

Before he could answer, a shadow moved behind him and your eyes went wide at the sight of a colossal dog with blood red eyes. You took an uncertain half-step back and Badger turned to look over his shoulder.

The animal — spirit? — stepped carefully over the mossy stones and made its way down to sit silently beside the two of you, regarding you curiously.

“This is… Whisper,” he said, reaching his hand out as the massive dog butted its head up into his palm. “She is the leader of my pack of Wisht Hounds. She’s curious about you.”

“Hi. She’s… beautiful,” you said, realising it was true. The way the shadows rippled through her long, smoky black coat was mesmerising. She looked like a large, pitch-black German Shepherd, though she was slightly rangier and longer legged, and her swishing tail seemed to end in a wisp of smoke. She was also the size of a small pony.

Whisper seemed to like being called beautiful because she rose and padded close, sniffing at your hand and then barging her cold nose into it for some strokes. Her red eyes burned like embers, but she didn’t seem in the least bit frightening now. Her fur was softer than anything you’d ever touched, and the animal made small, happy little noises in her throat as her ears and chin were showered with attention.

“I bet you can be really scary when you need to be,” you said carefully, “But you’re also incredibly sweet…”

Badger laughed and stood up, creaking and cracking like an old tree in a high wind.

“That sounded… painful?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, not really. My body is a little… dramatic, that’s all,” he said, curling his left hand up for emphasis. As the talons of his hand closed, they made a soft creaking noise.

You shivered as a breeze cold snuck in down the back of your jacket and you straightened up, much to Whisper’s disgruntlement. The spectral hound turned away, nosed a farewell into Badger’s hand too, and then trotted off, melting into the gathering night like a fading memory.

“She’s going to patrol the wood,” he said. “I’m glad you met her. I remember that you were afraid of the idea of them first time we met.”

“Well, I didn’t have anything other than the ghost stories our teacher told us on the bus back then,” you snorted. Your stomach rumbled audibly and you pulled a face. “I’m exhausted. I came down from Scotland today, and I haven’t eaten since this morning. I should get going, but can I come back tomorrow?”

He nodded. “I would love that. The woods have seen more people than usual of late,” he sighed. “People trampling it and breaking off moss and branches and taking acorns away, but it gets quiet in the afternoons. I can remain hidden if necessary though.”

You nodded and sighed as you looked up into the empty eye sockets of the deer’s skull mask. “I’m so glad I met you again,” you said. “After all this time.”

“So am I,” he said with a slight bow. “I will walk you to the edge of the woods, if I may?”

“Sure, thank you.”

The only sounds when he moved were the gentle breathing of the woods themselves and the slight creak of bark and the whisper of wind through the leaves. You felt loud and clumsy and out of place in comparison.

At the edge of the trees, Badger stopped and looked out at the moorland beyond. Bracken whispered in the breezes that didn’t really seem to touch the small oak copse behind you, and the air seemed colder and fresher and somehow thinner out there.

You turned and looked up at him. “See you tomorrow,” you said, and touched the oak leaf on your neck.

He shuddered, and then whickered a low laugh. “Tomorrow.”

He watched you go, and as you rounded a turn in the path, you glanced back to find him still standing there, just barely visible between the gnarled trees. He almost looked like one of them, with his bark-and-moss body and his antlers, but you could see him distinctly enough. Around the edge of the copse, further up the rolling, stony hillside, three black shapes careered over the fieldstones and crumbling remains of a wall: Wisht Hounds.

Raising your arm in a final wave, you laughed when he did the same and then turned to melt into the shadows of his oak wood once again.

___

Hope you enjoyed badger! Any guesses about Ben and Magnus? Want to see part two? Lemme know as always with reblogs to show your interest.

If you do happen to have a couple of bucks spare, you could always drop a tip on my Ko-fi, but reblogs are just as welcome and just as helpful! As always, I look forward to your reactions to this one. Take care of yourselves.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#leshen #leshy #forest spirit #male forest spirit #forest guardian #male monster x reader #gender neutral reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #childhood friends to lovers #much? #haha

[writer-of-sorts]

written with @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: train

The stranger on the train is dressed in ripped jeans, a black undershirt and a leather jacket, with heavy mascara lining his eyelids and a row of piercings lining his ears.

Despite his punk appearance, the man undeniably has the air of an aristocrat. He sits straight-backed and prim, one knee crossed over the other. A sketchbook rests atop the expensive-looking bag tucked against his side.

When Remus approaches him, the stranger looks up. The long hair curtaining his face draws back, revealing alabaster skin, sharp cheekbones, full lips and soulful grey eyes.

Quite frankly, Remus thinks this stranger is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

Which is exactly why Remus stutters incoherently before proceeding to trip over his own lanky legs and swear like a sailor as he goes crashing down to the floor of the train compartment.

Except he’s not crashing down to the floor. Because there is a pair of very strong leather-clad arms holding him up.

Said arms straighten Remus’ body and then drop as he comes face-to-face with his savior. His very attractive savior, who just witnessed Remus nearly fall flat on his face.

Remus feels his cheeks grow hot as embarrassment washes over him.

“Es-tu blessé?” the stranger asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

And now Remus feels hot for an entirely different reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it wordlessly.

“Oh,” the man says. He smiles sheepishly. “Are you alright?” he asks, with just the faintest trace of an accent as he rolls his mouth around the r’s.

“Yes,” Remus breathes. He clears his throat. “My name is Remus, and” —he points to the empty seat across from the man— “I believe that is my seat.”

The stranger flashes a genuine smile, and Remus’ heart soars. “Sirius Black. Please sit down.”

word count: 300

#look i know this isn’t the type of train the prompt meant but #this fic has been marinating in my drafts for too long #let me have this #this will probably be part of a micro-series #haven’t decided on a title yet #it takes place in france #sirius is an artist on the run from his family #and remus is a writer looking for inspiration #cue romantic autumn walks thru paris holding hands in the louvre kissing in front of the eiffel tower wine n baguettes n all that jazz #wolfstar microfic #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #wolfstar fic #wolfstar #remus loves sirius #sirius loves remus #sirius x lupin #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fandom #train

[alwaysjustmina]

I beg; soft kisses turning heated - Just follow me lead - RainDrop -🌧️

I know this has been awhile, but I hope this ficlet suffices!

Have you?

"Have you ever been in love before?"

He asked me this on our third date. We were sitting at a little street cafe, the sun was just setting, we both had a glass of wine in front of us and were debating if we were hungry or not. He had this beautiful little twinkle in his blue eyes, a small smile playing in his lips. I wanted to say, I may be now, instead I responded with a no and dropped my eyes from his down to the table. I grabbed my wine and took a small sip, looking at him over the rim of my glass, trying to calm my nerves.

His face had broken into a large grin, that he was unsuccessfully trying to hide behind his glass. I wondered why that made him happy.

"Have you?" I asked with more determination than I thought possible.

He quickly responded the same as I did.

Later I'd learn he wanted to say the same thing I wanted to, but we were both cowards.

After we finished our wine we decided to take a walk along the river, watching the dying rays of the sun glint off the surface. He stopped to point out a small boat that had fairy lights all around it. Laughing that it looked fun and we should do something like sometime. We both leaned over the rail, our arms outstretched above the water, leaning close but not touching. We hadn't done that yet. I could feel the heat of his body radiating into mine as we stood there, I hadn't realized how cool it had gotten with the sun doing its disappearing act. Of course he noticed.

"Do you want my jacket?" He asked.

I trembled at the thought of being embraced in his warmth, even if it was just his jacket. I nodded quickly, "As long as you won't get cold."

He shrugged his jacket off and assured me he wouldn't. Later, I'd also find out it turned him on to think of his scent all over me.

He helped me into the jacket, the smell of leather and patchouli seeping into my pores. A small moan escaped my mouth that I quickly covered with a cough at the warmth it provided.

He, of course, noticed but didn't say anything. We stood there a few more minutes before deciding to continue walking.

I listened to him talk about everything and anything. I didn't know how we had so much to talk about, we had known each other for years. Secretly pining for the other it seemed, but both terrified we'd fuck this or the friendship we had built up.

I noticed so many things about him on this walk that I never saw before. The way he wrinkled his nose as he smiled, that his hands always were moving, he couldn't keep them still, that he matched his step to mine, that he licked his lips when he talked, that he looked at me like I was the only thing in the universe. On this walk, he became my universe.

I would steal glances at him, finding that he was looking at me the whole time.

We stopped again on a back street, we had veered from the river in search of food, being called to the quiet side streets away from the revelers. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air as I turned to look at him, asking what he was hungry for. We were in a darkened part of the street with only the moon above throwing off light, his features were alabaster in the glow. "Beautiful," I mumbled under my breath.

He looked at me, tilting his head up and smiled that beautiful smile again. We both took a deep breath, before we both started.

"Rain, I want to kiss you."

"Dew, can I kiss you?"

We laughed, both wanting the same thing.

That first kiss was so soft. His lips found my, the lightest touch before we pulled back. Looking again at each other, before he grabbed my waist and pulled me into him again, my hands flying to his hair, our mouths crashing together. The softness of the first kiss leading to the passion of the second. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth as he emitted little trills, his tongue asked for entrance by sliding between my lips, I quickly opened for him. The explosion of the feeling of his tongue in my mouth, mine wrapping around his, both of us gasping for breath, neither wanting to let go.

We stood there wrapped in the other's arms, neither of us sure of how long the passage of time had gone. He pulled away first, I teased him about this for years after, his lips red and puffy, his pupils enlarged, the blue barely visible.

He leaned into my ear as we panted trying to find our breath again, before whispering in my ear, "Rain, ask me again if I've ever been in love."

All I could think was, me too.

#first kiss #new love #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #ghost fan fiction #fan fiction #soft boys #mina answers #mina prompts #mina writes

[breaniebree]

Final 5 chapters SNEAK PEEK!

Chapter 37...

“No,” Sirius said.  “He’s not good enough for her.”

“Siri, are you ever going to find anyone good enough for her?”

“That’s not the point,” Sirius insisted, waving her off.  “She’s my daughter and I don’t like him.”

“It’s interesting that you celebrated sex with Harry and with Leo and yet even the thought of your daughter snogging a boy sends you through the roof,” Zee teased.

“I know it’s a double standard and all that, I’m aware,” Sirius growled.  “Stop pointing it out.”

Zee chuckled and climbed into her husband’s lap.  “She loves him, Sirius.”

“She’s seventeen, what does she know?”

“What did Harry and Ginny know?”

“They were different.”

"Mina knows her own heart, Sirius,” Zee began.  “Leo likes him.  They’re best friends.”

Sirius scoffed.  Leo and Grayson had become friends after meeting in the duelling club and despite being in separate houses had grown close when Leo had been in fifth year.  

“That’s worse!  It’s like breaking a code or something.”

“Aydin is Mina’s best friend.”

“Zee, stop pointing out all of the ways that I’m wrong,” Sirius demanded.

She grinned, sliding her fingers through his hair.  “But it’s so fun.”

“When did they grow up?”

“Too fast,” Zee agreed, pecking his lips.  “But they did.”

Chapter 38...

Ron finished up his paperwork and headed home.  He walked into the house in time for Hugo to run past him, covered from head to toe in something red and sparkly as Rose screamed at him to stay out of her room.

Ron caught his son around the waist, grimacing at the sheer amount of red sparkles covering his four-year-old.  

“Bloody hell, Hugo, what happened?”  Ron demanded.

“Rose threw them at me!”  Hugo cried, tears in his eyes.

“ROSE!”  Ron bellowed.

His six-year-old-daughter stuck her head out of her room.  “He was in my room, Daddy!”

“That’s not an excuse,” Ron said.  “Where did you even get this many red sparkles?”

Hermione appeared a moment later, looking slightly ragged as she held their eight-month-old-son Granger in her arms.  “Goodness!  I disappear for two minutes to change Granger’s nappy and all hell breaks loose.”

Hugo was crying and trying to wipe at his eyes which only made sparkles get in them.  Hermione passed Granger to Ron to take care of Hugo and Ron turned to glare at his daughter.

“Hugo looks up to you, Rosie.  He just wants to play with his big sister.”

“I told him to leave and he wouldn’t,” Rose said, tears in her eyes.  “So I threw my bag of glitter at him.  I didn’t know that it would open and go everywhere.”

Ron sighed and bent down to pull his crying daughter into his arms.  “All right, Rosie.  You apologize to your brother.  We don’t throw things, are we clear?”

“Yes,” she whispered, wiping at her tears.

It took Hermione over thirty minutes to get Hugo sparkle free and by the time they had dinner and got the kids to bed, Ron was exhausted.  He pulled Hermione down into his lap on the sofa and rested his beard against her neck.

“Bloody hell, I could sleep for a month.”

Hermione chuckled and ran her fingers through his hair.  “You and me both. 

Chapter 39...

Draco spotted Potter and his wife twirling around the dance floor both in burgundy robes and staring into each other’s eyes in a way that made him want to gag.  Yes, this place was definitely not for him.  He turned towards the food table and shoved a crab cake into his mouth before he turned and crashed into the person behind him.  His Prosecco splashed out of his glass onto her dress and his eyes widened in horror.  His eyes moved down the slim figure of the woman in a long black evening gown with a front slit and back up her waist to the high neck and sleeveless ensemble that was now damp on her chest and bare arms.  Elegantly alabaster arms, he noted. 

“Pardon me,” Draco exclaimed rather stiffly.  “I do beg your pardon.”  Then his eyes landed on her steely blue ones and a jolt of recognition shot through him.  “Astoria?” 

Astoria Greengrass looked absolutely stunning in a form fitting black gown.  Her black hair was long and straight and hung down her back in what looked like black silk.  She wore diamonds in her ears and on her wrists and Draco gaped at her like a fish out of water. 

“Malfoy,” Astoria said, shaking Prosecco off of her hand. 

“I apologize,” Draco said.  “I didn’t realize anyone was behind me… let me.”  

Half a second later, his wand had removed the mess, but not before he noticed the chill of the Prosecco had made her nipples pebble through her dress.  She gave him an annoyed look. 

“Thank you.” Astoria made to walk off and he reached out to touch her wrist, suddenly not wanting to be alone.  “Did you want to spill something else on me?” 

Draco removed his hand, his cheeks heating.  “No, and again, I sincerely apologize, I just… I’ve only been back in England a few months.”

“And you thought the best thing to do upon your return would be to throw a glass of Prosecco at me?  How charming.”

Chapter 40...

Theo was finishing up some case notes in his library when he heard a door slam followed by a very loud bellow of, “Uncle Theo!”

He frowned and stood up, moving out of the library to see who’s voice it was and his face brightened at the sight of his fifteen-year-old-godson Albus Potter marching towards him.

“Alby!  This is a nice surprise.”

Albus wrinkled his nose.  “Albus now, Uncle Theo.  Alby makes me feel like a kid.”

“Sorry,” Theo said with a smile.  “Hard to break the habit.  What can I do for you?”

Albus let out a long breath and shoved his hands in his pockets, the look on his face reminding Theo so much of a teenage Harry it startled him.  Albus really was the spitting image of his father minus the glasses.

“I need your help, but you have to promise that this stays between us.”

Theo lifted an eyebrow.  “You know my rules, unless it’s a matter of life or death anything you tell me stays between us.”

Albus nodded and shifted his shoulders.  “Can we go somewhere and talk alone?”

“Come on back into the library,” Theo said.  “Uncle Bas took Ben, Spence, and Sadie to a Quidditch match so we have the place to ourselves.  Do you want some tea or a snack?”

Albus shook his head, plopping himself down on the leather sofa in the library.  “No.  I just… I’m in trouble.”

Theo took a seat next to his godson.  “What kind of trouble?”

Chapter 41...

A red spark flashed on his desk with a soft ping so he touched his wand to it.  “Yes, Anita?”

“Your wife is here, Auror Potter,” Anita’s voice seemed to rise up from the spark.

A grin spread across his face.  “Send her in.”

Half a minute later, he saw his wife knocking her knuckles against his doorjamb, a picnic basket in her hand.  “Knock, knock.  I brought you some lunch.”

Harry beamed at her.  She looked gorgeous with her long red hair pulled back in a braid.  She was wearing black tights and a large purple jumper with her black cloak undone.  She had her winter boots on and a cute toque on her head with a purple pom.  Her pregnant belly was visible at five months and as always, Harry looked at his wife with complete awe.  Even after being married for almost twelve years, he still thought she was the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen.

“Perfect surprise.”

He watched her close the door to his office.  She tapped the door with her wand, making his eyebrow rise before she came around his desk to straddle him; his eyes widened.  

Ginny linked her arms around his neck.  “Hi, Deputy Head Auror Potter.”

His lips curved.  “Hi, Mrs Potter.”

Ginny leaned in to nip at his bottom lip.  “I dropped the kids off at school and Mum has the twins.  I watched you leave today and I thought you’ve had this whole office to yourself for over a month now and I haven’t even popped by for a proper visit.”

“You’ve been busy,” he said, a soft moan escaping him when she planted an open-mouthed kiss on his throat.  “After everything that happened with Jamie and Alby and then the holiday and… Gin…”

She was sucking on the pulse in his neck in that perfect spot that always drove him mad and when she licked the mark to soothe it, his already interested cock sprang to full attention.

“All true,” she said.  “But a good wife should have made the time to come in, check it out, and more importantly,” she whispered, her hand sliding down to open the button his trousers.  “Make sure it’s properly christened.”

Harry’s eyes darkened.  “Gin… fuck, we can’t.”

Her brown eyes twinkled in mischief.  “Doors locked.  You’re on lunch.”

“That’s not…”

She pulled her jumper over her head and he licked his lips.  “You have an hour for lunch, right?”

He nodded, afraid to speak.  

Ginny opened her bra and his eyes immediately dropped down to take in her magnificent tits, big and round from pregnancy.  She took his hands and placed them overtop of them.

“Mmm, how many times can you make me come in an hour, Harry?”

Harry swallowed.  “Is there even anything in that picnic basket?”

Her brown eyes twinkled in mischief.  “Of course there is.  I just thought you might want to eat me first.”

Only 5 chapters left!

#harry potter fanfiction #breanie #the world of asc #chapter sneak peek #the kismet trilogy #the kismet trilogy by breanie #third times the charm

[shookspearewrites]

Shookspeare mini Christmas!

My ducklings, my little luvs, how have we been? I’ve kinda been off Tumblr for a while because my postgraduate studies + my job have literally been taking up all of my time >2< Merry Christmas, Happy holidays and I hope y’all have a lovely winter, my luvs!

- JJ x

__________

Theodorus van Gogh:

MC wiped her flour-covered hands on the front of her apron and smiled to herself softly as she approached the door leading out into the hall, quirking a brow with curiosity when she noticed Theo standing in the doorway, leaning forward slightly, with his forearms on either side of the doorframe, “Oh, good evening Theo. What can I do for you? Dinner isn’t quite ready yet-”

The art dealer smirked and gestured to the ceiling above him where there hung a fresh sprig of mistletoe - no doubt placed there by Arthur - with forest green leaves and alabaster white berries, “Isn’t it tradition to kiss under the mistletoe, hondje?” MC’s cheeks flushed warm with peachy pink blush as her own gaze flitted between the wintery plant and her smirking boyfriend underneath it. She nodded slowly as she untied her apron and tossed it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, stuffing her little hands into her pockets bashfully, smiling sweetly at Theo, “Oke then,” the Dutch man continued, “Geef me een kus.”

The housemaid shuffled forward towards Theo and stepped up onto her tiptoes and reached her arms up to loop behind her boyfriend’s neck, letting her eyes flutter closed before placing a soft kiss to his lips, her cheeks only heating up further when Theo’s hands found her waist and squeezed with a gentleness that he’d handle a priceless painting with. The feeling of Theo’s searing kiss lingered on MC’s lips when she pulled back, the tastes of hot ginger, sweet sugar and rich whiskey remaining on her plump lips even though she and Theo were no longer touching. The lady blinked up at her lover who didn’t budge an inch, cocking her head slightly to the side when he simply grinned down at her, “Theo?”

The art dealer glanced back up at the mistletoe, icy blue eyes twinkling with mischief when they met MC’s wide pair, “The mistletoe’s still there, MC. I don’t hear no bells.” He pointed his right index finger up at the pretty green plant, biting his lip with a smirk as he leant a little closer to his girlfriend. Theo placed one of his large, warm hands on the small of MC’s back as the other found the back of her head, his long fingers tangling in her soft hair when he pulled her towards him before finally pressing his lips to her’s. Theo’s kiss was surprisingly gentle, not so much a crash of burning passion like high waves meeting the shore like usual, but more of sweet wave of warmth, like hot cocoa on in the harsh winter, warming her heart with love and security. MC sighed sweetly when she and Theo parted, looping her arms around his waist and nuzzling her soft cheek against his toned chest, “Is my little hondje excited for Christmas tomorrow?”

The young woman nodded smally, grinning to herself as she took note of Theo’s warm cinnamon and clove scented cologne, “Of course I am, Theo! I get to spend the day with you and have good food, open presents and hopefully get to kiss you under the mistletoe again.” MC let go of her boyfriend and rose up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek softly before sauntering away down the hallway, “See you at dinner, Theodorus.”

The vampire stuttered slightly, feeling pink heat rush to his pale cheeks as he watched his beloved walk away, “See you at dinner, schatje.”

#Ikemen Vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikevam x reader #ikemen vampire x mc #ikevamp x mc #ikevam x mc #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikevam theo #ikevam theodorus #ikemen vampire theo x mc #ikemen vampire theo x reader #ikevamp theo x reader #ikevamp theo x mc #ikevam theo x reader #ikevam theo x mc #ikemen theo #ikemen theodorus #ikemen vampire theodorus x mc #ikemen vampire ff #ikevamp ff #ikevam ff #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevam fanfiction

[crowborn666-writes]

Baneful Fox

(If you didn’t know, a shiny version of the Baneful Fox mask in Pokémon Legends: Arceus is available through mystery gift until (I do believe) late may, 2023! I got mine and was super inspired by it)

(Y’all I had a good portion written down and then I accidentally tapped a notification that popped up on my phone and lost it all. So part of this had to be rewritten L)

(Btw, your choice if you want the shiny baneful fox mask or the normal one!)

Ingo x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Platonic/Romantic

Summary: Ingo, new to the Pearl Clan, is going around and meeting everyone. And then he gets to you…

~~~~~~

The Pearl Clan could see the distortion from miles away, how the rift tore and crackled. Lady Sneasler, despite being a Highlands dweller, was visiting the Pearl Clan Settlement that day, and more than a few were surprised to see her rush off towards the distortion.

Hours later, after that distortion had long been gone, Lady Sneasler returned, a worn and ragged man in her arms.

He was taken in, his wounds wrapped and tended to. When he awoke, he introduced himself as Ingo, and how the only thing he remembered was falling, no other memories of where he hailed from.

The Pearl Clan allowed him to stay after seeing how well he got along with the Pokémon, and how much Lady Sneasler had taken to him as well. They gave him clothes more befitting of the harsh winter winds, and a few were surprised to hear him refuse them taking his old, torn clothes. He had kept the coat and hat, mentioning that the articles of ragged fabric felt important to him. Like they were a piece of him somehow.

It had been a few days since his fall, Ingo learning the significant landmarks of the Alabaster Icelands, the Pokémon and their Alphas, and meeting the different Clan members and their beliefs.

At one point, Irida had mentioned you, and that is what led to Ingo traveling to the Alabaster Forest, a Machoke at his side. Irida had mentioned you were another of the Pearl Clan’s wardens, despite you staying out in the wilderness quite often.

Ingo was given a vague description of you, but Irida had mentioned the most prominent feature. A Baneful Fox mask.

You had a past with the fox Pokémon that lived in the forest. From what you had shared with the Clan, you were on your own when an avalanche cut through your village. You were found by an Alpha Zoroark when her pups led her to your half-frozen form in the snow. From there, the Zoroark had brought you to the Pearl Clan, not too different from how Sneasler had brought him.

Since then, you’d gone out of your way to greet the Pokémon that saved you whenever you went out for supplies. Irida said that’s what you were probably up to now, collecting medicinal leeks and other berries for the clan.

The trees that soon surrounded him helped block the icy chill that threatened to cut through his clothes, his steely gaze giving a slow sweep of the area as he walked. This was where Irida said you’d be, so where…?

A sudden crashing through the underbrush caught his attention, red and white fur rushing out at him with fangs bared. Machoke was quick to step in front of Ingo, prepared to protect his new friend when—

“Zoroark! They bare my clan’s symbol!”

The alpha Zoroark came to a screeching halt, piercing yellow eyes locked onto Ingo before it glanced back at the sound of your feet crunching through the snow.

“So sorry if Zoroark scared you! You’re just a new face a biiit too close to her territory.” You walked up beside the Alpha fearlessly, adjusting the baneful fox mask up a bit to show your clan member your face, your other arm holding a basket of medicinal leeks to your side.

“It is quite understandable.” Ingo took a moment to both settle his nerves and dip his hat in respect to the both of you, “I had merely traveled out this way in search of the final Pearl Clan Warden I had yet to meet.”

“Did you come from the distortion a few days ago? I had just reached Zoroark’s woods when it started, and she didn’t really let me leave for a bit, so I’ve been gathering quite an amount of herbs for the clan!”

“I did fall from the distortion rift,” Ingo hummed, “I have lost most of my memories however, and so the Pearl Clan was kind enough to let me stay.”

“Machoke!” The fighting type besides him chirped, smiling brightly.

“They all seem surprised I get along so well with Pokémon however…”

“Well,” you reached up to adjust your mask, Zoroark gently nudging you towards Ingo before taking off, “Not many people here do!”

You both turned and began the trek back to the settlement as you gave each other your names, Ingo taking some of the herbs you’d collected to lighten your load. “Many people here fear Pokémon, and finding someone who can quickly make friends and cooperate with them isn’t easy.”

“I see.” Ingo mused, glancing up at the gray clouds for a moment. Seemed like a snowstorm was brewing again. “If I think hard enough, a part of me feels like my world is drastically different than this one.”

“One where people and Pokémon get along?”

“Yes.”

You grinned under your mask, Ingo just barely able to catch sight of it. “That world sounds amazing. Maybe someday we can meet Almighty Sinnoh, and it can take you back there. I’m sure you must miss it.”

“I do, even if I don’t remember it. But task at hand, we should hurry if we don’t wish to get caught in a snowstorm.”

You nodded, adjusting your bag before picking up the pace.

Perhaps once the storm was over, you’d take Ingo to meet Zoroark’s children. Even though their first interaction seemed tense, you knew right away she trusted him, just as you had.

#Pokémon Hisui #pokémon legends arceus #pokémon ingo #pokémon x reader #ingo x reader #fluff #platonic #romantic #legends arceus ingo #zoroark #pokemon oneshots #pokémon #pokemon hisui #gn!reader

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

So, uh supercalifragilisticexpialidocious everyone~

Alabaster rubbed his eyes and checked the status of his runes. He had 4, 5 if he was willing to take risks, hours before Lamia would caught up to him again.

He looked at the mattress on the floor of his temporary base. It looked...tempting. Maybe if he closed his eyes—

No. There was no time for naps. He needed to find a way to get rid of the monster on his trail. And another place to crash if-when Lamia would discover his current hiding place.

Research. Then back to the roads. He didn't have the luxury the simple mattress offered. He ignored the stinging of his eyes.

"You're never going to get anywhere with this."

He whipped around towards his mattress. And the figure sitting on it. The misty figure kept shifting like a kettle's steam. It's eyes; iris, pupil, sclera were all glowing green. Just looking at it hurt Alabaster's eyes.

He blinked a few times, trying to remember if there was someone here before, how it went past his runes; before panic hit him. It went past his runes.

He scrambled back, knocking down his chair in the process and assumed a combat position.

The figure sighed, furrowing it's brows in disappointment. "Were we always this paranoid?"

Alabaster tensed. "We?"

He watched in quiet horror as the figure had morphed to his look-alike.

"Yes, we. You're never going to get anywhere with this." It-he repeated. "You're drained."

Alabaster scowled at his doppelganger as he patted the spot next to him. "I'm not."

And yet, even as he said it he knew it wasn't true. He could barely keep his eyes open, or move his burning limbs. Last time he was running he had realised he had forgotten his spell book of all things, and had to go back which gave Lamia the opportunity to rake her claws across his back. They still hurt. And he had run out of both ambrosia and nectar, there was only so much he could do with mortal medicine.

"We are. And too proud to admit it." The doppelganger got up and strided purposefully toward him. Alabaster, instinctively took steps back until his back hit the wall. "But you don't have to lie to yourself, no matter how much I know we love to do it."

Alabaster breathed heavily as the thing pushed him against the wall. Gods, had it been this corporal before? Shivers went down his spine as he tenderly caressed his face. "You're not me." He choked out.

"But I am. Your darkest powers and deepest desires."

Alabaster blinked back tears as he held the wrist of the hand caressing his face. "What do you want?"

"We need to rest. I can help with that. And Lamia, too."

"How?"

"Let me take over."

"I can't," he swallowed, "I can't allow that."

The other looked at him with the care he hadn't seen in months, not since his exile, it made his heart ache. "No one you care about is alive, Alabaster. No one who cares about you."

'But me.' went unsaid.

"I'm tired." He admitted as he collapsed into the other's arms. Gods, did it feel good to be held again. There was nothing his mother could do in that aspect, not when the tyrants above the sky banned any physical interaction between them on top of his banishment, leaving them to only rely on dreams.

He felt number by seconds, as his brain started to feel stuffed with cotton and the joyful laughter of his siblings echoed around his mind.

"Then sleep, Alabaster. May you never wake again."

#supercalifragilisticexpialidocious #pjo #alabaster torrington #manipulation tw #possession #my writing #I was *not* expecting to write anything for this thing. But here we are ig #al is so so touch starved #my poor boy

[beuatifulbuttercup]

Even More Even More Titan Army

Introducing a new head cannon: Valentina Diaz!

Ethan: You're just jealous. All my friends tell me I remind them of Alabaster. The Squad: screaming Valentina: They look like Alabaster? Are you out of your fucking MIND? Chris: Alabaster, sweetie, I am SO sorry. I am SO SORRY that an ugly-ass bitch like this would even say that. Oh my god. Valentina: Alabaster? Alabaster? Alabaster? You know who you fucking look like? You fucking look like Lou!

Lou: Alabaster, I know you snuck out to see Ethan last night. Alabaster: If you tell Chris or Valentina, I swear I’ll murder you, and they’ll never find the body. Lou: Five bucks? Alabaster: Fine

Ethan: There's no meeting today because Alabaster is at the police station. Lou: They're in jail?! Chris: We have to get them out! Valentina: Jailbreak! I'm in! Chris: I'll dress up and distract the guard! Valentina: Ooh, I'll bake some food to help distract ALL the guards! Lou: I guess I could bring my frying pan in case we need a shield to keep us from being shot- Ethan: No! Alabaster wasn't arrested! They're undercover, taking the system down from the inside. They don't need our help!

The Squad: walking at the mall Alabaster: Hey, have any of you guys seen Lou? They’ve been gone for a while.. Valentina: Eh, nope. Chris: No, I haven’t… Ethan: Probably ran off to McDonald’s or something. Lou: Hey. Alabaster: Ooh, there you are- Valentina: What the fu- Ethan: I- where were you?! Lou: Walking right behind you guys.

Lou: What does “take out” mean? Chris: Food. Valentina: Dating. Ethan: Murder. Alabaster: It can be all three if you’re brave enough.

Valentina: You know what I learned from my friendship with Ethan? Lou: There’s no such thing as too mean? Alabaster: Never let your friends know for sure if you like them? Chris: Always hold a grudge?

Chris: Ah, yes. Here we have a beautiful couple… Lou: I really care about your feelings! Valentina: I really care about YOUR feelings! Chris, turning their head: …and then there's the disaster couple… Ethan: YOU NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE HOSPITAL! Alabaster: I WOULDN'T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU STOPPED INSISTING ON FIGHTING EVERYONE WHO COMES WITHIN A FIVE FOOT RADIUS OF YOU!

Lou: What makes you all smile? Valentina: Friends and Family. Chris: Snacks. Alabaster: Victory and success. Ethan: Face muscles.

In a group chat Alabaster: A pegan just flew into my window. Valentina: Pegan? Chris: A what? Ethan: Ah yes, my favourite bird, Pegan. Lou: I thought you said penguin for a second, LMAO! Ethan: Just a normal day with flying penguins crashing into my window. Lou: You have pigeons flying into your window? Can't relate, I have penguins flying into my window. Alabaster: I literally just made a typo-

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #titan army #lou ellen blackstone #chris rodriguez #ethan nakamura #alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #valentina diaz #I can and will go into extensive detail onto why I think Valentina and lou are in the army #but that's a story for another day