#clari chatters

[inkykeiji]

me going to dinner with my boyfriend’s parents with my hair high UP completely forgetting that he gave me two massive hickeys on my neck plus a hickey on my ear :) love it :)

#i feel like a fool #a FOOL #oh wellllllllll :// what can ya do #only just realized when i looked at myself in the mirror and went ‘oh sHIT’ #🙄🙄🙄 #clari chatters

[inkyajax]

he’s here and he’s beautiful (´∀｀)♡

!!!!!!!!!!! Daddy came home!!! like, surprisingly early too ehehehehe <333

#i pulled diluc too but in my excitement i forgot to take a photo lmao #so!!! anyway!!! have this mediocre shot of my daddy <3 #i am In Love with him #i also have NO materials to level him up with lmfao #i’ll figure it out #clari chatters

[laenordeservedbetter]

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

Words: 1k

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader (Godly parent not specified)

Synopsis: Clarisse was fine with not getting anything she wanted until she laid her eyes on you.

Warnings: Pining, whipped!Clarisse, This is mostly in Clarisse's POV, handling of dangerous weapons (a dagger and a spear). [Let me know if I missed any.]

A/N: I apologize if the storyline is messy. I wanted this to be longer, but my attention span was not cooperating with me today. I had to take a lot of breaks while writing this because I could not sit still for more than five minutes.

masterlist || previous work

—

Clarisse remembers the first time she saw you.

You were in the forge, polishing some of the newly-made spears because you had nothing better to do. You were under the supervision of Luke since he was showing you around, but the boy had kept his distance, opting to just watch from the sidelines as you worked. Clarisse had walked into the forge, the chatter that was going on around you stopping. You discontinued what you were doing in order to look at her, wondering why your fellow campers were on-edge at her presence.

Your eyes met hers, taking her aback.

She hadn’t seen you before.

Once Clarisse realized that she was staring, she promptly cleared her throat, scowling. “What are you looking at, newbie?” She asked, crossing her arms. Her plans on scaring you, however, failed when you smiled sheepishly.

You had been equally mesmerized by her, something that she failed to notice. “Sorry, you’re just so—”

Clarisse held her breath, preparing herself for an accusation (that she’s mean and terrifying – both of which are true, but words that sting nonetheless). Though, it’s not like she’s going to think about it for the rest of –

“—Pretty.” You conclude your sentence.

Oh.

Clarisse’s brows furrowed. She thought she would hear something insulting, but instead she was met with a compliment? Her eyes searched yours once again, looking for a trace of malice. She didn’t find any, which made her confusion stir all the more. She scoffs, furious at herself for not being able to figure you out. “Whatever.” Clarisse walks away, turning her back on you so as to not show her weakness. She storms back to the Ares cabin, forgetting the reason why she went to the forge in the first place.

You frown as you look at the dagger in your hand, examining the initials engraved on the grip.

C.L.R.

---

The next time Clarisse saw you was when you were watching her train, your eyes following her every move. Clarisse pretended to ignore you until she found herself unable to focus. She put down her spear, turned to you and asked, “Would you like me to teach you?” before she could even stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, please.”

You walked over and Clarisse pretty much had to use all her self-restraint to not just stand there and stare at you.

“…Alright, so you hold this and—”

---

It had been ages since that day.

Even though you and Clarisse have gotten closer, there was still a part of her that longs for more. See, ninety-nine percent of the time, her wishes don’t come true. Or it does, for a little while, but then it gets ripped away from her grasp. She gets her hopes up and then it all comes crashing down – a cycle that never ends.

Clarisse has come to terms with the thought that she will never gets what she wants. She supposed that she was okay with that, but then you came along and everything changed. For every smile, every crinkle of your nose, every stupid joke that made you laugh, she finds herself wanting to wish that you would feel the same way she does.

“Clary?”

She snaps out of her reverie and looks at you, “Yes?” She felt embarrassed for not paying attention, smiling apologetically.

“I asked if you wanted to—”

“Yes.”

You sit up in her bed, laughing. “I haven’t even finished the sentence yet.” You grab her hand gingerly, locking your fingers together. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me—”

“Yes.”

“Clarisse,” You whine, “Let me continue first.” You pout, trying to let go of her hand, but Clarisse wouldn’t let you.

Clarisse shakes her head, holding on to your hand firmly while her other brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “I don’t care. I’ll go wherever you go.” She says genuinely. Being that close to you made Clarisse’s heart race, but she couldn’t bring it in herself to look away because then you’ll know that something was up.

You stare at her in disbelief, crossing your arms, “Really? You’ll go with me to show the new kid around camp?”

Her lips purse and you know you’ve got her. Clarisse lets out a sigh of resignation. “No.” She mumbles. As much as she’d love to spend more time with you, she and you have very opposing ideas on how to welcome new campers.

“Thought so.” You deadpan.

“Why are you the one doing it, anyway?”

“Because I’m still in trouble for staying past curfew two days ago, pretty girl.”

Clarisse froze at the nickname. If her heart wasn’t beating fast before, it surely was now. You chuckle, beginning to make your way out of the bed. “Hey, no, where are you going?” Clarisse grabs your hand, another laugh escaping you.

“To give that tour.” You roll your eyes, successfully prying your hands away from Clarisse’s grip. You ignore her sounds of protest as you make your way to the door.

Clarisse could feel her stomach drop, feeling the warmth slip away the further your distance becomes. The longer she stares at you with your back turned, the longer she thinks you would leave without saying goodbye. To her surprise (and not for the first time), you look back at her.

“I’ll see you later at the bonfire.” You lean against the doorframe, your eyes narrowing. “Don’t be late, alright?”

Clarisse rolls her eyes at the look you give her. She was only late one time and that was because she was debating with herself whether to give you flowers or not. She wanted to tell you the real reason why she was late, but decided it would be best to keep her mouth shut. “I won’t.” She says instead.

“Good.” You straighten your posture, putting one foot out the door while a hand rested on the doorframe, giving Clarisse a smile she knows you only reserved for her. Only when she smiles back do you actually take your leave.

Clarisse gets a sense of hope upon your departure.

Maybe it would be different this time.

She leans back against the bed frame, sending out the same prayer to every god she could think of.

Please, please, please let me get what I want.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson series

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

prompt: malec and the gang having korean bbq, everyone look in puzzled as magnus the one who do the grilling and then just put everything in alec plate

Anh? Actually sending a decent prompt for once? More likely than you think 😳

Read on ao3

****

Maybe it was the six glasses of soju, maybe it was the atmosphere - the restaurant lit like a 90’s bar, the blue aquariums lining the walls full of colourful fish (a sight that made Alec miss his children - Max and Rafael would’ve adored them), the music playing through the speakers of the restaurant and the smell of hot sizzling meat - but Alec was feeling especially smitten today.

Or maybe it was the love of his life looking particularly sexy today, wearing a powder blue silk shirt with the top few buttons left undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was a little looser than usual, a few stray locks falling in front of his face. His eyeliner was sleek and sharp, and lips pursed in intense concentration as he flipped some shrimp on the grill.

Alec was just content to watch him for now, chin propped up on a palm, hearts in his eyes.

They had come out for Korean barbecue - him and Magnus, and Jace and Clary and Isabelle and Simon - because it was the weekend, and because Isabelle thought it’d be fun to go out on a ‘triple date’, and because Jace and Magnus had clashed on what kind of food they wanted and Korean barbecue ultimately met both their needs.

Alec could hear the chatter of conversation between the others, but his eyes were only on Magnus, who was now busy rolling a piece of shrimp and some pickled garlic in lettuce, which he then dipped in some chilli oil and held out to Alec.

“Say ahhh.”

Alec rolled his eyes but complied anyway, letting Magnus feed him. The taste of crisp lettuce hit him first, and then the chilli and the shrimp and everything else, the flavour while literally bursting into Alec’s mouth.

Magnus smiled, no doubt enjoying what he called Alec’s “foodgasm face”.

“Good?”

“Mmhmm,” Alec nodded, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he chewed. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but smile a little.

Magnus feeding him had become something of a habit between them. It was a result of Alec’s long work days that blended into nights in an extra office Magnus had summoned up for him inside their apartment, plus Magnus’s persistent desire for himself and everyone around him to eat well, particularly a minimum of three meals a day minimum.

So, these days, when Alec tended to answer ‘you should eat something’ with some variation of ‘later’ more than three times in a row, Magnus would simply sigh and summon up a plate of food and a stool next to Alec’s chair. He’d feed Alec until the plate was left empty, sometimes with chopsticks, sometimes with a fork or spoon, sometimes with his fingers, carefully wiping away any excess left on Alec’s lips afterwards.

It was probably not something to get used to, and Alec might have to put a stop to it sooner or later, but screw him - he had a repressed childhood and loved being pampered.

Right now, Magnus was feeding him a second helping of a lettuce roll with shrimp, when someone cleared their throat from across the table.

“Are we going to get some, too, or are you just going to feed Alec everything?” Jace pouted.

Alec snorted, “I’m pretty sure you can assemble your own rolls, Jace.”

“Okay, one,” Jace protested, “you can assemble your own too, and two, I’d be doing it right now if Magnus hadn’t dumped all the cooked shrimp onto your plate.”

Alec looked down at his plate, and - yep, there was a heap of shrimp on there.

Magnus sighed, looking long-suffering. “I put on another batch for you guys, they’ll be cooked soon.”

“What if you’re too busy cooing over Alec and they burn?” Jace narrowed his eyes.

“I keep telling you I can grill-“ Isabelle butt in.

“Oh, it’s fine- I mean- Magnus has way more experience so-“ Clary interrupted, steering the evening clear of disaster. 

Isabelle sighed and leaned back in her chair. “When will the world appreciate my talent?”

“I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with any of this,” Simon muttered to no one in particular. The waitstaff had kindly procured pre-grilled vegetarian alternatives for him, which included grilled mushrooms, tofu and pineapple slices. 

Simon hadn’t touched the pineapples so far. Alec didn’t think he was planning on doing so either.

Magnus sighed, “I won’t let them burn. Also, you can have the first serving of brisket.”

Jace seemed satisfied with that offer, and busied himself with the glass noodles they had served as a side.

Magnus paused to flip the shrimp on the grill, and then turned his attention back to Alec, assembling another roll and holding it out for him.

Alec shook his head. “You should eat too, love.”

“You first, babygirl,” Magnus grinned.

Alec rolled his eyes again, but how could he ever refuse?

#send me prompts! #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane

[alexanderlightweight]

Hey! could you do something with autistic alec? cus i saw one of your fics with that tag and i love autistic Alec :) cus i feel seen and it makes me really happy ❤️❤️

so first things first anon, i have wonderful news! all of my alec's are autistic because i headcanon him as autistic and thats the only way i write him really <3

i'm autistic and thats just how I ended up writing him and i have for years, but i stopped tagging it because i got tired of dealing with people (this is not directed at you btw, i was so excited to see this prompt and that you liked them and felt seen by it!!! because thats what i originally wanted) who didn't feel i made alec 'autistic enough' which just annoyed and triggered me so i stopped tagging it. also some gross stereotypes and at one point someone told me to 'prove i was autistic'... but that was several years ago.

now i live with my bf who is more than happy to deal with ignorant people for me, so i'm happy to start tagging it again if it makes people feel seen? since that's the most important part. so this is autistic alec but it's more domestic than focusing on autistic? since like i mentioned, all my alecs are?

so i hope you enjoy that knowledge and this fic.

also, in pretty much all of my fics Magnus is Alec's main Special Interest. it's why he kind of just is happy doing things Magnus likes, because that's who he likes enjoying himself and that makes his day. Especially when he contributes to it in some way or just gets to bask in it.

lumine

-

Alec stares at the group of ichor-dripping shadowhunters in front of him and looks blankly at the sheepish faces of his hunters and the unrepentant, mulish expressions of Jace and Clary.

Already he knows exactly how this is about to go and he wants no part of it. In fact, he is activating his newest protocol.

“Mirai!” He yells out and in a flash of runic speed, his second is there and staring at the group with her own scowl. “These two teams seem to think that whatever mess they got into, that it required the Head of the Institute, do you agree?”

Mirai scoffs and gives the group a dark look, “Commander, the only thing they need is to be tossed into decontamination and put on ichor duty for a few shifts. Especially since one of them left a body shaped dent in an alley wall and mundane chatter picked it up.”

Jace winces suspiciously and Alec sends him a scolding look, because he really should know better.

“You didn’t punch the wall or something after? Make it less suspicious?” Alec asks, because they have protocols, and nothing tonight should have required such sloppy work.

“Clary saw something and—” Jace trails off and shrugs, as if realizing he’s only about to get himself and his little menace in more trouble.

“I’m leaving.” Alec finally says and he turns, walking out of the Institute itself instead of just going to his office.

—

“What’s wrong?” Magnus asks and Alexander melts into him, ignoring Magnus’ book and his cup and his greedy boy practically shoves them out of the way so he can collapse onto Magnus’ lap.

“People are wrong.” Alexander tells him and he makes a grumble against Magnus’ belly, “no more talking now.” Alexander tells him, which means that his boy is very close to overstimulation or is already there.

“Alright darling, I have you.” Magnus promises and the lights dim, and he hesitates before he touches Alexander, relieved when Alexander nuzzles into the touch.

Alexander mumbles an agreement but doesn’t say anything else and Magnus lets time pass as he gently plays with Alexander’s hair until his boy finally, slowly takes a deep breath and sits up. He’s avoiding Magnus’ gaze but in a relaxed way, so Magnus waits patiently. There are lips pressed to his cheek and Alexander leans against him, snuggling into his side and claiming Magnus’ hand to wrap around himself so he can kiss the knuckles.

“Shall I portal us away?” Magnus offers, because sometimes the rare occasion of being taken somewhere safe and protected by Magnus’ magic is appealing. Other times, like now, Alexander just shakes his head with a sigh and leans more firmly into him.

“No, I need to stay here and be on standby. Mirai is going to cover for me while I take a break though. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, if they hadn’t brought in enough ichor to give every shadowhunter a headache. Sensory overload when I wasn’t expecting it and I was already pretty raw from my meeting with the clave.”

“You can relax here.” Magnus promises him, reminding Alexander that the loft is safe and will always be safe for him.

Anywhere Magnus is will always be a space that is safe for his boy.

#writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #lumine writes #autistic alec lightwood #actually autistic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec #shadowhunters #shadowhunters au

[myadmiringmind]

An Angels Arms | Jace Herondale

Jace Herondale Masterlist

Summary: You fall asleep after spending an evening surrounded by your family and friends, and you wake up in your husbands arms.

Notes:

Jace and reader are married

They live in the Herondale estate

Magnus and Alec are married

Max Lightwood-Bane is in this (he’s a little over one)

|PICTURES ARE NOT MINE|

----

Pairing(s); Jace Herondale x wife!reader, Magnus Bane-Lightwood x Alec Lightwood-Bane, Isabelle Lightwood x Simon Lovelace, Luke Graymark x Jocelyn Fairchild

Warnings: Food, some sexual innuendos (kinda)

Characters included/mentioned: Luke Graymark, Jocelyn Fairchild, Mayrse Lightwood, Clary Fairchild, Simon Lovelace, Isabelle Lightwood, Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane, and Max Lightwood-Bane

----

-------------------------

The institute shone in holiday lights. It took everyone hours to decorate the inside of the institute. You could still hear Jace grumbling in your ear about how pointless the entire thing was. But you all had persevered. The institute looked so glorious. Many pictures were taken because everyone was very proud of the results.

Magnus summoned most of the decorations, others were made by everyone in attendance (even Jace though he wasn’t given a choice), and some even came from respective childhoods. 

The halls were filled with the sound of holiday music as you all decorated. With the occasional argument over decorations, (and the mishap where Max accidentally set multiple trees on fire), you were all putting in work. The institute truly looked like a Christmas card. 

Jace, being the angsty adult teenager he is, kept pestering you about when dinner was going to get there. 

....................

Last night was Christmas Eve and though the majority were neither religious or didn’t celebrate Christmas, it was agreed to get together to celebrate the holidays that night.

The institute smelled delightful with multiple pastries and appetizers adoring the tables. 

First, you waited for everyone to show up. You and Jace got there early as the Lightwood siblings had agreed to help their mother with preparing the food. You decided to come along with Jace because you thought there was no point waiting three more hours waiting at home when you could show up early and help your mother-in-law. Jace hadn’t been looking forward to helping Mayrse cook and clean, any more than he was excited to see what food Isabelle decided to bring. 

When you portalled into the institute you immediately heard chatter in the kitchen. 

After setting down your bags of presents by the tree, you followed the noise and sure enough, Isabelle, Alec, Simon, and Maryse were already there. Mayse was standing very intimidatingly in the center of the kitchen giving everyone orders with a wave of the knife she was holding. 

“Ah, the perfect picture of Shadowhunter holidays.” Jace said announcing your presence

Mayrses head had snapped towards the two of you and she smiled immediately embracing her adopted son, and you as well (to your surprise). 

“Good, you’re here. Jace, go help Alec with the stuffing. Dear, if you could help Simon and Isabelle with the mashed potatoes that would be lovely.” 

Simon looked like he was meant for a baking show, with a holiday apron and white chefs hat. He seemed very concerned as he watched his fiance pour things into the bowl. When you came over he smiled, happy to not have to be the one to tell Isabelle that she wasn’t following the recipe correctly and therefore getting snapped at.

And so the next few hours passed with a lot of orders from Maryse and annoyed debate from Isabelle after she considered putting brownie batter in the mashed potatoes. 

........

Then, Luke and Jocelyn showed up holding ceramic bowls filled with food. 

Clary came only a few moments later her red hair disheveled and covered with snow, a bag clearly filled with presents hung at her side. 

Last, but certainly not least, coming fashionably late, was Magnus and a well dressed Max. 

Unfortunately Robert Lightwood had some things in Alicante that he couldn’t be excused for. So he was unable to join.

They invited Aline and her family but they were spending Christmas with Aline’s girlfriend, Helen, and the rest of the Blackthorn family.

Greetings went by swiftly and then everyone sat down and ate dinner. 

Afterwards multiple card and board games were gone through. Jace and Alec had gotten up sometime in the middle wanting to ‘fetch something’ but you translated that to ‘I want to go play swords with my parabatai’. They were only gone for a few moments before Mayrse had dragged them back saying they were going to ruin their nice clothes. 

You have to say your favorite part was when Mayrse began retelling past holiday stories about Jace, Alec, Isabelle, and their late brother Max.

.....................

Finally the presents were passed around. 

Max got an overwhelming amount of presents by Alec’s standards. 

“You guys really didn’t have to get him so many presents. I mean, you should see the amount that is lying under our own tree back home!” Alec stressed.

But Max was happy so he didn’t press much more. 

You gave Jace a ceramic duck, he glared at you and shook his head disapprovingly as everyone else laughed in amusement. 

“Just be glad I didn’t get a live duck like Magnus suggested.” You whispered

Jace looked a little horrified at the thought and shivered. 

.........................

After presents were done, the mindless chatter began. 

People would take turns playing with Max, and then Max would be passed around on people's laps once he started to get tired, eventually landing in Alec’s lap while Magnus played with his son's hair affectionately. 

You couldn’t remember when you first started getting lulled into sleep. Maybe it was when Magnus sat at the piano, playing multiple tunes that he had heard throughout his life. Probably not when Clary and Simon recited a holiday song they learned in elementary school. If you couldn’t guess they weren’t the best of singers. Perhaps it was when Jace started combing his fingers through your hair, as you laid your head against his chest. The warmth of his body and the rythmic sound of his heartbeat probably helped as well. Yeah, that was probably it. 

...........

The light pours into your room. Not unpleasant but enough to wake you from your peaceful slumber. 

You quickly realize that you’re back in the Herondale house. The new familiarity of the room you and Jace (mostly you, since Jace kept insisting he didn’t care how you decorated) decorated. The single bookshelf that isn’t a far distance from your bed holds both of your favorite reads as well as photographs from your wedding, honeymoon, missions, and other memorable moments with your family and friends. 

Your eyes first go to a picture with Jace, who wore a wide grin with his nephew, Max on his shoulders wearing one quite similar. You took that photo while at a fair (something Jace had considered ‘childish’ but had a lot of fun at). It was at the end of the night. Max obviously exhausted, but overall ecstatic, it had been his first time at the fair. Jace looked sweaty and worn out but you could tell that he wasn’t tired. He was a shadowhunter after all. 

On a shelf down is a picture of you and Jace, simply talking. It was after a rougher mission and you were both bloodied and bruised but the look of pure love the two of you shared had drawn you to frame it. 

Looking towards the left, on your windowsill was a picture from your wedding. You in your gold dress, and Jace in his button up black shirt with his black leather jacket. You and Jace were sitting down, tired from socializing and dancing. Your head was on his shoulder and he was peering down at you, a big smile on his face, one that reflected on your own. 

You laugh a little bit thinking back to a time where you thought you and Jace would’ve never been. How happy you are that you were wrong.

“What are you laughing at so early in the morning?” A familiar voice rasps, still laced in sleep

You shake your head moving your body so you could face him. “Nothing.” you smile brightly looking at him. 

Jace Herondale, your husband, who is more angel than the majority of Shadow Hunters, has killed more demons than anyone his age, and a damn good shadow hunter, is laying in bed next to you, his eyes lined with a reminisce of sleep. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” The blonde voices with a tired smirk

You huff out a laugh and comb your fingers lazily through his blonde locks. 

Jace makes a grumble of appreciation and his mouth softens to a genuine pleased smile. His head subconsciously leans into your head.

You smile and go down for a kiss, one he returns with great pleasure. 

Kissing Jace Herondale is how you would imagine a goodbye-this is the last time I might ever see you again-kiss. Its hard, full of passion, and yearning.

His hand is on the back of your head with a firm-but not too firm-grip keeping you close. 

You are the one to pull away first causing a noise of disapproval from your husband. 

“Merry Christmas.” You barely manage to say before Jaces lips were back on yours. 

With a bit of a struggle you pull back and smiled, “We need to get ready.” 

Jace scoffs disapprovingly, “What for?” 

“We’re supposed to be meeting up with your family again later.” You answer

“Later. We saw plenty of them last night. I’m sure they won’t mind me spending today with my wife.” He says before pulling you in for another kiss

“You spend every day with me.” You murmur trying to hold onto the thought of Alec, Magnus, and Max who were expecting you later on. 

“And everyday I only want you more.” He whispers, his hands roaming your body in pleasure, pulling you closer to him as if you were pulling away.

But you weren’t, you're not sure you could when you wanted him just as much. 

You pull back and hold his face in your hands, his lips still only a few inches from yours. 

He pouts and glares at you. 

You laugh in response. 

“We can’t miss breakfast. Magnus will hold it over our heads for the rest of our lives.” 

“I don’t give a flying fu-” Jace began only for you to cover his mouth

“Jace!” You laugh a little. Just a little. 

The famous Herondale smirk was ever so present when you remove your hand. “Fine. We can do breakfast, lunch, and dinner or whatever but after that you’re mine for the night.” 

Your heart skips a beat, “Sounds wonderful.” 

He smiles bringing you in this time for a warm embrace.

“I love you.” You murmur into his shoulder

“I love you more.” He murmurs back, a stupid grin on his face.

#jace herondale imagine #jace herondale #jace lightwood #jace herondale x reader #jace herondale fluff #the mortal instruments #jamie campbell bower #simon lewis #isabelle lightwood #alec lightwood #magnus bane

[x-ceirios-x]

warlocks

magnus arrives home from the fight on valentine's ship to unexpected guests.

cw: alcohol consumption

Magnus sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment, thinking he needed a very strong drink and a several-day-long nap. The shadow world was safe, for now, after Clary’s new-found rune powers destroyed Valentine’s ship. However, his magic was severely depleted after spending so much time holding back the demonic wards. It was all he could do to stay awake in Luke’s truck and keep that above water. Until Alec came, he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. He borrowed his strength when he offered, though, and it helped him get back to shore safely. Both of them. 

When he walked into the living room, he was both shocked and confused to see the lights on. He could have sworn he turned everything off before he left—no, he knew that was true. As he walked through the living room, he noticed the smooth jazz coming from seemingly nowhere and quiet chatter from the kitchen. He armed himself with a small ball of magic, though he knew he wasn’t up for a fight right now. Slowly and silently, he stalked into the kitchen–he turned the corner quickly, arm raised and prepared to attack whoever it was. 

He didn’t know what he expected to see when he walked into his kitchen, but it certainly wasn’t two warlocks, one sitting on the stools to his island counter and the other sitting on the counter itself, swinging her feet. He lowered his arm and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Eleanor,” he said with a sigh. 

“Magnus!” The girl slid off of the counter and ran to him, embracing him quickly and tightly. Shock wearing off, he relaxed into her arms, happy to see an old friend even if it was in strange circumstances like this. He leaned his head against hers for a moment, enjoying the familiarity after the day he’d had. 

She pulled away just as abruptly as she’d embraced him. “Oh, where have you been?” she asked, hands running over his face quickly, inspecting him for injuries. He assumed he didn’t look as extravagant as he did usually when he had company. “You’re not hurt, are you? You look pale, would you like some tea?”

“Eleanor.” The other warlock spoke this time—Eleanor’s twin brother, Desmin. He placed his glass on the counter next to him and shot her a half-hearted glare. “You're smothering him.”

She perked up, processing his words for a moment, then pulled her hands away from him. “Sorry, dear,” she said with a cheery smile, spinning on her heel. She reached under the island, where he kept his alcohol, and pulled out two glasses filled with a shimmery, pink liquid. He liked her drinks when she made them by hand, not by magic, but he wasn’t one to complain. She was one hell of a bartender. “Cosmo?”

He nodded, eyes a little wide at the offer. “Please,” he said, taking a seat next to Desmin. He raised the glass in a small thank-you, then downed half of it. She chuckled and he saw a hint of a smile from Desmin as well, sipping his own drink. He hoped it wasn’t his good whiskey but knew better—both had expensive tastes. 

She took a sip of her drink, then broke the silence. “We brought takeout, I hope you still like shrimp lo mein.”

He nodded and she slid a takeout box across the counter at him—after the night he had, the takeout sounded amazing. He wouldn’t have cooked if it would have saved his life, he was too tired. Despite not being up for company, he thought the twins being there was some strange kind of miracle. With them, came a little chaos, some alcohol, but a warm, familial feeling he could never pass up. 

“We showed up around nine,” she explained as he ate. “I convinced Desmin to go out clubbing because I heard there was a neat little place called Pandemonium around here. Then you weren’t here, so we just decided to hang out until you got home. I got worried after you didn’t answer your phone.”

Magnus swallowed the bite of food he had in his mouth and gestured to Desmin with his chopsticks. “I think the strangest part of that is the fact you convinced Desmin to go clubbing.”

“I go clubbing,” he said. “I stand in the corner with my one drink of the night and watch people make fools of themselves. Very entertaining.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, Magnus, you should have seen him a few weeks ago. We took a trip to Prague and he met this fae—“

Desmin’s eyes flew wide open and his cheeks reddened. “You promised not to talk about Prague!”

“It’s Magnus!”

“I need to hear about this,” he said, moderately impressed that there was some story he was so embarrassed about he forbade Eleanor from talking about it.  

She smirked. “I have never seen so many hickeys on this guy in my life—“

“Eleanor!”

They both broke out into laughter at his embarrassment. It was all out of love, of course, but he heard a few colorful, choice words under his breath. “I need another drink to deal with you two,” he said sarcastically, gesturing for Eleanor to hand him something. She pulled the bottle from under the counter and slid it to him, where he proceeded to pour several shots worth of his good whiskey. He must have noticed his shock and he shrugged. “We’ll pay you back for it. Always do.”

His eyes narrowed, though he couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “You’d better.”

Eleanor sat on his other side, picking a piece of shrimp from his dish and popping it into her mouth. He elbowed her arm for it. “My dinner!” he argued.

“I paid, let me have a little shrimp,” she said, settling next to him. “Where have you been all evening, though?”

He sighed. “It’s a very long, long story. I’d rather talk about that later.” She nodded in agreement, though he could tell she was still worried about him. He gave her an encouraging smile, slowly feeling the energy come back to him as he had something to eat. “Where have you two been? It’s been…what, thirty years?”

She shrugged, glancing past him to Desmin, then back. He noticed the little shimmers of purple in her eyes as she looked around—he always thought it was pretty. He’d never seen either of the twin’s warlock marks, but he assumed that was part of it. “A little bit everywhere. Rome for half the nineties, but we got bored of things there so we tried Barcelona for a little while, that was fun. Back to London in ‘89–“

“Back to London?” he asked. “I thought you said you’d never go back there after the whole…incident.”

Desmin scoffed. “That’s what I said. But no, she insisted on getting on West End.”

Magnus gasped. “That was you? I thought those pictures looked familiar!” he grinned at her. “You put on a hell of a glamor, dear. Who knew the great Allison Everett of West End was going to end up sitting in my living room.”

She gave a small, yet dramatic, bow from her seat and chuckled at his comment. “Let me say, those years of ballet training paid off. I played some good things, though. Maureen, in Rent, for one.”

He nodded. “I remember hearing about that. It sounds amazing.”

“I think if I had to hear her practice La Vie Bohème one more time, my ears would bleed,” Desmin muttered, receiving a slap on the shoulder for it. 

“We were up in Flushing until a couple weeks ago. Heard through the grapevine that my favorite little warlock was the High Warlock of Brooklyn,” she said teasingly, pinching at his cheek and shoulder. 

He laughed and swatted her hand away, rolling his eyes at her antics. “Alright mom,” he said sarcastically, though he noticed the way her smile softened. In short, Eleanor and Desmin were the closest thing he had to parents, though they were very good friends. 

“She wanted to see you more so we decided to move a little closer. Got a nice place a few blocks away,” Desmin said. “When we’re done unpacking, you should come check the place out. Upper west side is pretty nice.”

“Look at you two being all fancy. Living the high life?” 

Eleanor chuckled. “Exploiting a couple mundanes here and there, sure. Summoning demons, enchanting things, spells, whatever. And I got very good with investments in the past few years. I do all the money management so Desmin can work on his novel.”

“Still working on the same one?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head, finding the question almost amusing. That one got published ages ago. I’ve got a pretty good running series. I just don’t do public appearances and no one seems to mind.”

Magnus nodded. That was very like Desmin—public wasn’t his thing anywhere. He preferred to keep to himself and hated speaking in front of large groups of people. It was something that couldn’t have made him and Eleanor more different; she loved to entertain and be the one in the spotlight, sometimes literally. 

There were many things like that about them both; Desmin was cold, unmoved, a steady force that never wavered in his actions or motivations. Eleanor wore her heart on her sleeve and cared very deeply for the people she surrounded herself with. Neither were superficial by any means. He believed they were honest. However, he also had a suspicion they were much more complex under it all than they liked to let on. Eleanor always told him not to worry—they had each other, and that’s all that mattered. He wished they were a little more open with him, sometimes, but he understood. He didn’t have an exact age, but he knew they were old, much older than himself; when you spend so much time with one person, they become the only person you trust. He wished he had that level of companionship with someone. 

He finished his dinner and pushed the plate away, turning towards Eleanor. “I hate to do this to you since you quite literally moved closer to see me, but I’m incredibly exhausted and in need of sleep.”

She shook her head with a smile. “I will take care of everything, don’t worry your head about it,” she said, taking his hand with both of hers and squeezing gently. “If you’re alright with it, we can crash here and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. Someone—“ she glanced at Desmin— “is pretending to be much less inebriated than he is. That’s why he’s so quiet.”

“Quit revealing my secrets,” Desmin grumbled, though he didn’t deny it. 

“Of course. I told you before, you’re always welcome here.” Magnus stood and gave Desmin a polite nod, then Eleanor another quick hug. She kissed his cheek as he leaned in, squeezing him tight. When he pulled away, she huffed, blowing her bangs out of her face. “You know, I’ll never forgive you for getting taller than me.”

He laughed. “You’ve been on about that for three hundred years.”

“And I will continue to be on about it!”

Magnus rolled his eyes and returned to his room, changing into his pajamas. He looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting his face as he cleared away his makeup with magic. He looked a little better than he assumed he did when he got home—less sickly, at least. The color returned to his cheeks but his tiredness was catching up to him. He got comfortable in bed, about to turn off the lamp next to him when there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” he said, sitting up. 

Eleanor walked in, holding a mug in her hands. She handed it to him and sat on the edge of the bed, closing the door behind her with the wave of her hand. “I put a little spell on it to help you sleep,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’ll help protect you from bad dreams, too.” She was incredibly excited earlier—happy to see him, no doubt—but her expression changed. This was softer, more muted but vulnerable. He rarely saw her like this, but he certainly wouldn’t complain. 

“What would I do without you?” he asked, mostly teasing. They both knew he’d made a good life for himself, but he owed a lot of it to the two of them. He struggled as a child and they helped him more than he could ever repay them for. Since then, they randomly appeared, never staying long—he’d noticed they never stayed long anywhere. It was one of the many mysteries of the Rige siblings he never cracked, and there were many. However, while they were here, he always felt more loved than he did at any other time in his life. 

He drank a bit of the tea and laid down again, comfortable in quiet between them. She reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair, fingers scratching over his head. This was what she used to do when he was a young child, when they first found him—play with his hair soothingly, sitting with him until he fell asleep. Sometimes she’d sing or tell him a story, but she usually left the stories for Desmin. 

“I’ve heard things around—gossip, mostly,” she said softly, fingers raking through his hair. His eyelids felt heavy, but he fought to keep them open as she spoke. “But things are changing. I know they are. I…most of the reason we came was to make sure you were okay,” she said, a combination of fear and happiness on her face. “I don’t know what happened tonight. But if you ever need anything, Magnus, Desmin and I are here.”

He nodded. “I know,” he said, voice half in a whisper as sleep slowly dragged him away. He fell asleep with a faint smile on his face, the last hung he remembered being her leaning in to place a small kiss on his forehead, then the sound of his bedroom door clicking closed. 

There were many things about the twins he still didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would. However, he knew that at any time in his life, whenever he needed something, they miraculously appeared and managed to fix it all. He only hoped that would be the case this time, though he had his suspicions things would be much more complicated in the coming weeks. 

#xx.eleanor #xx.desmin #magnus bane #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters oc #shadowhunters ocs #the mortal instruments oc #the mortal instruments ocs #alec lightwood #clary fray #simon lewis #jace herondale #isabelle lightwood #malec #city of bones #city of glass #city of ashes #city of heavenly fire #city of lost souls #city of fallen angels

[ocd-kenobi]

Star Wars characters as massage client types

Obi-Wan: Very nice and non-threatening gay man. Asks for a “relaxing medium pressure,” but doesn’t ever tell you anything is too much pressure when you try more and ask. So you’re left wondering if he actually wants more pressure all the time and won’t say so. Still, he tips a precise 20% and books with you often. Overall a pretty pleasant client except for he sweats so profusely it’s like massaging a slippy-slide. Your oil is useless. You’re just using his sweat for skin lubricant. But he’s so nice so you feel bad dreading his appointments.

Qui-Gon: Asks if you do Thai massage. Tries to convince you that you should do Thai massage when you say no. Starts undressing during intake while you’re still in the room. You tell him to wait until you’re out of the room. He says, “Oh, I don’t mind” as if it’s HIM you’re worried about upsetting with HIS NUDITY. Talks about the benefits of Thai massage throughout the session, so you think he hates your methods, but then he books with you every single time. And asks for eucalyptus aromatherapy every time so your room always smells like toilet bowl cleaner. 

Padme: Says she is there “to relax.” Never fucking relaxes. You feel like a failure the first couple of times, but after a few sessions, you realize she is the failure. At relaxing. She also tells you to skip her legs and feet entirely when she has missed a day shaving, no matter how many times you tell her it doesn’t matter. This deprives you of your one tactic that sort-of works to relax her: the steamy towel foot rub. At least she sometimes lets you do a hand scrub.

Anakin: Touch-starved and fidgety. Wiggles so much you spend the whole time wondering whether he’s in pain or about to come. Pitiful, or creepy. You really really don’t want either option, so you struggle to find a pressure that’s not firm enough to hurt and not light enough to tickle. He says something about how your hands are “so strong, and yet so soft” and so, in self-preservation, you decide to have him spend the entire session face-down. This becomes a problem when you save twenty minutes for the backs of his legs only to find that he has knee-length boxers AND socks on, leaving you four square inches to massage. So you return to make up stuff to do to the dehydrated, over-exercised muscles of his back. You ask your manager not to book him with you again. 

R2 and C-3PO: They’re fine, except they only ever book couples massages and use the therapists as an audience for their marital bickering.

Ahsoka: Honestly the worst. She’s skeptical about massage and wants to see if you can “fix” her shoulders. Her shoulders are not fixable. She needs months of massage, not one session. She needs three kinds of bodywork, preferably, and then maybe the tissue could soften into something that could be worked. You try suggesting some things, and some gentle posture corrections. She just tells you she can take more pressure. You try more pressure, sure, but her ropy muscles just push you right off. She tips you, of course, and tries to smile, but you can tell she thinks you don’t know what you’re doing, otherwise you would have been able to fix her shoulders in one hour.

Luke: Has never been massaged before and has very little body-awareness. Practically jumps out of his skin and says, “What was that?!” about every muscle you touch that he didn’t know he had. Asks a lot of questions, like “Why is that muscle so tight?” to which you have to give speculative answers, since you don’t know what he does for a living. He’s a very nice, clean, and non-threatening young man, so you don’t really mind the chatter. You know he’ll probably leave you a $5 tip, so you just don’t push yourself to work that hard. It’s nice. 

Leia: Only comes when she’s on her period. Is great at articulating her needs (the table warmer on high, the essential oil blend with the lavender and clary sage in it, low back focus) and lets herself be grumpy and short with you instead of trying to pretend she’s not in pain. You appreciate this, because it frees you from trying to make pleasant small talk.

Han: The only time he ever comes in for a massage is when Chewie gets tired of hearing him complain about the knot in his shoulder and nonconsensually books an appointment for him. You can tell Han’s concept of massage is a “happy endings” kind of deal right off the bat, by the way he nervously looks you over and calls you a “masseuse” instead of a massage therapist and starts cracking try-hard jokes about how he doesn’t usually need to pay for this kind of thing, etc. You have him kicked out of the building.

Lando: The foot scrub, the aromatherapy, the hot stones: the full experience. This man knows how to relax. He uses pet names, but it’s somehow not too creepy. Requires a bit more social energy than most clients, but tips well enough that you are glad when he’s on your schedule.

Chewie: Excellent 90-minute full-body deep tissue client. Can take a lot of pressure, is vocal about when you get a good spot. The only downside is that your arms are very chaffed afterwards. 

#star wars #may the fourth #I wrote this in my head while massaging a padme yesterday #massage stuff #posture things

[somnidasha]

okay i'm just thinking about jace, who works at a nightclub. and there's a music band with ridiculous name that performs at this place at least once a week. and jace really hates their music, okay? and no, this hate doesn't have anything to do with their annoying bass player, okay, clary? no, of course, jace was never interested with this simon guy. and, of course, they talk only because jace really has nothing else to do. and maybe (just maybe) making fun about minor at the bar and offer the guy baby food every time instead whatever he was order can be fascinating. and anyway, clary was the one who kept saying to jace that he needed more training to be nice and polite as barmen should be. and it's seems like simon is the best choice when jace need test his patience (because this guy is really annoying. has jace mentioned this before?). and so what if sometimes he really gets lost in that deep eyes? it's mean nothing if he looks at this boy on the stage longer than anyone else and applauds more than he should. after all simon is just best friend of clary's. and jace believes there's some rules like "best friend of my friend can beserves some support from me even if they're very annoying and play really shitty music". jace isn't sure actually but he really don't want to upset clary. so jace totally don't understand what izzy talking about when, after their siblings' meeting at this bar she asked him when he planned to introduce her to his boyfriend.

i'm just thinking about simon who definitely has a crush on this barman. and he really need a month before trying to talk with him. to be honest it was a disaster. as soon as simon opened his mouth a lot of ridiculous chatter came out. and it's seems like simon was told this handsome bartender about his fake id. at least simon got his name. jace. simon thinks that it's suit this guy. and that's probably the first and last thing he knows about him, because simon is pretty sure that they will never perfom at this place again and probably an image of his face will hang on the door of every nightclub with inscription "never let in". so he was really surprised when they returned to this club the following week and everything seemed pretty normal. but for some reasons "python's children" (fuck eric and his names for band) ask him to going for drinks every times since this day. simon literally has no idea why, because he's never come back with something that involves alcohol (some kind of troubles which you deal with when you telling barman about your fake id). but he thinks that it has something to do with clary's smirk which appers every time simon talks with this barman. but if simon know anything it's that jace isn't interested in him. at all. jace lets know that to simon so many times. it will always be clary. and no, simon isn't jealous or anything, he really wants clary to be happy. but when he thinks about it, he just gets so upset that he isn't the one who jace care about (well, maybe simon is a little jealous). but he can't do anything with this.

i'm just thinking about clary and izzy who really care about the happiness of those two idiots. they care so much that they can't ignore obvious feelings between simon and jace. so who can blem girls when they bring those idiots? after all, there's nothing wrong with a friendly dinner for four that girls suddenly can't come to. so boys just need to figure this thing between they. but just in case jace was even thought about acting like asshole izzy made it very clear to him that he can't come to home if he didn't talk to simon. clary was a little softer on this issue but threatening not to talk to simon for about a week seems like torture enough to made simon speak about his feelings. so maybe jace need to say "thank you" for his sister for being able to say anyone that at next performance at the bar everyone that this is his boyfriend who the only good player on stage. and simon will definitely say "thank you" a million times to clary for just the way eric looks when jace kissed simon after the performance.

#shadowhunters #simon lewis #jace herondale #jace wayland #or whatever his name is #jimon #cassandra clare #the mortal instruments #clary fairchild #isabelle lightwood #alternate universe

[hoodoo12]

Invocation

There could be more than one way to summon Beetlejuice. Be careful with that . . .

NSFW

The weather was perfect. That was important. A gibbous moon hung like an ornament in the sky. Zero clouds. The day had been warm but the night chilly, which made mist creep along the grass and curl around the trees.

You left all the windows in the room open to allow the night air in. It made your lungs ache with its sharpness. The chatter from night insects was loud at first, but faded into background white noise.

Nude and by candlelight, you sketched runes and sigils on the wooden floor. The chalk dust felt gritty on your hands, flaking off into a fine powder. The circle was large, taking up most of the floor space, with only a bit of room to walk around it near the walls. It had to be this way, to encompass the low table you’d prepared as an altar in the middle.

It’d taken some time, making the altar. It was simple; a plank of cherry wood and rudimentary legs. You were no carpenter, after all. But you’d sanded it till near silk smoothness and it was sturdy, easily able to support you with no creaking or wobbling.

You’d also annointed it with clary sage, rosewood, and rose oil. All mood enhancers, all with properties to arouse. Some of those oils you’d dabbed on certain spots on your body too: wrists, neck, behind your knees, your inner thighs. In the soft flickering of the candles, the oil made your body shine. A small pot of of baby oil with a drop of the same rose essence sat under the altar.

Humming softly under your breath, you meticulously made your way around the room on your hands and knees.

The candles provided no warmth. The stick of incense you’d lit made the room smokey; its fragrance filled the air with heavy perfume, countering the fresh air from the open windows. You were almost done. Just a few more sigils to create.

Something flitted in the deep corners of the room.

Good.

You’d been hoping all your work would intrigue him. Attract him. But you ignored everything, even when you felt a subtle caress across your back. It was feather light, spider web light. You kept your head down, the tune you hummed unpaused, your hands still working to create the precise symbols, like nothing had happened.

The touch occurred again, and again, slightly more forceful each time. The last felt like a ragged nail drawing a line down your back. You continued to ignore it, and it left you, slinking back into the dark corners the candlelight didn’t illuminate.

One sigil remained. Before completing it, you left the worn down nub of chalk where it was, stood up, and retrieved the last few items needed: two feathers, one stiff and one soft, a glass of water that you had poured and left by the door, and some matches. The presence you’d sensed slunk up behind you, a spectral puff of air that tickled your skin, a faint whisper that begged you to acknowledge it.

You didn’t.

You gathered the supplies, made sure not to smudge any of the drawings as you returned to the bare spot on the floor, and stepped into the circle. You made especially sure to step over the thin line of powder that you’d drawn first, inside the symbols. A circle within a circle.

From the inside, leaning precariously over the inner circle, you drew the final symbol.

The presence, although unseen, gave a wavering, angry cry.

You continued to ignore it. You wanted its attention, and now you truly had it.

You stood up and left the bit of chalk where it was, but took the other objects up. Carefully, you dusted your hands off, patting your outer thighs so the some of the dust transferred to them. You made your way to the altar. The glass of water was set under the table, along with the matches. The feathers you kept in hand as you adjusted the two silk pillows you’d brought in before any of the ritual began.

Carefully, keeping one pillow under your head and the other under your lower back, you lowered yourself onto the altar. Although it was long enough to support most of you, you settled so your head, back, and ass were on it, while your legs were off. It was low enough that with your knees bent, you could support yourself; if you pushed your feet up so you were only on the tips of your toes, it canted your pelvis upward a little.

You kept your feet flat, for the moment.

You breathed deeply, imagining one lung filling with the aroma of incense, the other with sharp night air. You imagined the two swirling into your blood stream, joining to create a new air that reached throughout your body, touching each cell. You were perfectly conscious of the press of the wooden altar, the sound of your own breathing, the warmth of the nearest candle. Relaxing bit by bit, you let the feel of the wood at your back fade away, and focused on yourself.

Using the softer of the two feathers, a peacock’s tail feather that occasionally shined when the candlelight caught it just right, you drew it down your front. The fine, loose tips barely registered on your skin, but slowly your nerve endings woke up. You made long sweeping movements with the feather, from neck to knees, never lifting it.

Under the light massage, you relaxed more. Any remaining tenseness in your muscles gave way, and it felt like you were floating. Just to tease youself, you dragged the feather up the inside of your thighs, and your knees fell open a little more.

A pleased whisper just at the edge of hearing alerted you that you were still being watched.

It was easy to ignore, as relaxed as you were. You let the peacock feather fall to rest across your stomach, and your hand found the stiffer feather, a crow’s flight feather. It looked dull black in the flickering candlelight, as dark as corners of the room.

With it, you ignited your nerve endings more. Each stroke of the feather tickled and made you shiver. You dragged it with more intent not just along your sides or tops of your thighs, but to circle each breast in a tightening spiral till the tip of the feather met your nipple, and you purposefully gave each a slightly harder flick, just to make them stand up.

When it was pleasant but just not quite enough, you rolled your nipples between your fingers, arching your back ever so slightly at your own touch.

You left your chest alone then, and tapped the crow feather down your body. After a second, you stopped, sat up, and fumbled for the small vial of rose-scented oil beneath the altar. Carefully you dipped the tip of the feather into it, then lay back down. You painted the oil in wide designs onto your spread inner thighs, and that made the whisper from the unseen entity increase in intensity.

You gave a slow smile, more to yourself than to give him attention, and when the tip of the feather felt drier again, you deliberately drew it up the folds of your pussy.

It tickled more there than anywhere else, and you giggled, then did it again. The whisper from the edge of the room stopped, but not because it was gone; it seemed to be holding its breath.

Deftly you repeated the motion again and again, each time using the feather to stimulate yourself with a little more intent. By the time it brushed against your clit, it was like a tiny explosion burst in your gut, and you gasped, even though you knew it was coming.

Suddenly, the feather wasn’t enough. You dropped it, letting it fall to the floor near where you imagined the peacock feather had disappeared to and quickly, impatiently, you stuck your fingers into your mouth before your hand went back to your pussy, slipping to your clit immediately and stroking yourself. You mewled at the instant pleasure it gave you, and there was a sound outside the circle that was more frustrated than aroused.

You laughed, because that was part of this too; laughing and teasing and touching yourself intimately. Your fingers knew their work and you played with your clit till you were shuddering, before letting them slip further down and dipping one, then two fingers into your cunt. You went up on tiptoes, with that, giving yourself more access. You brought your hand to your mouth again and sucked the taste of yourself off your fingers--from outside the circle there were more sounds, a whine, a deep throated groan, an impatient, heavy feeling that didn’t want to be denied--and when you put your hand back between your legs to push three fingers into yourself, you gasped and canted your hips and held still, so still, because an orgasm was quickly approaching.

You curled your fingers minutely inside yourself and used your wrist to provide heavy pressure on your clit and you came like fireworks, explosive and lingering sparks falling through your belly.

Time lost its hold on you for a moment. When you came back to here and now, gasping for air, you still had to wait a moment before the tremors in your legs stopped. Carefully, because you were so sensitive, you removed your hand from between your legs and let it rest on your belly.

There was no sound now, outside the circle. It wasn’t like it had left. It was more like the anticipatory danger of a predator waiting to pounce.

You allowed yourself a few more seconds to catch your breath. You’d done everything correctly, from waiting for the exact proper night to the circle of sigils to the number of candles. You’d added an additional feather, but that shouldn’t make a difference. You’d come on your own hand, while it was watching but not able to touch, and that was most important.

It was all correct. Carefully you got to your feet and took a step to the inner circle. Its presence mirrored you; you couldn’t see it but you could sense it was right in front of you, less than a foot away. Waiting. Calling his name was easy. Child’s play. There were other ways to get his attention, and bring him to you.

It was time for your reward.

Holding a leg up over the inner circle once more to not smudge it, you dropped your foot onto one of the chalk symbols, and slowly, deliberately, you destroyed it.

Instantly he rushed you. You were caught in what felt like multiple arms and thrown backwards by his momentum. He was invisible outside the circle, but as he entered it, the powder from the inner one adhered to him and you could see him clearly. He was as nude as you were, his pale skin painted in warmer colors from the candlelight.

Beetlejuice dropped you back onto the altar. It should have hurt, but his arms buffered between you and the wood, and even before you could take another breath he’d situated himself on his knees between your legs, and shoved his face in your pussy.

Your legs came up at the touch of his mouth covering your pussy, and he shouldered them easily, keeping his mouth in place and delving his tongue into you. He had more control and finesse with the appendage than anyone you’d experienced before, using it to slip inside you and put pressure on your g-spot in a way different than fingers or, if you were lucky, a cock. Your thighs locked around his head, and you reached down to grab a handful of his hair.

Beetlejuice’s tongue did sinful things to you, but it wasn’t quite the stimulation you were looking for. You gave him a tug upward, to give him a clue, and you felt him laugh. The vibration tickled and you laughed too, before that giggle became a moan as he took your hair-pulling suggestion and focused his attention higher, on your clit.

With his arms curled around your hips so you couldn’t get away, he sucked and lapped at you in no pattern at all. You keened wordlessly in pleasure, your fingers locking tightly in his hair. His tongue didn’t stop until you came on his mouth, attempting to grind onto him with no success because there was nothing for your feet to brace against. Your own voice sounded cracked to your ears, and through the waves of pleasure you felt him laughing again.

When you were finally able to release him, however, the look on his face as he lifted his head was much less amused and much more hungry. His tongue darted from his mouth, just a touch longer and more pointed than was natural, licking his chin clean of your taste, and in the next second, with no easy movement from his position kneeling between your legs, he was atop you, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

He lay heavily on your chest and leered into your face, his eyes alight with the power you’d granted him by opening the circle. His tongue slipped down and wriggled between your lips before his mouth touched yours, and even when he kissed you it remained wide and lithe, pushing down your own tongue to fill the space.

You worked to control your gag reflex, then sucked his tongue hard, like you would a cock.

Beetlejuice’s grin broke the kiss.

His tongue retreated and he tilted his head to plant kisses that felt more like bites on the delicate skin on your neck and shoulder. Your arms were still stretched on the altar above your head; you were vulnerable under him, immobile, and he pushed one thigh between yours.

You would never be able to say how he did it, going from laying directly on you, straddling one of your legs to just laying directly on you but between your legs, nor did you question that his arms were stretched holding yours but another hand obviously held his cock steady as the tip slipped through your sopping folds. On one downward stroke he paused a moment, then thrust his hips forward.

Crying out, you almost jerked out of his grasp as his cock filled your pussy. At your movement, Beetlejuice bit down onto your shoulder with more intent, growling. That made you cry out in a different way, and you arched under him, trying to relieve the sharp pain. It rocked the two of you in a weak facsimile of sex, and the resulting pleasure made him release you.

He licked the spot he’d just bruised, then buried his head against the side of yours, fucking you furiously. The areas in your groin where the points of his hips made contact again and again started to ache. The friction his cock created was heavenly, and you locked your ankles over the small of his back to keep him from moving too far away.

Thrusting hard against you, Beetlejuice made the wooden altar shift and screech a little as it was forced across the floor. You should ask him, beg him, to slow down, but this was too good, too good, you’d already come twice and you were barreling towards the third--

With a noise you couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted too, you came on his cock, your pussy spasming even as he didn’t give you a reprieve, fucking you through your orgasm.

He didn’t last much longer either, with the extra stimulation. His pace faltered and with another deep thrust that pressed his pubic bone tightly against yours, he came buried inside you, his howl rivaling yours.

Then he collapsed fully onto you, like he was dead weight.

You wrangled your wrists out of his fists and stroked his hair for a moment, then pushed at him when you needed to take an actual breath.

“Hey. Hey! Are you falling asleep? You’re crushing my lungs, Beej!”

Lazily he lifted his head. “You’re breaking the illusion babe. You were summoning an incubus. You’d be happy an incubus was crushing your lungs, because you’d be so distracted by their , seductive, unstoppable sexual energy. That’s how they get you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not an incubus, and I want to breathe!”

You poked him, hard, with two fingers, in the ribs.

Yelping from the jab and then grumbling, Beetlejuice pushed himself off you. He offered you a hand to help you sit up, then sat beside you on the wood bench. He looked over the room.

“Nice symbols,” he complimented, nodding towards the chalk circle. “Did you make them up?”

“Yeah, most of them.”

“Huh. And what about that?” He pointed to the layer of powder you’d drawn inside the outer circle.

“Powered foxglove. I read it’s supposed to make the invisible visible,” you told him, gingerly touching the spot on your shoulder where he’d bitten you.

He saw what you were doing.

“Oh! Sorry, babe! I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just got so worked up, I forgot myself for a minute,” he apologized, pulling your hand away so he could examine the mark he’d put on you. “It looks bruised. And, uh, one tooth might’ve punctured your skin, I think. Sorry!”

“Beej!” you complained. “This hurts like a son of a bitch! I need to go clean it up!”

“I’ll help,” he offered, standing and giving you a hand. As he led you to out of the room you’d made up like a summoning ritual he asked, “What was with the water? You weren’t wearing any clothing, so it’s not like you could’ve used it for a wet t-shirt or anything.”

“It was in case I got thirsty!” you exclaimed, squinting as you turned on the light in the hallway. “I was breathing in all that chalk dust! I probably have some kind of lung disease now!”

In spite your grousing, you stopped him and said, “That was a fun time, Beej. If you think you want to play out “summoned incubus again”, I’m down for it.”

He grinned, kissed you, and took you into the bathroom so you could attend to your shoulder and get cleaned up.

fin!

#Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x reader #writing #fanfiction

[pipperoni32-blog]

City of Glass

by Cassandra Clare / 4 stars

This is it. Where we get all the answers. Who Jace really is. How Jace and Clary got their powers, and why. What the Mortal Instruments can really do. Why the Circle finally turned against Valentine. And what Valentine's end game really is.

Like with the other books in this series, once I got reading I was hooked. Clare knows how to move a plot along, to give you just enough twists, turns and reveals. All with characters that it's so easy to fall in love with, despise, root for or against. Plus makes you laugh along the way.

I'm so glad this was one of our "book club" books. Even if our book club consists of two members, lots of shouty capital and gif-filled texts and excited chattering at work. These are the kind of books we live for. Also, Clare's acknowledgement at the end, filled with names of authors I know and love made it even better. This feels like it's part of a community, a writing circle of different minds and genres, but so rewarding to be a part of.

#book review #cassandra clare #booklr #city of glass #the mortal instruments

[inkykeiji]

i still cannot believe dabi actually showed up in this lil white number like he is such a theatre kid

like genuinely got himself all dressed up for this fight and kept the belt—because of course he did, because the belt is iconic, the belt has come with him throughout all three of his outfit changes—and showed up looking sexy as hell to what he was essentially intending to be his own funeral.

he definitely has a flare for the dramatic!!!

#also i know people are all up in arms over this one shot and how awful it looks compared to the manga and i’d just like to ask #where the heck u people have been for seasons 3-5 #where dabi was consistently drawn SO funky looking #we are LUCKY they did him so well in the touya reveal #and also;;; i don’t think it’s fair to judge this entire scene based on this single image #but yeah bones drawing dabi to look mediocre at best is not anything new or surprising #i genuinely hope they DONT do it in this fight #but i won’t be surprised if they do #they’ll never compare to how beautifully hori draws *any* of his characters #they also just can’t fit the detail into the anime #but anyway~ yeah #saw this and this was my first thought HAHAHA #clari chatters #inky.dabi #inky.bnha

[inkyajax]

TA!alhaitham is like,,, over 10k words and it makes me want to cryyy because it’s so much work to go through n it takes forever to edit but!!!!! i am so so so happy with how it’s turning out so far and i cannot wait to share it here!!! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ♡

#he’s v sexy #i have been working on this piece since JANUARY 18TH #it grew into a total monster but i love it so much #rly rly eager to hear ur thoughts on it once i post it!!!! #he’s for sure coming this week #i still have like;;;; ALL 7k of the smut to edit tho so >.< probably not tonight :( #anyway i’m rambling but!!!! i’m so excited!!!!! #clari chatters

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[from Killarney Clary from “Who Whispered Near Me”]

I always daydream good dreams, make imaginable only the best. I would say that we should leave this place, start over, knowing change is destined to be right. You would say, “Yes, we could do anything.” I would tell you I admire you and you would believe me. The grand confrontations and cozy chatter are in my head constantly while I try to work or sleep or listen.

I try to think of anything else -- complicated ideas, puzzles, or money. I would ask Jim to tell me if I make it difficult for him somehow and he would say I do. Though that kind of clearness is only fantasy, I pretend it strengthens me, that anyone could tell me anything and I would understand. I don’t know if imagining is fair. I don’t know how it works into me, convincing me of friendship and success, but it’s a chronic music to me now.

The sky would be cold over the city park, but I’d walk alone miles from there, out here, in Redlands, the “Friendly Place.” And I’d wonder as I crossed to the fragrant groves if that long, low boom was the end of Los Angeles, about my sister, her new baby, and the uncountable bits of color and talk. Still, I would be telling them, they would be telling me. Still, someone’s back is turned and the ugly worry leaks.

It’s a real dream now, the patient one, the one that moans “hold on” but offers no handle, no features. After straining in the haze, I carve out old photographs -- of Kathleen and me in matching bathing suits in Balboa, of Chris the day his glasses were broken. Am I only juggling, like the cormorant fisherman, the lines between us, the tangle I mustn’t doze from? “Attend,” the birds whisper. “We quicken.” But their wings don’t move; their hearts don’t beat; and the tiny earth attaches to body with invisible threads to the arguable melody.

~ Killarney Clary from “Who Whispered Near Me”

#poetry #poem #Killarney Clary #Who Whispered Near Me #words and writing

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Hello I have prompt aka one of my obsessions in your ask box:

Magnus meeting Izzy shy older brother after months of hearing about him and getting instant whiplash cause he hot af & freaky af 😬

Sorry this took a while shshshsh I’m writing like 2 words a day.

Also, song playing in the club is Don’t Go Insane by DPR Ian (who may or may not be a potential Magnus fancast? 👀)

Read on Ao3

***

Isabelle had lied to him.

Sure, she’d talked to him for ages during lunch and coffee breaks at work about how sweet and cool and handsome her brother was, and also about how he always got all shy and blushy around the boys he liked, and dropped maybe a thousand hints about how Magnus and the mystery brother would make a very very good couple.

And now that he’s seen the guy in person - at Isabelle’s birthday party in a downtown club - Magnus can confidently say that Isabelle lied.

Because nothing could prepare for just how fucking hot he was.

Magnus had arrived a little early - just before the celebrations started but just in time to find Isabelle waiting right outside the club for her brother. He decided to wait along with her, making idle talk, until Isabelle’s eyes brightened at the sight of something and she threw out a hand, waving excitedly.

“There he is!”

Magnus turned to look, and was greeted by the sight of a heavy Zero motorcycle zipping past at full speed before it made an impressive u-turn in the narrow street, screeching against the asphalt, and came to a stop in front of the club.

The driver pulled off his helmet, giving his head a little shake to tame his messy hair, and Magnus’s world stopped spinning for a moment because holy hell was he gorgeous.

A jawline that could cut glass, dark hair had stayed messy even after he’d run a gloved hand through it, and supple lips that curled up into a gorgeous fucking grin as he looked at his sister.

“Hey Izzy,” he said as he dismounted the bike and caught an overexcited Isabelle who’d run straight to her brother in a hug. “Happy birthday, you little minx.”

Magnus watched on, as he pulled away from Isabelle and, as she continued to chat away, brought one hand up to his mouth, catching the strap around the wrist with his teeth and pulling it open. He didn't stop there, though. His teeth were catching on to the very tip of one of the fingers now, pulling the glove off in one fell swoop.

Oh my poor little heart.

Magnus watched him repeat the operation with this other leather glove, every single brain cell chanting hot hot hot hot hot hot, really, who could blame him when there was this extremely hot, leather-clad bike-riding beauty in front of him?

“-Magnus?”

Magnus snapped back to reality, where he was now face to face with Isabelle and her brother. Isabelle was looking rather smug, as if she could read Magnus’s mind.

“Magnus,” she continued casually, “This is my brother Alec.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alec said, holding out a hand. Magnus shook it, trying not to think of how warm Alec’s hand was. “Izzy has told me a lot about you.”

“Did she now?” Magnus's gaze slanted over to Isabelle, who was still looking smug. “All good things, I hope.”

“Definitely all good things,” Alec grinned.

They headed indoors, where Magnus met the others - her boyfriend Simon, her adopted brother, Jace, his girlfriend Clary, who was also a childhood friend of Simon. Rounds of shots were ordered, and they chattered amongst themselves. Magnus had been worried about feeling left out, but Alec was sitting right next to him, and occasionally turned to Magnus to make idle talk. They’d talked so far about their hobbies and work, and Magnus’s cat, and Alec’s bike, complete with pictures of course.

Now, after the fifth round of shots, Alec got up on his feet, and held out a hand to Magnus. “Wanna dance?”

Magnus blinked, brain going blank in surprise, but his hand thankfully moved on its own to take Alec’s.

“Sure,” he said lightly.

Alec dragged him to the dance door, a sort of vindictive smile on his face as he interlaced his hands behind Magnus’s neck and pulled him close. His fingers were digging into the slightly overgrown hair of Magnus’s undercut, and he briefly forgot how to breathe.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Alec said, grinning. “I just wanted to get you alone.”

Something like a record scratch sounded in Magnus’s head. They were slightly swaying anyway, a contrast to the rather energetic song playing on the club’s loudspeakers.

“Oh?” Magnus raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You’re just…” Alec giggled. “So handsome. You’re even more handsome in person than the pictures Izzy showed me.”

“Isabelle dearest showed you pictures, huh?” Magnus mentally wondered if he needed to thank Isabelle or be annoyed with her. He definitely needed to demand to be shown whatever pictures she’d shown her brother.

“Mmhmm,” Alec grinned a little. His cheeks were a little flushed, courtesy of the alcohol in his system.

The song shifted a little, going from electric vocals to a deep bass guitar, and Alec gasped a little. He pulled away from Magnus, poking him in the chest with a finger as he stepped backward, a glint in his eyes as they met Magnus’s.

“Watch me, okay?” He practically purred, and it took Magnus a moment to realise that the low, shaky breaths he was hearing weren’t from himself or Alec but from the song itself. Alec stood in front of him, eyes gleaming, one hand resting in his hair while the other had a thumb hooked into a belt loop on his pants. 

The beat dropped, and Magnus’s jaw nearly dropped as Alec leant backwards, grinning madly as he thrust his hips in tune with the beat. Alec straightened, only to grab Magnus’s hand and bow over backwards, the taut tension between their hands the only thing keeping him from falling over to the floor.

So, yes, Isabelle lied to him about her brother’s true colours. But watching Alec like this, all inhibitions gone, sweat lining his face and the arched column of his neck, the t-shirt he wore under his leather jacket rising up just the littlest bit to reveal a sliver of skin, teeth biting into his lower lip as his hips swung up and down… he could hardly say he minded.

When the beat subsided and Alec finally pulled himself back up - all thanks to his core and no thanks to Magnus, he asked,

“I thought you didn’t know how to dance?”

“That was the only move I know.” Alec winked. “Among maybe five others. I’ll show them to you when the music wills it.”

Magnus laughed. “You really are something, Alexander.”

Alec grinned, pleased.

He sidled up closer to Magnus. “How about we sneak out of here and go for a ride on my bike? Or maybe a different type of ride?”

Alec winked at him. Magnus laughed again.

“We’ll get to it all once you’re sober, Alexander.” He pulled Alec by an arm around his waist. “We’ll get to it all.”

#blues and then purple pink asks #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #prompts #my writing

[masterwcrk]

@poaetise (Edwina) liked for a Bridgerton starter (here).

there's something about the snow & the rain & the cold that always seems to dampen everyone's spirits - pun entirely intended, the Duchess thinks to herself as she watches the nursemaid guide Ash off so as not to disturb Kit as he settles in for his lessons. she's set to take tea a bit early when she hears low chattering in the hall. a guest? at this hour? it wasn't wholly unusual, but she sits up a bit straighter as the other is shown in.

' Ms. Sharma- ' Clary can't help but get to her feet with a wide smile, easily gesturing for the other to join her & another tray to be brought out. it would be a bit tight as this room was meant more for personal reflection than entertaining but she had said the other was welcome over without having to send a calling card ahead at any time, & she had meant it. ' looking quite radiant. to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? '

#poaetise #☆ ❛ like from the ashes (1813) ❜ || verse. ( au. — regency era ) #☆ ❛ and the words came pouring out ❜ || interactions #q.