#ritual rave

[coern]

shrimp colors(one(1) shade of bright red)

#my post #isat #i have caramelldansen stuck in my head #WAIT #isat rave but it's just chanting various rituals to break the universe in enough different ways that you get all colors of the rainbow

[leeenuu]

favourite eurovision 2022 entries (6/?): fulenn // spark – alvan & ahez; france

#eurovision #eurovision 2022 #alvan & ahez #france #escfrance #esc22 #fire tw #favesc22* #esc* #gifs* #i for one am happy that we have another 'pagan ritual rave' song lbr it would be gr8 if this would turn into a tradition

[xlelife]

Chiara Baldini is currently running a gorgeous, image-saturated course for ADVAYA.LIFE on Dionysus: Rave, Ritual and Revolution.

She delves into the mythological, historical and anthropological dimensions of the Dionysian cult, a cultural lineage that accompanied Western history since primordial times. One that defines our identity in deep resonance with other non-Western cultures and can support us in rediscovering meaningful aspects of European and, more specifically, Mediterranean indigeneity.

This is part of her PhD work at the California Institute for Integral Studies and a longtime fascination of hers.

XLE.LIFE's Kai Altmann is enrolled and enthralled in the course as a guest.

ADVAYA.LIFE offers regular free webinars, paid courses and meetup events, with a primary hub in London. Focusing on ideas around spirituality, culture, history and theory, they present comparative lectures and exploratory discussions on pressing de-colonial and holistic issues, featuring some of the world's leading thinkers on the topics. Vandana Shiva and Timothy Morton have been recent presenters!

(Bursaries are available for the courses, apply at their site.)

#advaya #advaya.life #chiara baldini #rave #revolution #ritual #dionysus #minoan #pagan #pre-patriarchal #fertile crescent history #indigineity #queerness #pre-western #feminist #shamans #ecstatic #ecstatic dance #mediterranean #crete #greece #rome #xle #xle.life

[diseaseriddencube]

i thinkg it's so so intertesting that there's a throwaway line implying that fushi is physically incapable of/has never cried EVER!!!!! and then the anime fucked that up royally like i think it's soooo itneresting and i want him to enever evr be able to CRY like there cann ot be tears of sadness rolling down those cheeks absolutely NOT

#tye spoilers #fumetsu no anata e #it's beautiful animation but that split second of tears welling up before the scene cuts in episode 20 is a canonical NIGHTMARE to me #i don't care if left hand was WRONG about that #but he has consistently never been able to cry with actual tears #snotty and sobbing SURE but no TEARS ‼️‼️ #i want him to be a tearless crybaby #i want fushi to be cursed to a tragic immortal life. utterly incapable of truly expressing that grief through tears #OKAY AND EVEN IF LEFT HAND IS WRONG #THE WAY HE RESPONDED????? HE KNOWS!!! HE GOT DEFENSIVE ABOUT IT #or do i need to read that segement again it's been a while- #I'LL BE BACK WAIT #also NOBODY FUCKING MENTION THE TURTLE THING AS AN ARGUMENT #oima CLEARLY loves marine biology down to fishies' artistic mating rituals #so she KNOWS that sea turtles emit what LOOK like tears but actually it's NOT SO SUCK ON THAT #you FOOLS THAT WAS A PLOY FOR THE AUDIENCE HE WASN'T CRYING FROM EMTOION THAT'S JUST A TURYLTE THING !!! #and then the anime is like haha he cried from gross potatoes XDDDDDD #rave ramblees

[lettherebemonsters]

Going by AHS as referencing for face claims, if Kenneth Chase was played by John Carroll Lynch, Mother Gooseberry would totally be Kathy Bates.

#Gooseberry is very Annie Wilkes-ish so it fits #XD #Momma needs het satanic rituals dangit #rave to the grave (out of character)

[metaphysicae]

so we started a new campaign! it’s a custom system my partner built and to say i have been obsessed is an understatement.

#pov you are a weird girl who never really had friends #when suddenly the coolest people from your high school are like the ONLY people who show up to your silly little ritual #but you accidentally find out your parents unleashed an eldritch horror and now it’s tryna get your ass too #oh and also your parents are superheroes. because of the horrord #and now YOU fuckers are too! #but you’re also like. normal 20 year olds trying to just . not die #last session my pc riley got in a car wreck <333 #and another guy got SHOT #we were supposed to go to a RAVE

[vhsxxx]

#topy #acid #rave #ritual #videomix #experience #magick #occult #esoteric #hyperdelic #hyperdelia #pagan #psychic tv #the temple ov psychic youth #Youtube

[raveartts]

So tempted to post the goretober art I've already made. But I'm gonna schedule it like a normal person 🥰

#rave ramblees #well...I've only made two pieces so far #BUT THEY LOOK SO MUCH BETTER THAN ALL MY OTHER YEARS OF GORETOBER #and like #why do they make a new prompts list #these prompts seem the same as they've always been #considering I'm doing them early #maybe I'll actually get a decent amount done by the end of October #but some prompts just look hard for my creativity starved brain to make ideas for #like CROSS SECTION??? RITUAL?? WHAT DO I DRAW FOR YOU

[pagan-corruption]

Listen I can tell you with 100 percent certainty you cannot acquire demons from listening to certain music cuz if that was the case I would be like a revolving door for demonic possession. My body would be like a Best Buy and it's 2000's era Black Friday. I would be a walking Hazbin Hotel with the amount of demons in me.

#'Taylor Swift does rituals' if you saw the raves I go to you'd hurl #watching paul and morgan talk to this mf

[matchavellichor]

All My Riches for Her Smiles

Ominis Gaunt x f!pureblood!MC - NSFW/Angst - 4.7k words - ao3

Tags: Ancient Pureblood Bonding Rituals, Post-Graduation, Arranged Married, Loss of Virginity, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Post-Coital L-Bombs, "Un"requited Love

Summary: Forced into an arranged marriage for the benefit of their pureblood families, Ominis struggles to make his closest friend-turned-wife feel less like a prisoner.

For as long as she could remember, there had always been a special sort of familiarity between her and Ominis. A comfortableness that only came from some morbid form of trauma-bonding, a shared understanding of just how horrible their respective pureblood families were. 

Plights and sorrows shared under the blanket of moonlight with their feet dangling off the edge of the Astronomy tower. Laughs drenched in the smoke of shared Muggle cigars after they’d snuck off to some secluded terrace together during another ridiculous high-society event. A passive form of rebellion. They’d confide in each other about every expectation placed upon their shoulders, the weight suffocating at times.

He knew her inside out, just as she knew him. Knew her dreams and aspirations. Listened to her rave on and on about how after graduation she’d gladly leave it all behind, run off to pursue being an Auror, regardless of if she was disinherited and left without a sickle to her name. He’d just laugh and make her promise she’d take him with her. 

Even if they were just tall tales, words without real action behind them, he’d never admired anyone more than he admired her. Just how much braver she was than him, a vivid fire inside of her that hardly ever even flickered. He never had the courage to do half of the things she did. Never had nearly as much fight inside of him that she had, always falling quiet and obedient at the hands of his family.

Despite all of their years of friendship, it felt as if a complete stranger led her through the morose, darkened halls of the Gaunt Manor. A vaguely recognizable figure with lean, broad shoulders and neat, blonde hair.

Ever since the bonding ceremony, the both of them had hardly spoken a word. Exchanged less than meaningful glances, faces schooled into careful stoicism throughout the entire ordeal. There was an almost unbearable ache in his chest at just how hollow she sounded reciting her vows, that everlasting fire inside of her seemingly snuffed out. He felt he could be sick with remorse.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as soon as he closed the door to their now-shared chambers. He stood frozen near the door as he thought of a way to make any of this even remotely right. He could offer her empty platitudes, express his apologies, but he knew none of it would do any good. Nothing could change what had already been done, what the both of them had been subjected to. 

Whatever he was feeling, he knew her enough to know she was feeling indescribably worse. 

Trapped. Suffocated. Her hopes and dreams following graduation cruelly stolen from her, replaced instead by a future her parents had carved out for her. A wife, a mother. Quiet, submissive, and obedient. A mere possession for some powerful pureblood scion.

It was a role he could never envision her in. His headstrong and steadfast best friend, who’d drag him on every single one of her thrill-seeking adventures. Who’d fight acromantulas and poachers all day and still make it in time for dinner at the Great Hall.

He wanted to reach out, comfort her the way he had done for years when things with her family had gotten especially difficult, but considering the circumstances, he felt he had no right to even touch her.

Instead, he wrung his hands together and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

The first genuine words he’d spoken to her throughout the entire procession of the wedding ceremony, that had stretched for several, long days. She glanced up from where she had been staring at the carpet.

“Why are you apologizing?”

His mouth set into a rigid line. “Because I never wanted this to happen to you.”

“Well, it’s happened.” She said bitterly. “Not much use in wanting anything, is there?”

A pit of guilt carved itself into his chest. He repeated himself, regardless of the lack of good that it would do. “I’m so sorry.”

She made her way over to the ornate vanity situated on the adjacent wall and began undoing the intricate chignon her hair had been styled in for the wedding, pulling out pins and pearl-crusted hairpieces. Her voice was quiet, tired. 

“This isn’t your doing, Ominis.”

His guilt burrowed itself even deeper into his chest, sinking into his heart like the dull blade of a knife. 

She stared down at her perfectly manicured nails on the mahogany surface, such a stark contrast to the haphazard, chipped manner they were normally kept in, a byproduct of her unladylike hobbies —as her mother referred to it.

“If it weren’t you, it would’ve been someone else. I never would’ve escaped this fate.” 

His mind stumbled over a million possibilities of how to rectify this, of how to make his new bride not feel like such a prisoner, not feel even more trapped than she’s felt her entire life. He felt just as trapped in his inability to correct this, bound and gagged by his own powerlessness. He took a fortifying breath. 

“I’ll make this work. I’ll find a way to send you to Auror training and– and we can—”

“We both know that’s not happening.” She interrupted. “My job is to be nothing more than arm candy at high-society events and produce your next heirs.”

His heart ached at just how easily she seemed to have given up. Her fate sealed. He was willing to do anything to make her happy, but deep down he knew the only way to do so would be the dissolution of their marriage, something that was out of his hands. He couldn’t give her the freedom she craved.

Some selfish part of him hoped that one day she’d learn to accept his devotion. That she could learn to love him the same way he loved her. He knew it was a sick thing to wish for out of something born of coercion, but he was desperate for it.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make this as easy as possible for you. I swear it. Anything — whatever you desire, it’s yours. Just say the word.”

The corners of her lips twitched, pulled into a rueful smile, her fingers twisting the Gaunt heirloom ring around her finger. “Not everything can be fixed with money. Some things are simply out of your control, Ominis.”

Deep down he knew she wasn’t the kind of woman to be acquiesced with riches and luxuries, even if he was more than willing to give her every last sickle. What he didn’t tell her was that he was prepared to give himself to her just as wholly, devote mind, body, and soul to making her happy. It wouldn’t change anything.

He felt just as hopeless as she did. 

Forced to witness the woman he loved become a prisoner in his own home, knowing he was the very lock and key that restrained her. He couldn’t bear the thought of one day being the object of her resentment. Of her slowly growing to despise him.

She broke him out of his dismal worrying by rising from her seat and walking over to where he was still planted near the door, turning her back to him. “Will you help me with my dress?” 

“Oh,” He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His fingers reached out to feel for the laces of her corset, running tentatively down the length of her spine. He pulled softly at the ties and they unraveled easily in his hands, one-by-one, trailing down her back. 

He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, and took a sharp inhale when she finally stepped away after the last of the laces had been undone. He heard the ruffling of fabric as she divested herself of her gown and suddenly he was acutely aware of the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

They both knew what they were expected to do now. What they had to do to finalize the bonding ritual, a consummation of their eternal union. Neither spoke a word. 

She moved silently to the lush, king-sized bed poised in the center of the room, decked in creamy jacquard linens and comforters. He followed just as quietly and sat beside her, hands clasped nervously in his lap.

Of all the times he’d fantasized about a moment like this with her, this one was a horribly twisted act of fate. A morbid joke being played on him by some higher power with an awfully sick sense of humor. He felt nauseous at the thought of what he’d have to do to her, what she’d probably resent him for. 

He flinched when he felt her reach over to squeeze his hand in his lap, her fingers warm over his. Her tone was sympathetic, reassuring. “It’s alright.”

He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the anxiety coursing through him, the unsteadiness in his voice. “I won’t kiss you.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Or touch you anywhere, or–”

She breathed a huff of amusement. “I think you might have to touch me, Ominis.”

“Right, I– I just meant—”

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. He heard the sound of the comforter underneath her ruffling as she shifted to face him more comfortably. 

“Should I lie back?”

He nodded. “Please.”

She laid her head back against a mound of pillows, soft and faintly-smelling of vanilla. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the circumstances were different. 

That the bedding underneath her was just a bit scratchy and a vivid emerald green. That they weren’t in the Manor, but tucked away behind the curtains of her old four-poster at Hogwarts, like the world outside didn’t exist.

That this wasn’t something forced on them, but something soft and kind and tender, born of confessions of true love and not forced matrimony. 

That when she opened her eyes, Ominis wouldn’t look faintly horrified and sickly pale, but instead she’d be able to see the soft creases in his eyes that only appeared when he smiled.

She couldn’t bear to look at him as he began on the buttons of his outer robes, divesting layer by layer with a practiced slowness. When he was stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, he grabbed his outerrobes to rummage through the pockets in search of his wand. 

She finally picked her head up to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, er— lubrication charm.” He reddened as he said the words.

“Put your wand away, Ominis.” She sighed and took hold of his hand, urging him to drop the garment and make his way over to her. 

Her entire life had been stolen from her by her family, she refused to have them steal this from her too. Her first time wouldn’t be something cold and rigid and unfeeling, with lubrication charms and calming draughts to ease her through it. She wanted to at least have this. To at least share something pleasant, something genuine, even if his only love for her was platonic.

He let her guide him to kneel beside her on the bed, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, an oddly grounding gesture. She parted her legs slightly and he felt the skin of her bare thighs brush against his. 

“Here, just—” He gasped when she brought his hand down to make contact with her clothed center, strikingly warm under his fingertips. “You can touch me, Ominis.”

He froze, his fingers unmoving. She half-expected him to pull back. His voice was quiet, nervous. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s alright.”

He swallowed hard and gently, tentatively, ran his fingers over the heat of her with feather-light touches. He had always been so careful with her, and she should have expected he’d be just as tender now.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, just like that,” She sighed in content. “A bit more, maybe.”

He noticed her voice had developed a slightly breathier quality, her breathing having grown heavy. The sound coursed through him, lighting every last one of his nerves on fire, and leaving him with the desire to coax even more soft noises out of her.

He applied a bit more pressure, his strokes becoming more focused, swirling tenderly against the little nub he could feel through the gusset of her knickers.

The softest moan escaped her parted lips and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer to her, one of his hands coming to part her thighs wider for him, the other continuing to rub tight, focused little circles. 

Her breathing hitched at the change of pace and her hand came up to brace herself on his forearm that was parting her legs, her nails digging little crescent-shaped marks into his wrist as her head fell back against the pillow. He had quickly grown achingly hard in his trousers.

Before long, he could feel wetness seeping through to his fingers, dampening her knickers and clinging the fabric to her cunt. He cursed under his breath at the sensation and resisted the urge to climb down her body to tongue at the slickness, the same way he’d fantasized about doing for the longest time.

Even though the original aim of touching her had already been accomplished, he found he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He continued to hold her thighs parted for him, to rub at her in a desperate quest to hear her come apart at his fingers, to pull more pretty noises past her lips.

He could feel her tense underneath him, her hips instinctively coming up to grind against his hand, desperate for more friction. Shamelessly, he brought his own hand to palm at the almost painful ache that had grown in his trousers, rubbing himself through the fabric while he continued to swirl his fingers around her dripping cunt.

She let out a strangled gasp and then she was pushing at his hand between her thighs, a frantic pleading. “S-stop, stop, stop, please—”

His hand shot back like he’d been burnt as soon as he heard the word. His eyes widened, guilt washing over him immediately, that maybe she hadn’t wanted it, that maybe he had hurt her. “I’m — I’m so sorry.”

She took a moment to catch her breath, panting as she tried to compose herself, having been brought so close to the edge with just his fingertips. “It’s…It’s alright.” When she sat up to look at him, his face was pale, blanched with remorse. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

She reached over to give his hand another reassuring squeeze, her voice quiet and faintly tinged with embarrassment. “I…enjoyed it.”

“Oh.” There were soft splotches of pink painting his pale skin, peeking out from the white linen of his undershirt, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed a bright red. 

She couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Right.” She watched the lines of his throat bob as he swallowed down his anxiety, wiping his hands nervously on the front of his trousers.

It was a bit too dim in the faint glow of candlelight that was bathing the room, but she glanced down to his lower body and tried to make out if maybe he’d like her to return the favor. 

“Do you need…help?”

His cock throbbed in his briefs, a sticky bead of precum bleeding a damp spot through the front. He shook his head sheepishly.

Slowly, he made his way closer to her, settling himself in between her legs. He placed his hands on either side of her on the pillow, hovering over her for a moment as he tried to compose himself as best as he could. 

Finally, he tentatively brought his hands down, skimming faintly over the chemise covering her torso, and down below it to rest at her hips. His fingers paused at the hem of her knickers, an index hooked on each side. 

“May I?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He pulled the fabric down her legs, and she felt her cheeks warm as she realized just how wet he had gotten her, a glistening string of slick painting the inside of her thighs. 

She brought her hands to the waistband of his briefs. “Would you like me to—”

“No.” He pulled her hands away immediately, mortified at how she would react if she realized just how much he wanted her. “It’s…it’s alright, I can do it myself.”

She nodded and tried to not let her curiosity get the best of her, keeping her eyes trained on his face as she heard the sound of fabric rustling as he unsheathed himself.

She gasped when she suddenly felt him pressed against her, slipping under where her nightgown had slightly ridden up, warm and throbbing against her stomach.

He closed his eyes at the feeling of her soft skin, his lips parting in a faint, shaky exhale. He noted with shame that all it would probably take was a few, pathetic ruts against her stomach and he’d be painting her skin in milky white.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded, embarrassed. “Yes, I just…need a moment.” A sticky bead of his precum dripped out to wet her skin, coursing even more mortification through him.

He took a deep breath before he reached a hand down between them to position himself at her entrance. His mouth dropped open when he felt just how wet she was, coating him so easily.

“Fuck,” He gritted under his breath, rubbing himself slowly through her folds.

She couldn’t help but tug up her chemise the rest of the way over her waist, filled with the strong desire to expose more of herself to him. Her nipples pebbled as they came in contact with the cool air of the room and she let out a breathy pant at the sensation.

His voice was strained when he finally managed to speak. “If I hurt you, tell me, please. I’ll — I’ll stop.

She nodded, and even if she felt safe with him, she couldn’t help but tense as she felt him slowly press against her entrance. She gasped at the sensation.

“I’m sorry,” He brought a hand down to stroke soothingly at her skin, his fingers splayed broad and warm over her waist, a gesture strangely grounding and comforting. “Try to relax, I know it’s difficult.” 

He was so soft-spoken, so tender with her, that she felt herself ease immediately. He pushed in a bit more, letting out a quiet groan that he tried desperately to stifle.

He paused, brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He continued to sink into her, his thumb rubbing gentle, soothing circles on the soft skin of her stomach, calming her with reassuring whispers. She felt so full already, yet she knew she’d barely taken even a quarter of him, a delicious sting around where he was stretching her out so achingly slow.

He looked almost pained when she looked up at him, his features pinched and strained, his hand fisting the pillow beside her head, the other digging into her hip. 

Tentatively, she brought a hand up to soothe him herself, smoothing her thumb over the tense lines of his brows, his lips. “It’s alright, you’re not hurting me.” She whispered. “You can give me more. Give me all of you.”

He shuddered, at the feeling of her hand caressing him, at her soft, encouraging words. He lost himself in the sensation, bringing his palm up to keep her hand pressed to his cheek, before he brought his hips down to connect with hers, sheathing himself completely inside of her. 

They both let out sharp, strangled gasps in unison. 

His head dropped down to her shoulder, overwhelmed by the feeling of her squeezing so tight around him. She brought a hand to run her nails down the nape of his neck, equally as overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full.

His voice was destroyed when he spoke. “Okay?”

She nodded fervently. 

Slowly, he eased his hips back, and just as slowly, eased them back against hers. She could feel his warm breath, panting heavy where he had his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. He nosed at her throat softly as he settled into an excruciatingly languid pace, terrified of hurting her. 

“More,” She breathed out against his ear. “Please, Ominis.”

His hand on her waist tightened at the sound of her pleading. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” She begged. “Please, I just want to feel more of  you.”

He let out a groan, his composure crumbling, and then he was bracing himself over her, hitching one of her legs up until her knee was pressed to her chest, and thrusting himself fully inside her again. 

He let out a guttural, depraved moan at how the new angle felt, his cock pushing right up against her walls. 

“Oh my gods,” She cried out, feeling him so much deeper inside her like this, her head falling back against the pillows.

He pressed his forehead against hers as he continued to rut into her just as she asked, her smaller body jolting as his thrusts became more forceful, more unrestrained, ones he couldn’t stop himself from giving her. He could feel every little whimper he tore from her, every soft pant ghosting his lips. 

He resisted the aching urge to kiss her. It would be so easy, to just tilt her chin up slightly for him, to lick into her parted lips and taste her the way he’s always wanted to taste her. To have her moan into his mouth while he continued to thrust into that sensitive little spot on her walls that made her see stars.

Thankfully, she didn’t make him resist any urges.

He nearly broke down when her hands came up to thread her fingers through his hair, bringing his lips down to crash into hers. The groan he let out against her mouth was utterly starved, a sound stemming from years and years and years of longing.

Her tongue tangled with his in a frantic quest to taste him just as eagerly, leaving them both spit-sticky and kiss-bruised, a messy desperation, too hungry for any sense of decorum. He wanted to completely drown himself in her, until his lungs were filled with only the air that she allowed him, until he was filled with nothing but her.

Having her moan into his mouth, feeling her lips start to falter against his when he rutted into that sensitive little spot deep inside her that made it overwhelming for her to kiss him back properly, was enough to push him straight to the edge.

His thrusts grew sloppy, on the verge of spilling inside her. He hurriedly brought his hand down to rub focused swirls on the spot he already knew she liked, desperate to feel her cumming around his cock while he filled her.

She let out a strangled moan, her walls fluttering around him, and he could tell she was just as close as he was. Right on the precipice of it, dangling over the edge. He’d never wanted something more, and feeling her writhe underneath him, he wasn’t above begging her for it. 

“Please, please—” He brought his other hand up under her dress to rub at her nipple, kneading the little nub between his fingers while he mouthed hungrily at the soft skin under her jaw. “Let me have this. Please let me have this.”

She obliged happily, in that moment willing to give him just about anything he asked of her. 

He tore her orgasm out of her with a few final ruts of his cock inside of her, hitting up into that spot that made her whimper. She came apart around him with his name spilling from her mouth, over and over again, as if it was all she’s ever known.

“Fuck, fuck—” He groaned at the sensation of her tightening, pulling him over the edge along with her, milking him until he was painting her insides with his cum.

He had never experienced greater euphoria, feeling her tremble against him from the aftershocks while he continued to pump inside of her until he was spent. 

“Thank you.” He kissed her sweat-damp cheeks as if in worship, trailed his lips to press against her hairline in gratitude, breathless. “Fuck, you did so well. Thank you.”

Her response was a lazy hum of acknowledgement, her eyes half-lidded, limbs syrupy and loose from the way her climax destroyed her. 

He kissed her then, sensual and slow, as if he wanted to prove his devotion to her with his lips. Head buzzing with endorphins, still buried deep inside of her, he whispered against her lips what had been playing through his head on a loop the entire time he’d fucked her.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

She froze, her eyes opening, as if all of the air had just been knocked out of her lungs. He noticed the way her body immediately tensed underneath him. His stomach sank. 

“I’m so sorry. That was — I shouldn’t have said—”

“Do you mean it?”

There was a heavy pause, as if he was considering carefully how to respond. Weighing his options. Ultimately, he decided there was no use in denying how he felt for her now. He noted wryly that he had little reason to worry about ruining their friendship with his confession when they were now married. 

“I’ve meant it for years.”

Suddenly, she laughed. A delighted exhale, incredulous. His brows furrowed.

Then, she said it. Words he’d wanted to hear from her for years, words he’d fallen asleep to countless times fantasizing about coming from her mouth. She said it so easily, as if it were a simple thing to admit. “I love you, too.”

An anxious, dreaded feeling settled in his stomach. He grimaced. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t—”

“Ominis,”  She interrupted him. “I mean it.”

His breath caught in his throat. “Swear it.”

“I swear it.” Her hands cupped his face. “I love you.”

He huffed his own soft, incredulous laugh. Then, he broke into a smile.

Stupid and giddy, the kind that made her stomach do somersaults, and left her with a warm, syrupy feeling all over. The kind where little creases showed up at the corners of his eyes. 

“Say it again.” 

She repeated it happily, as if it were natural. “I love you.”

He took her face in his hands and peppered kisses all over her face, overwhelmed with every little thing he was feeling for her in the moment, filled to the brim with nothing but relief and glee and satisfaction, his heart feeling like it might burst out of his chest with how full it was. He paused at her lips.

“Again.”

She laughed, amused, before she grinned and humored him anyways. “I love you.”

He kissed her again. Sweet and soft, enough to make her head spin, and she felt in that moment like she had been suddenly dragged under the warmth of a sunbeam. 

A soft, amber glow that shone itself on the dreary, dark future that she had envisioned for herself. That melted away her anxieties and replaced them with images of gentle caresses and smile lines and blonde hair threaded through her fingers. 

When he finally broke away, there was concern etched over his expression. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

“Then trust me and let me make this right.” He brushed his thumb across the line of her cheekbone, traced her features with feather-light touches. “I’ll turn this into something good, I swear it to you. Whatever it takes, just let me make you happy. Please.”

She smiled then, hopeful. A flicker in her eyes. That little spark reignited inside of her, the everlasting fire. “We’ll make this into something good together, won’t we?”

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, pulled her into him until she was tucked safely into his chest, enveloping her in layers and layers of adoration that he prayed she could feel in his embrace. He closed his eyes. 

“Just like we always have.” 

#ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #angst #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #hogwarts legacy imagine

[itshaejinju]

Random BG3 Headcanons (#3) -Touch Starved-

Like there are so many characters that are touched starved, just a few people that came to mind and thoughts.

Astarion doesn’t even realize it that he’s touched starved for genuine affection. Not the dalliances for Cazador the fodder he brought back to the mansion. He didn’t even recognize the touches when Tav and slept with him that first time. It wasn’t until they were inspecting the ritual on his back slowly tracing fingers over the thick gnarled scars. Their touch was soothing….healing the horror of what happened a little bit a start to a long journey. Astarion finds himself relaxing, leaning into the gentle strokes and fingers running through his hair as they relax for the night reading a book.

Karlach poor girl is stark raving mad for touch but the fear of burning someone alive with the touch will do that to you. She gets jealous seeing others being able to touch so freely but it doesn’t last long as instead of turning it to anger Karlach loves vicariously through them. She will ask whoever if it is okay to describe it just to help her remember and for private stress release times. When her and Tav finally can touch it’s overstimulating and can’t feel it always so because her system is over drive. Karlach is in such a daze unaware until one morning tangled in arms and legs of Tav that it is the best thing ever. She loves holding hands and will hug anyone willing.

Rolan touched starved because of a wall he put up keeping himself and Lia and Cal safe. There was not much time for personal relations when he spent all of his time studying learning spells and watching his siblings. He knew he would get around to finding a mate but one thing lead to another and he forgot about a spouse, a fling or even any affection that wasn’t platonic. One day Tav placed a flower crown on his head hands grazing over his horns causing a shiver down his spine startling him. Just a small gentle touch and he grew flustered why did that feel good? He didn’t need their affection with all the trouble Tav had caused him already. This bright smile amongst the doom surrounding them. Absolutely melts with fingers being dragged up and down his arms and back, his tail wrapped around Tavs leg.

Dammon didn’t realized he was touch starved until he received a hug from Tav after helping Karlach. That the more he saw Tav as they visited often to have weapons repaired enjoying their company enjoying their open nature. Carefree with their forms of appreciation patting him on the back making him lean into the touches. Throughly enjoys shoulder and neck massages after a long day at the forge.

#my writing #random musings #headcanon #bg3 tav #bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 astarion #bg3 karlach #bg3 dammon #bg3 rolan #karlach #dammon #rolan #astarion #rolan x tav #astarion x tav #karlach x tav #dammon x tav #touch starved

[daze4all]

HSR Always Remember Me- Soft!Yandere!Blade x Reader Fluff & Angst

"Always remember me," a strange man with a coat of spider lilies asks when he saves your life on a day of pouring rain. A man who lives forever but always forgets, and you who always remembers but will fade away like flowers. In your last embrace, you are pressed against his chest to an unbeating heart. As he listens to yours ticking down a time he’ll never have again. Rewrote in but also Edited the Original That I posted to remember to rewrite it lol 3 am thoughts, drabble adhd, stream of consciousness etc lol

All You Can Do, is Remembers me Always

Synopsis: You saved a hurt man who leaves once he remembers his past and mission. Guest!Blade Gifts his host a dagger before Saying Goodbye. All the eternal marastruck man asks in return is “ Remember me always, though I may forget you”

Blade was an enigma and a puzzle probably best let unsolved.

A stranger who had turned up broken and bleeding near your house. You had struggled to patch him up to the best of your ability and strangely he healed despite you nonexistent healing skills.

Ligr continued Domestically for a Time.

He had left for quite some time before coming back soaked from his fit. He had left the house abruptly after breaking a pin you treasured when you had tucked his hair up to the side. A spin on the night-time ritual of brushing his hair to help him fall asleep that went horribly wrong.

Somehow it had triggered some lingering pstd for what you could not fathom.

…

“In place of your broken pin, a dagger for protection” Blade simply says demonstrating a few parries, lunges and thrusts with the small sword he had gifted you. More like a dagger easy to conceal in the fold of your clothes.

“Keep it with you always” he said thinking of how easy it was to break into your house. As he had done countless times already.

He gave it to you as a token in place of him for protection. A poor substitute but he had an unspoken mission to pursue.

An end to seek that even you couldn’t keep him from. Now that fractured memories were trickling back to him.

Your pretty handy with a sword shall we call you Blade?

“ Be safe”  you say being the silent one. Now unsure what to do know your unexpected guest was leaving.

"You too “ Blade replied a man awkward silences and few but meaningful words.

A grasp of your wrist as he drew you close in a desperate bruising kiss before you go. “Don’t forget your mine.” Blades eyes burned bright as flame with lost desperation. A hidden side that only softened for you and griped your heart in guilt.

A softer desperate almost inaudible whisper “Always remember for me” he repeated his grip bruising and eyes blazing almost a threat. So intense and meaningful were the words for the mara struck man.

“Of course” you softly say taking his hand with you own to detangle yourself from him. You don’t think you could forget him if you tried.

He certainly made an impact. How you could forget someone coming in the rain with red dripping off their clothes and seeking shelter at your rundown house.

 You had to be careful with him injured as he was. He was raving mad when you found him half frozen and almost dead. Afterwards, he shivered as a comatose patient in your bed for many days, from the cold. He was clearly sick from something more than a simple cold.

He spilled his life story in raving, heated mutterings, of fragmented pieces of battles. Mentioning Sinners, dragons and fighting monsters in between a terrible fever you nursed him through.  You couldn’t understand the concepts beyond your comprehension, but it seemed he finally remembered.

“You, don’t forget.” He reiterates his grasp tight on your own.

You wonder if he even remembers or forgot that too. Somone you saved. Somone who saved you.

He has all the time in world and yours is ticking away….

It is the least you can do for the man who will live forever but forgets.

And you who remembers but will fade away like flowers.

"This I will remember." You promise with a sad smile.

Only harsh truths would only hurt him and you. The memories scratch painfully at your heart.

As you stare sorrowfully at the broken man, his now blue black hair fades to red like the blood he was once soaked in when he collapsed at your doorstep.

His burning eyes once calm steady and peaceful a bare concealed burning fire staring beyond you at his target.

They leave you mouth dry, unable to speak of the too cruel reality and shatter this fantasy of togetherness.

To cowardly and weak to deny him the future he was seeking.

 So, you lay still by his side for one last night. A warm body beside him in a sleepless night. You stay awake as long as you can by his side.

Pressed against his chest to an unbeaten heart as he listens to yours ticking down a time he’ll never have again.

And he leaves on his self-imposed revenge with the dawning of a new day without a sound. A warm spot beside you in the bed slowly fading as he did.

A/N Guess cuz default Blade is yandere  it’s nice to make him soft and vulnerable just like how I make normal soft bois like Jing Yuan yandere character

Also edited but rewrote this in

#hsr blade #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail #male yandere x reader #yandere honkai star rail #blade x reader #blade honkai #blade hsr #honkai star rail fluff #hsr angst #high cloud quintet found family #high cloud quintet

[apolloanddaphnis]

Sorry if it’s been asked already but, what would horror bimbo wear to a concert date with Eddie?

It hasn't been asked yet and even if it has been, I love this reply. I’ll make a moodboard, but horror!bimbo would look very Danzig girl, like a vampire nymphette. Black, white, or deep red velvet little dresses and tiny articles of clothing, lace ups, poetry blouses worn as dresses that hardly pass her ass, she will wear garters up her thigh, bdsm chokers and collars, dead girl eye makeup that makes her look dreamy and sleepy. She always goes for otherworldly slut,

–

She always spent the whole day of a concert preparing,

If it was a school day she would play hookey,

Eddie would hate it because he wouldnt get to see his sweet little moth, and would complain dramatically to her about it.

Hands splayed on her provocative hips before squeezing them possessively as he would bury his face in her sweet smelling neck that smelled of her lilac perfume and vanilla body powder, his mouth actually physically water. “You gonna leave me again until nighttime?” he complained.

She giggled and stroked his fluffy chocolate curls.

“Id invite you to stay, but I dont wanna bore you bear.” She always could call him that because to her he looked like a human teddy bear, a very sexy teddy bear.

He lifted his head from her neck, his doe eyes widened and pupils darkened. “Yeah? Youd let me watch you get dressed? Maybe help you wash that back…” he started kissing down the back of her neck causing her to shiver and preen against him. He was half hard thinking about it.

He spent the day getting ready with her. She ran a nice bubble bath with Vaseline vitamin e bath beads that turned the water teal, Crabtree & Evelyn rosewater bubble bath, and apricot kernel bath oil. She had to have Eddie join in her pre-concert ritual naturally, and no one was home but her. She lit lavender candles and played the Icon album Night of the Crime theyll be hearing tonight in Indianapolis.

She had Eddie joined her in the bath, she put an avocado masque on his face and hers and the Rave hair masque with a V05 hot oil treatment, She wanted him to feel pampered too, and they started kissing, he held her in his lap, she warmed his cock in the bath She felt so full like she ate a big meal, he is that big. She couldnt stop herself, felt too good, she started moving.

“Ooh fuck baby, if you dont stop that–”

“Youll what…daddy?” She put on her baby voice, the one that got small and sounded squishy and cute,

He stroked her back and she started to drool in anticipation. He took her face in his hand, turning her to face him and lick up her drool, his other hand squeezed her ample ass, “Fuck you have a perfect body for a whore.” He thrusted his hips up and she squeaked, feeling dizzy with pleasure. “Oh my fucking God!”

“Too bad youre just mine.” He laid a sloppy kiss on her shoulder and grabbed her waist before raising his hips and slamming up inside of her tight pussy, that gushed all over his cock. “Baby girl, making such a mess for daddy, what a messy baby.” He cooed.

After a steamy bath session, they got dressed. She used hot rollers for a sultry look, and slid on her french cut, black, lace panties, her puffy pussy sort of swallowed it a bit, and naturally Eddie had to have a quick taste.

She had a satin white garter with a pink rosette slid up her left thigh by his truly, her right leg adorn with a thigh high fishnet stocking, a revealing neo Victorian, lacey little slip with gaps terribly tied together by dainty bows, exposing her generous cleavage, the thin straps of her negligee falling down her shoulders, She slips into combat boots that contrast her attire, and one of Eddie’s leather jackets that was too big for her frame. She had black under eye to make her look like a haunted doll, and her lips were painted the same color as her nipples.

Her signature lilac perfume kissed her wrists, neck, and cleavage. Eddie realized the importance of getting ready for a concert.

@thepurplelovewitch

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x horror!bimbo reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson headcanons #st4

[deadasadoe]

I feel like modern Bratz media leans too much into them being hardworking girls who run a blog/magazine and deal with like friendship and relationship slice of life type drama. Which is what the core of Bratz really is I guess but the OG Bratz were unhinged.

The TV show was so out of pocket, they'd travel to Europe and become a world famous band within the span of a week as a way to promote their magazine.

But more importantly the movies just threw things at you, and you fully had to accept that some teen girls are harboring a magical genie to stop a terrorist organization from using her for world domination.

Or that not only do evil pixies exist but also have sick raves that are only a 15 minute drive away from the local high school.

These girls were surviving attempted murder, falling off cliffs in cars, magical rituals, riding on yassified flying horses with gnomes, and still found the time to run a fashion magazine.

If we do get a netflix show I'm hoping that they bring back some of the absolute chaos that was in the movies.

#bratz

[tylermileslockett]

"Bacchic Frenzy" (#8 in my Orpheus and Eurydice series)

With the heavy grief of having lost his wife yet again, he makes his way back down into Hades to the river styx, where “the ferryman (charon) fended him off. Still, for seven days, he sat there by the shore, neglecting himself and not taking nourishment. Sorrow, troubled thought, and tears were his food.” (Ovid, Metamorphosis)

He returns to Mount Rhodope, ever-lamenting his loss and refusing to join or wed any other. He refuses to worship any god but his father, Apollo. As he roams, he finds himself in the land of the oracle of Dionysus, where the Maenads dwell. Either from rejecting their romantic advances, or for his blasphemous worship of Apollo, in a frenzy, the Maenads tear the poet limb from limb. His decapitated head and lyre fall into the river, floating away, still singing of his lost love, Eurydice.

Here we can pause our tale to discuss the Maenads (“raving ones”); the wild, orgiastic, and sometimes violent female followers of Bacchus (Dionysus). These priestesses and attendants would sing and dance in the mountains, becoming possessed by the spirit of the God. They were typically portrayed as wearing wild animal skins, barefoot, and with unkempt hair.

In Euripides play “The Bacchae” Dionysus returns to his birthplace, Thebes, to introduce the religious Bacchicrites to the city, but is not allowed to enter by King Pentheus. To prove his power, Dionysus possesses the women of Thebes, turning them to Maenads, and ultimately the king’s own mother and aunts tear King Pentheus limb from limb, thinking him a lion. In another tale, when three princesses refused to participate, Dionysus drove them crazy, eventually turning them into bats and owls, while the daughters of Proetus were driven mad, convinced they were cows, roaming and mooing across the countryside. Roman women took this orgiastic spirit into their secret rituals of the Bacchanalia festival, which the senate eventually suppressed for fear the rites might lead to rebellion against the state.

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#greekmythology #greekgods #pjo #mythology #classics #classicscommunity #myths #ancientgreece #Orpheus #Hades #persephone

[nunalastor]

Considering his background and the era he lived in... it is entirely possible for Alastor's mother to have been lynched. Sadly, it may even have been likely if we followed the theory that beesrned his Voodoo abilities from her. That or some other terrible fate, there was no end of horrible things that could happen to a young black woman in the 1920s, especially one in an abusive relationship to a white man according to old life streams.

Oh, man. This is a really interesting topic and honestly sent me spiraling down a Google rabbit hole because there's so much interesting historical background that would inform it and there are a LOT of overlaps. 

First, there's the topic of black women being lynched - which is often largely left out of the conversation about lynching.

The rise of lynching after Reconstruction was primarily a response to white people feeling threatened because of gains by black people - especially black men - were making (voting rights, economic competition, running for office, labor organizers) + stereotypes about black men being violent and sexual predators. So, the majority of lynching victims (there's a good list here) were men.

Only around 3-4% of lynching victims were female by official reports. (But take that statistic with a grain of salt because it doesn't mean black women weren't being killed and brutalized - it just wasn't often recognized as a lynching.)

And that has an interesting tie into Voodoo in New Orleans because upper-class white women were joining ceremonies and Voodoo was used to stoke the fires of white supremacy. So, it goes back to those same ideas about lynching to "protect white women"

In an 1895 book, journalist and judge Henry Castellanos recalled an antebellum raid on a ritual:

Blacks and whites were circling round promiscuously, writhing in muscular contractions, panting, raving and frothing at the mouth. But the most degrading and infamous feature of this scene was the presence of a very large number of ladies (?), moving in the highest walks of society.

In the early part of the 19th century, newspapers articles began denouncing the religion.[106] In August 1850, about fifty women, several of whom were white, were arrested at a Voodoo dance ceremony; they were subsequently fined.[110] In 1855 a mob attempted to seize a practitioner, Elizabeth Sutherland, who they accused of putting spells on people; the local police gave her shelter at the station."

And public Voodoo worship largely disappearing around the 1900s , which probably resulted from a lot of the restrictions placed on black people around this time like regulations on when and where black people could gather.

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #meta