#the thoughts i have about this design are unholy in nature

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

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☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

“Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

#carol danvers smut #carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel smut #god i cannot believe i am back here #holy hell #help lmaooooo

[theostrophywife]

unholy.

masterlist (azriel x reader) author's note: once again, this fic is inspired by a song which the full version of actually just released today! unholy by sam smith and kim petras is the ultimate strip club vibes so you know i had to write an azriel piece about it. warning: public stripping, thigh riding, lap dances, daddy kink and mutual masturbation. honestly, take your pick and it's there. summary: tired of being the innocent one out of the inner circle, you show azriel your unholy fantasies.

It started out as a stupid dare. 

Get up on stage and dance. 

A simple enough task, propositioned by the one and only Morrigan. She didn't think you would actually do it. To be fair, you didn’t think you would either, but against better judgment, you found yourself agreeing. Fueled by strong faerie wine and the company of your friends, you were determined to let tonight be the night that you finally let loose. 

What started out as a spontaneous performance with the burlesque dancers on stage somehow snowballed into giving Azriel a very suggestive, very seductive, and very unexpected lap dance in one of the private rooms at Rita’s.  

But you were getting to that. 

In hindsight, perhaps things had gotten a little out of hand, but at least now no one could ever accuse you of holding back. 

Out of your circle of friends, you were always considered the innocent one. The sweet and demure healer who blushed at Cassian’s flirtatious remarks and balked at Mor’s suggestive dares. It wasn’t like you were inexperienced, but your hesitation and reluctance when it came to the inner circle's wilder antics unintentionally created a good girl persona for yourself that couldn’t be further from who you really were. 

In truth, you were just a notorious overthinker and it took awhile for you to get comfortable showing others your true colors. The majority of the time, you were perfectly content letting everyone chalk it up to shyness, but tonight Cassian’s teasing managed to get under your skin. 

“There’s no way you’re going up there, honey.” 

Even the nickname, dubbed by the Illyrian general to commemorate your first meeting at Madja’s clinic when you smeared honey salve on his once tattered wings, alluded to your supposedly saccharine nature. The rest of your friends spurred you on to join the burlesque dancer beckoning you onto the stage. All except the shadowsinger, who offered an apologetic smile on behalf of his brother. 

“Don’t listen to Cas. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

The remark was incredibly thoughtful of Azriel, but unbeknownst to him, it contained just the right amount of challenge to nudge you out of your comfort zone. You were tired of everyone assuming that you were coy and naive and perhaps showing them a different side of you would change their assumptions, Azriel included. Though the shadowsinger never made you feel ashamed of your more cautious approach, you wanted him to see you as more than the designated innocent member of the inner circle. 

“What if I want to?” you ask with a raised brow. 

The mischievous grin that spread across his beautiful face sent shivers down your spine. “Then you’d be making every male in this place very, very happy.” 

With a wicked smile, you rose from your seat and tossed your jacket at Cassian who stared after you in disbelief before launching into a deafening cheer. Beside him, Rhys and Feyre clapped while Mor whistled. Amren smirked over the top of her wine glass, but Nesta, who was the only friend who had ever witnessed your wild side first hand thanks to your countless girls night out with the Valkyries, simply mouthed a message of encouragement. 

Give them hell.

Your skin buzzed with anticipation as you climbed up onto the makeshift stage at Rita’s, sidling in next to the pretty pixie who twirled you around towards the audience. 

“And who is this pretty little thing joining us tonight?” 

You blushed, blinking under the bright faelights pointed in your direction. The varying colors flashed with every shade of the rainbow. “You can call me honey.” 

The dancer laughs in delight as the roaring cheer of your friends echo through the pleasure hall. “Let’s see if you’ve got some sting to you, honeybee.” 

With a snap of her fingers, the faelights dimmed and the music filtered through the room. A smoky blue spotlight kissed you with its hazy ring while fog skittered through your ankles. The pulsating beat thrummed through your body, drowning out your nerves with its seductive rhythm. You must have watched the burlesque dancers perform this routine half a dozen times and while it was more daring than your classical ballet training, the music flowed through your body all the same. 

Your hips swayed to the beat, losing yourself in the fluid movements of the dance. Leaning forward, you trace the outline of your leg, fingertips skirting along your supple skin, and stopping right above the hem of your dress. Teasing the audience, you allow the skirts to ride up to your thighs, giving them a brief glimpse of the lace garter holding up your thigh high stockings. 

The crowd was rambunctious as you winked before turning around and unzipping the zipper on the side of your dress. The dainty floral fabric slipped off with ease, revealing the lace nightgown that you were wearing underneath. You kicked the dress off to the side of the stage with your right heel, eliciting a roar of cheers from the audience. 

Mor was full on standing and whistling between her fingers. Teetering beside her, Feyre squealed in delight while Rhysand jokingly covered his eyes. Amren raised an amused brow while Nesta merely smiled. Her mate was the most boisterous of the group, letting the entirety of Rita’s know that it was his friend up there currently stripping for them. 

But it was Azriel’s gaze - golden and burning - that pierced right through you. The way the shadowsinger was looking at you made you feel more exposed than the act of undressing in front of nearly half the citizens of Velaris. 

Tossing your dark hair over your shoulders, you shot him a quick wink. He leaned forward to the edge of his seat, elbows pressed against the top of his knees while he watched you with unveiled scrutiny. Shadows peered over his shoulders, plunging him into a deeper darkness than the already dim lighting of the pleasure hall. 

Azriel had opted out of his usual dark leathers tonight and was instead donning a casual dark button up and black trousers. Thanks to the current heat wave in Velaris, the shadowsinger left the first few buttons of his shirt open, giving you a full view of the sprawling tattoos inked upon his golden brown skin. As if that weren't enough to give you heart palpitations, he'd also rolled up the sleeves to his elbows to showcase his strong arms. Your gaze immediately dropped down to the large veins covering them and immediately felt a bead of sweat slide down your back at the sight. Perhaps it was a peculiar thing to find attractive, but this was Azriel. The male made the act of breathing look like a masterpiece.

The other dancers gyrated around you and the pretty pixie gripped your waist, turning you once more to show you off to the crowd, but Azriel’s eyes remained solely fixed on you. An easy smile broke through his usual cool demeanor and a shiver went through your spine when he rose, those powerful wings of his flaring behind his back as he raised a glass in your direction. 

You swallowed thickly as he tipped the glass to his lips, the crimson wine sliding into his mouth and tinting those plush lips of his a deliciously wicked red color. Azriel never once broke eye contact while his pink tongue darted across his bottom lip, licking away the remnants of the alcohol. 

It was undoubtedly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Perhaps that single flirtatious gesture was to blame for what happened next. 

After wrapping up your brief stint as a burlesque dancer, the drinks flowed and the party migrated to the private room reserved for you and your friends at the back of the building. As you made your way through the packed crowd, several people congratulated you on your performance and some even offered to buy you a drink. Never mind that you couldn’t recall the last time you paid a single coin out of your pocket for your countless nights out thanks to Rhysand’s open tab. You wouldn’t be surprised if the High Lord was singlehandedly funding this pleasure hall on the inner circle's supply of wine alone. 

Cassian waved off your admirers, drunkenly draping an arm over your shoulder. “Who the hell knew you had it in you, honey?” 

“I did,” Nesta announces proudly. “That was tame compared to the moves I’ve seen her unleash at the tavern.” 

You blushed, sticking a tongue out at your friend. “That was supposed to be our secret, Nes!” 

Mor chuckled, falling in step beside you. “Cat’s out of the bag now. Our honeybee is a certified smoke show. That little striptease was hotter than the Cauldron.” The blonde’s mischievous sights settled on Azriel. “Wasn’t she on fire up there, Az?” 

You elbowed the blonde, but she only grinned in response. 

“You brought the whole damn house down, honey.” 

Azriel’s words swept over you like a torrential wind. His gaze stayed glued on you all night, serving as your own little spotlight and burning brighter than the faelights from earlier. 

As you slid into the booth next to him, your body thrummed from post adrenaline rush. You hadn’t bothered to put your dress back on, opting to stay in the skimpy little nightgown that left barely a sliver to the imagination. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you scooted closer to Azriel, arms and thighs touching as Nesta and Cassian sandwiched the two of you towards the end of the table. 

The familiar scent of night-chilled mist and cedar enveloped you on all sides. To your left, Nesta shot you a knowing look which you rebuffed with a subtle shake of your head. 

Make a move, she mouthed. 

Fuck off, you responded. 

The brunette smirked and inclined her chin towards Azriel, who was looking at you expectantly. The boldness from earlier weaned under the intensity of his gaze. Despite Nesta’s urging, you couldn’t muster up the courage to make the first move. You’ve been crushing on Azriel since the moment Cassian had dragged him into Madja’s clinic, fussing and fighting against receiving treatment for a mild injury to his wing. 

You’d pulled out a sharp basilisk tooth, threatening to inject him with venom if he didn’t allow you to patch up his wing. Azriel had taken to you instantly after that, often dropping by the clinic to eat lunch with you or walk you home after a long day of tending to gruesome wounds. 

You cherished the friendship you had with him, but there were times when you wanted more. Tonight being one of them. 

Because in the midst of the loud, crowded room, you only really had eyes for Azriel. 

The shadowsinger smiles, draping an arm over your shoulder. A silver necklace peeked out from his exposed chest, settling into the hard planes of his muscles while he scooted closer. “I meant what I said earlier,” he states over the blaring music. “You were great up there.” 

“Thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve been on stage.” 

Azriel squeezes your arm. “I’m only sorry that I never got to see you perform at the ballet.” 

You smile. He knew how much you loved dancing. When you met, you had just finished your stint as prima ballerina at the Velaris Ballet and shifted towards turning your volunteer work at Madja’s clinic into a full time job, though it never really felt like one. You liked helping people too much to consider it work. 

“Perhaps I’ll give you a private performance one of these days.” 

Just like that, the boldness was back with a vengeance. 

Azriel raises a brow. “Feeling daring tonight, are we?” 

You shrug nonchalantly. “The night’s still young. Who knows what sort of trouble Cas and Mor have in store for us?” 

You nod towards your friends, who were now dancing atop a table at the corner of the room. The wood creaked underneath their weight, but the two didn’t seem to notice. 

The shadowsinger chuckled beside you, his fingers skimming the side of your neck. They drummed a pleasant little pattern on your skin as you gulped down a sip of your wine. 

“Sorry about their teasing. They can get a little out of hand sometimes.” 

“It’s alright, I knew what I signed up for when I agreed to come out tonight,” you glance up at him, cheeks heating from a mixture of the alcohol and your close proximity to the Illyrian warrior. “Besides, it was time for me to come out of my comfort zone.” 

“Speaking of comfort zones,” Nesta interjects. “I think it’s time for a drinking game.”

Your friend beckoned her mate over and the rest of the inner circle followed suit. You raised a brow at Nesta, who rarely ever initiated these games. She shot a feral smile at you, which told you all that you needed to know. You were in deep shit.

“What are we playing, Nes?” Cassian asked. 

A mischievous smile spread across the female’s face. “Truth or drink.” She lined up the shot glasses in the middle of the table, filling each one to the brim with alcohol. “The person next to you gets to ask a question. You can choose to either answer truthfully or take the shot.” 

Mor smirked. “This should be fun.” 

Nesta nodded to the blonde, who was sitting right next to her youngest sister. “Looks like you’re up first, Feyre. Mor, will you do the honors?” 

The devious smile that spread across the beautiful female’s face was downright wicked as she nodded. She tilted her head, examining Feyre. “Out of all of the High Lords, who do you think is the kinkiest in bed?” 

You snorted as Feyre’s eyes went wide. Sheepishly, she mouthed a sorry to Rhys. “Helion, for sure.” 

Cassian hooted, clapping his brother on the back. “Don’t take offense, brother. The High Lord of Day would put any of us to shame.” 

Rhys grinned. “None taken. Helion can take the prize for kinkiest, as long as I’m still the most handsome High Lord in your eyes, Feyre darling.” 

“Get a room, you two,” Amren said with a roll of her eyes. She gestured to Feyre. “Now do us all a favor and ask your mate something to knock him down a few pegs.”

Feyre nodded, determined. “You once told me that you, Cas, and Az measured wingspans. To settle the age-old argument, who has the biggest wings?” 

The High Lord chuckled. “Easy. It’s Az.” 

Everyone glanced at Azriel, who only shrugged in response. Morrigan raised a brow. “Follow up question, if Az has the biggest wings then does my theory about its correlation to other body parts hold up as well?” 

Naturally, your gaze drifted to the shadowsinger who winked in response. He leaned in, shadows wafting over him like smoke. “Don’t tell me you’re curious too.” 

“Maybe I am,” you shot back flirtatiously. “For scientific purposes, of course.” 

“Of course,” Azriel echoes, squeezing your knee under the table. His hand remained there even as you both drew your attention back to the game at hand. 

Rhysand raised the shot glass in his hands. “Now that’s one secret I’ll never tell, cousin.” The High Lord tipped the liquor back and grimaced from the burn of the alcohol. 

His laser focus was upon Mor at once, stars winking into his violet eyes. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that this is a question all of us are dying to know. When are you finally going to ask Emerie out?” 

The blonde shot her cousin a glare. It had been nearly a year since Morrigan finally felt comfortable sharing the truth about her sexuality and all of your friends had been extremely supportive. On top of that, each of you were particularly invested in her budding romance with the Illyrian female. 

“Emerie and I actually already went out last week.” 

A chorus of gasps and inquiries erupted from your friends. Derailed by this new revelation, you watched in amusement as Cassian grilled the blonde for details. Sipping your wine, you tried to look everywhere but the hand resting on your knee. The front of your dress had slightly ridden up your thigh so Azriel’s fingers were splayed out on the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of your dress and the tops of your stockings. 

The shadowsinger was facing straight ahead, but a hint of a smirk graced his beautiful face as you tried not to squirm in your seat. 

“Enough about my love life,” Mor says with a wave of her hand. “It's your turn, Cas. Last Winter Solstice, I gave you custom red leather boots, but I have never seen you wear it once. Were you lying when you said you liked them?” 

Cassian’s eyes widened. You chuckled as the Illyrian general dramatically picked up his shot glass, tapped it on the wood, and downed the liquid in one gulp.

Mor gasped, slapping the sticky surface of the table. “You told me you loved them!” 

The wings upon Cassian’s back twinged slightly. “No comment.” 

“With you two? I thought the boots would get some use in the bedroom,” you say, wiggling a brow suggestively between Nesta and Cassian. 

Immediate regret shot through you like electricity as Azriel’s hand inched higher up your thigh. He squeezed gently and you nearly knocked your knee into the top of the table. Shadows pulled your ankles to the floor while Azriel's cool demeanor never once faltered.

While Mor and Cassian duked it out, the shadowsinger leaned over conspiratorially. “It’s not so nice to be on the receiving end of the teasing, is it?” 

“That's not fair. You're playing dirty and you know it, Az.” 

The grin he flashed was nothing short of feral. “Oh you have no idea how dirty I can get, princess.” 

Heat flared through your skin in response. What the hell was happening? You swallowed thickly, trying your best to keep up with the line of questions going around the table. In true Cassian fashion, the Illyrian general turned upon his mate with a downright ruthless smile. 

“During your last girl’s night at the House, all of you got drunk and decided to skinny dip in the Sidra. Two of the Valkyries backed out, but the others almost got caught by the sentries posted by the river. Which of you had to run buck naked through the night with only burlap sacks covering them?” 

Nesta’s gaze met yours. You gave her a small nod, confirming that it was alright for her to reveal your crimes. 

“It was me and honey.” 

The room erupted into boisterous laughter. Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “That was you two? The sentries woke me up in the middle of the night to ask if they should go after the streakers.” 

Nesta only shrugged. “Your turn, honey.” Her unyielding gaze flickers on your face, examining you with careful consideration. Then, a smile bloomed on her lovely face. “Have you ever had a dirty dream about anyone in this room?” 

Shit. You were going to kill her. Nesta was well aware of the answer to that question since you had shared a particularly steamy dream you’d had of Azriel that would’ve made Sellyn Drake herself blush. The shadowsinger’s fingers hovered over your skin, noticing the sudden stiffness of your limbs and the shift in your breathing. You twirled your finger around the rim of the shot glass, deciding your fate. 

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

Nesta smirks. “Care to share who the dream was about?” 

“You only get one question, Nes.” 

Your friends groaned, but Nesta only chuckled. “Fair enough.” A vexatious glint shimmered in her eyes while she nodded to your right. “Ask Az a question then.” 

Azriel smiled as his fingertips traced idle patterns on your skin. The contact made you clench your thighs together, but the pull of his shadows spread your feet apart so his hand could travel further up your leg. 

The Illyrian had a wolfish smile on his face as he whispered only low enough for you to hear. “Better make it a good one, princess.” 

You examined the male, grin growing wide as the perfect question came to mind. If Azriel wanted to play dirty, so be it. “Have you ever used the chains and whips in the dungeon for anything other than torture?” 

The whole room held their breath as the shadowsinger’s gaze met yours. Those hazel eyes of his beckoned you forth like a magnet, never once leaving your face as he picked up his shot glass. Licking his plump lips, he gave you a wink as he tipped the alcohol back. 

Cassian chuckled. “I think that was answer enough.” 

Azriel shrugged casually, not a hint of emotion breaking through that cool exterior of his. The game continued with another round of questions and the shadowsinger swept his hot touch over your skin once more.  The caress held nothing but promise.

“You’ll pay for that later, honey.” 

The threat made you dizzy with arousal. You were barely paying attention to the scandalous information being discussed, too busy with the task of discretely ogling Azriel through the rim of your wine glass. Your hot gaze trailed from the soft dark hair curling around his ears, inky strands caressing the sharp angle of his cheekbones. The glow of the faelights bathed his golden brown skin in a soft halo, hugging the elegant slope of his nose and framing his smirking mouth. With the rim of the wine glass caught between them, Azriel's lips appeared so enticing that it was almost criminal.

Gods, he was so fucking beautiful. It almost hurt to look at him directly.

Azriel squeezed you gently. “See something you like?” 

“Mhm,” you murmur. “You’re just so pretty, Az.”

You reveled in the blush that swept over his cheeks. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re the only pretty thing I see here, princess.”

You grin, batting your lashes. The rest of your group seemed utterly oblivious to the game happening between you and the shadowsinger. He inched his way closer to the edge of your panties as you sucked in a sharp intake of breath. The arousal coating the lace fabric had you soaked right through. The scent of it wafted up to Azriel who only smiled, satisfaction written all over his smug face. 

“Now be a good girl and ask me another question.”

An hour and two drinks later, you found yourself perched on the shadowsinger’s lap. The longer the night went on, the touchier you both got. It started with you playfully stretching your legs onto Azriel’s lap, which led to him pulling you by the ankles to bring you closer, and eventually bouncing you on his knee so you could hear each other better. 

The rest of your friends had joined the crowd outside, no doubt dancing the night away as you and Azriel stayed behind in the private room. On any other night, you would’ve been out on the dance floor partying it up with Mor and Feyre, but right now, you were perfectly content where you were. 

Azriel tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You should wear your hair down more often,” he states in a low and husky voice. “I like it this way.” 

His fingertips skirt over your collarbone, toying with the strap of your lace nightgown. The flimsy spaghetti strap slides off your shoulder, revealing the blue lace bra underneath. 

“This dress,” he murmurs in appreciation. “I like this dress on you, too.” 

You blush, tipping your head back in laughter. “Are you just going to keep naming things you like about me?” 

“We’d be here all night.” 

“You’re a shameless flirt, Az.” 

A shiver snakes its way up your spine as his shadows sweep over you, their cool touch caressing your cheek. “Only for you.”

“You seem different tonight,” he whispers into your ear. “Less guarded. More confident.” 

“Maybe I’m tired of everyone thinking of me as the innocent one.” 

Azriel chuckles. “The first time I met you, you threatened to stab me with a basilisk tooth. You never had me fooled for a second.” 

“You know what I mean, Az. I’m the one that always holds back. The one that overthinks everything. For once, I just want to be the fun one.” 

“Hence the stripping on stage?” he teases, twirling your hair between his fingers. You rolled your eyes playfully and he tickled your cheeks with the strands. “You are fun, whether you’re undressing for all of Rita’s to see or curling up with one of those smutty books you like so much back at your flat.” 

You tilt your head to the side, biting back a smile. “I don’t know. It might be silly, but sometimes I wish I had the courage to be this version of myself more often.” 

Azriel’s fingers traced the curve of your jaw. “You know you can always be yourself around me, right? The good, the bad, the ugly. I like every version of yourself that you allow me to see. Tonight is no different.” 

Warmth spread through your cheeks and you pitched forward, covering your face within the dark curtain of your hair. “You’re my best friend, Az. You have to say that.” 

The shadowsinger lifts your chin, examining your features with tender eyes. Your heart was pounding inside your chest so frantically that it would take a miracle for Azriel not to hear it. 

“Friends don’t think of each other the way I think about you,” he says softly. 

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered erratically. “And what exactly do you think about me?” 

He pauses, taking you in. “I think that you’re smart and sweet and funny. I think that my day never really feels complete until I talk to you because you’re honestly one of my favorite people.” Your heart fluttered in your chest as a hint of mischief flashed through Azriel’s eyes. 

With his voice low and his gaze hot, Azriel adds, “And I think that if I told you the filthy thoughts that crossed my mind while you were dancing on stage, no one would ever see you as innocent again.” 

A shiver went down your spine. You’d imagined crossing this line with Azriel so many times, but you were too afraid of ruining your friendship to ever pursue it. The flirting and the touching wasn’t anything new. You and Azriel had a tendency to draw towards each other wherever you were, but besides the occasional suggestive remark or lingering touch, neither one of you acknowledged the sexual tension brewing between you. 

More than that, Azriel truly was your best friend. You talked about anything and everything under the sun and you just understood one another. It’s rare to find a connection with someone like that. So, you kept your feelings under lock and key, but now Azriel had unlocked unknown territory. 

You couldn’t deny the desire rolling off of you in waves. The thoughts running through your head were ones that you only allowed yourself to think about when you were alone. Usually in your bed or in the bath with your fingers between your legs, but now, the male that consumed your thoughts just admitted that you consumed his too. You weren’t about to let this moment pass you by.

Music pulsed through the room and you could feel the seductive beat thrumming through your veins. You rose to standing, perching yourself between Azriel’s thighs. Guiding his hands over your waist, you shot him a seductive grin. 

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked, his voice so low you could barely hear it. 

“Showing you what I think about when I think about you.” 

The dim faelights flickered as your body swayed to the music, hips rocking side to side as you circled Azriel. The glow of the siphons on his hands reflected off the lights, bathing the entire room in a hazy cobalt fog. With the pulsating beat of the music and the sultry lighting, your body moved of its own accord. The shadowsinger's eyes followed your movements, from the way your fingertips traced the soft curves of your body to the sensual pop of your hips as you dropped it low. You slowly rose, bending over backwards and giving him a full view of your backside.

You continued to gyrate, your body flowing as smoothly as the Sidra. Winding and grinding, Azriel craned his neck to watch as you danced around him. You kneeled, fingers twining with his while you twirled back up to standing. Slowly, you pressed your chest against his and let your lips brush against his cheek while the tops of your breasts grazed his mouth. You tugged at the chain dangling on his neck, watching as his eyes fluttered close while you placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He tried to capture your lips in his, but you only chuckled while you turned around and perched yourself on his lap.

Azriel’s tongue darts out from between his lips as the straps of your dress fall over your shoulder. He inhales sharply as you settle between his thighs, grinding against him slowly while your hips rocked in a steady rhythm. The shadowsinger grips your waist in his large hands, fingers disappearing underneath the lacy fabric of your nightgown. Finally, you turn to face him and the ravenous look in his eyes made you shiver with anticipation.

He traced soothing circles against your skin as you settled over his right thigh, your arms hooking behind his head. Deft fingers hike the skirt of your dress up even more until your lace panties pressed against the fabric of his trousers. You rocked your hips over his thigh, moaning as the friction rubbed against your already soaking core. 

“Is this what you think about?” Azriel whispers into your ear. “Teasing the absolute hell out of me until I’m so hard that I can’t even think straight?”

“Yes,” you whimper as you buck against him, your arousal coating your lace underwear and his trousers. His fingers lace through your hair, gripping the back of your head with light force. “I fantasize about it all the time. In my bed. In the bath. Anywhere I can.” 

“Fuck, that’s hot. Do you get yourself off while thinking of me, princess?” 

“Always,” you admit breathlessly. “It’s always you.” 

“Do you touch yourself and imagine that its my fingers inside of you?” He groaned, kneading your ass with his hand. “Do you fuck yourself and call out my name?” 

You nod, the hazy fog of lust clouding your thoughts. “I do.” 

“Then show me, princess.” 

Azriel guides your hand towards your lace panties. He yanks them off you, tearing the delicate fabric and exposing your bare cunt to the cold air. The ruined lace rolls off your ankles and he discards them to the floor without a second glance. He lifts you gingerly, sliding out of his own pants so he could feel your arousal against his leg. 

“What would our friends think if they could see us now?” The dark chuckle that followed told you exactly how little he cared if anyone were to walk through the door. The risk of getting caught made this that much more enticing. 

“I don’t care,” you answer. “Do you?” 

Azriel guided your hips over his leg once more and the skin on skin contact nearly made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “My little exhibitionist,” he says with a smirk. “Tell me what you want.” 

You bit your lip, thinking. “I want to ride your thigh.”

He chuckles darkly. “Not so innocent now, are we? Is that really what you want? To ride my thigh until you’re nothing but a needy, whining mess in my lap?”

“Yes, Az. Please,” you plead, pouting your lips. 

“Come get yourself off on my thigh then, princess.”

That was all the encouragement you needed before you needily grinded against him. Azriel’s warm mouth connected to your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses along your skin. His lips skirted over the hollow of your throat, nipping and sucking all the way down to your collarbone. He pulled down the straps of your dress, letting it drape down your torso as he admired the lacy blue bra hiding underneath. 

Azriel inhaled sharply at the sight of your cleavage. He continued kissing your chest while dexterously making quick work of the hook of your bra. Releasing your breasts from their constraints, he cupped your soft flesh before taking a nipple into his mouth. Your back arched as his tongue swirled around your peak and you continued riding his warm thigh, the slick sound of your arousal rubbing against him filling the room. 

The sensation on your clit is heavenly and you could feel yourself closer and closer to reaching your reprieve as he hums against your skin. A slick sound interrupted your thoughts and you looked down to find Azriel pumping himself while he watched you get yourself off on his lap. The sight of his hard cock in his hand made your mouth water. 

“Touch yourself for me, princess.” 

You whimpered, sliding a finger over your clit and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves while Azriel continued to rub himself underneath you. Two fingers slide into your pussy, coating them with your juices while you and Azriel watch each other masturbate. You bucked against your own hand, imagining that it was his cock underneath you and releasing a loud moan. 

“That’s it, princess. Keep fucking yourself against me until you cum.” 

The buck of your hips turns erratic as Azriel continues to watch you shamelessly get off on his thigh. Your toes curled, body tensing as waves of pleasure washed over you. The friction made your head swim with incoherent thoughts.

"Azriel," you gasp, moaning his name into the crook of his neck while you worked yourself towards release.

A light tug at the back of your head placed you face to face with the shadowsinger. His hazel eyes glowed with desire, drinking in the sight of you pleading his name like a prayer.

"Say it again."

With your mouth slightly open, panting as the pressure built behind your needy core, you whimpered. "Azriel."

His free hand drifted up to your nipple, rubbing and teasing as you bucked against his touch. Azriel licked the hollow of your throat, nipping at your soft skin and sucking at your flesh so hard that it was sure to bruise. You could only imagine the trail of love bites littered all over your neck.

Azriel grinned into your skin. "Don't cover my marks. After we walk out of here, I want everyone to know who did this to you. Who made you whimper and moan and beg. You're mine, princess. Do you understand?"

You whimpered against his neck. Shadows coiled at the base of your throat, turning your chin to place you face to face once again. The intensity of his hazel gaze burned into your skin like a brand.

"When I ask you a question, I expect an answer." Azriel withdrew his touch from your nipple and you whined at the loss of warmth.

"I'm yours, Azriel," you answer in a breathy pant. "I always have been."

The growl that emitted from the back of his throat was nothing like you’ve ever heard before. Azriel’s free hand tangled through the back of your head as he forcefully pressed his mouth against yours. Your lips melded together, making your head swim with lust as his tongue slipped inside your mouth. The kiss brings you over the edge and a whining pant escapes from the back of your throat as Azriel swears. 

“Let go, princess. I’ve got you.” 

Azriel kisses you, deep and slow, while you give yourself over to your orgasm. The tension in your abdomen uncoiled and you came all over his muscled thigh. With a growl, Azriel releases his cock from his right hand and plunges his own fingers inside of you. The peak of your release intensified as he curved his middle and pointer finger inside your walls, eliciting wave after wave of pleasure to rack through your body. You whine as he withdraws seconds later, your juices coating his digits. Arousal glistened on his scarred fingers and he brought them to his mouth, licking up every last drop of you. 

“You taste like fucking heaven, honey. Better than what I could’ve imagined.” He brought his fingers to your lips. “See for yourself.”

You took his digits into your parted mouth, swirling your tongue and tasting yourself on him. His eyes were nearly black as you sucked on his fingers, releasing them with a loud pop as he pulled them out of your mouth. 

“Such a good girl for me.” 

“I want to taste you, Az.” 

The curses that flew out of his beautiful mouth would’ve made a sailor blush. You smirked, giving him a quick peck before sliding down onto your knees. Above you, Azriel watched with lust blown eyes while you grip his cock in your dainty hands. Lifting his shirt, you greedily licked a trail up his abs while he shuddered at the sensation of your warm mouth. 

His wings flared behind him as a moan ripped through his chest. Pure, unadulterated pleasure rocked through his body while his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. “Keep teasing like that, princess and you’ll have me on my knees by the end of the night.”

Satisfied with that response, you pumped him in your hand and grinned. You spit in your right hand, rubbing up and down his length with determination. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you licked his long, hard member from base to tip, catching his precum in your mouth while Azriel gathered your hair in his hands. 

Glancing up at him through your lashes, you squeezed him in your hand, slowly pumping his member as you began to take him into your mouth. Tears pricked the back of your eyes while his cock hit the back of your throat. Azriel was bigger than anyone you’ve ever taken. You gagged on the sheer size of his member, your spit trailing down his lap while you fucked him with your mouth. 

“That’s it, honey,” he said gruffly. “You can take it.” 

Azriel guided the back of your head, helping you bob up and down his length while he moaned your name. He yanked on your hair while you gagged, the sloppy sounds of you choking on his cock filling the room. The filthy swears coming out of his mouth only served to turn you on even more. 

“Does my pretty little princess like to choke on my cock?” He shudders, bucking his hips into your mouth. “You’re just begging to have your throat fucked, aren’t you?” 

You whined, inhaling through your nose while tears streamed down your cheeks. Saliva dribbled down your chin and you were pretty sure that you’d been reduced to nothing but a slobbery mess, but you were determined to get Azriel off with your mouth. 

“Fuck,” Azriel swears, rolling his head back as he spoke. “How are you so good at that? Taking me in so deep like a good girl.” 

You hummed while sucking your cheeks in, letting his length hit the back of your throat over and over again. The shadowsinger shuddered, wings fluttering behind him as he came closer and closer to his release.

“I want to make you cum, Az.” 

“Not yet, princess. I want to feel how wet you are for me first. I could smell your arousal all night and I want to fucking bury myself in it.”

He released his hold on your hair, picking you up from your kneeling position. Your legs wobbled underneath you, but Azriel steadied you and placed your hands on the wooden table directly in front of you. He swept away the remnants of food and drinks littering its surface onto the floor and hovered over you. Shadows swirled through your ankles, spreading your legs apart with force as Azriel cups your ass. 

“Be a good girl and bend over.” 

A shock of electricity jolted through you as you leaned over the table, face down and ass up. His fingers traced the thigh high stockings covering your lower half, cupping your ass in appreciation. A loud smack echoed through your ears as Azriel brought his hand down on your right cheek. The action stung and it would no doubt leave a handprint on your ass until the next morning, but your head was reeling with too much pleasure to care. Steadying himself on the table, Azriel lined the tip of his cock on your wet cunt and teased along your slit.

Your pussy throbbed with desire, needy and desperate to feel Azriel buried deep inside you. A whine escaped your lips as you greedily rocked against him. The shadowsinger smacked your ass again, gripping your waist in place. 

“I wouldn’t do that again unless you want to get punished. I decide when to put my cock inside you. Do you understand, princess?” 

You nod, goosebumps prickling over your skin. “Yes, daddy.” 

Azriel chuckles darkly. “Absolutely fucking filthy. My spoiled rotten little princess.” He braced himself behind you. “Now try and be quiet so the rest of the people here won’t know that daddy's about to fuck you into oblivion.” 

“I’ll be good.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

Azriel eased himself into you, swearing under his breath when he slid into your wet pussy. You were dripping for him and it made it that much easier for him to slip all the way in. He moved slowly, thrusting into you at a steady tempo until he hit that sweet spot within you that made you cry out in pleasure. Encouraged by your reaction, the shadowsinger rutted into you relentlessly and you tried to desperately swallow the moans rising within you. A small whimper slipped out and Azriel leaned over you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“What did I say about being quiet?” he hissed into your ear, suddenly pulling out of you. The absence of his warmth inside you made you whine in desperation. 

“Please, I swear I’ll be quiet. You just feel so fucking good.” 

“Look at you begging for me. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Azriel’s hand trails up your torso, squeezing your breast on the way up before wrapping his fingers around your throat. “I suppose I’ll just have to find another way to keep you quiet.” 

Shadows clamp down over your mouth while Azriel pounds into you again, squeezing gently on your neck. The lack of oxygen combined with his aggressive thrusts had you reeling with pleasure. Until now, you’d never really understood the appeal of choking, but with his hand wrapped around your neck and his cock buried deep inside you, Azriel was convincing you otherwise. 

With your face pressed against the table, Azriel gathers your hair into his fist and leans over so that his chest is touching your bare skin. The cold sensation of his necklace hit the small of your back while he savagely pounded into you again and again.

“My honey’s just so pretty when I’m fucking her senseless.” He presses a kiss on your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin as he railed you from behind. “Feels so fucking good. Like your pretty little cunt was made just for me.” 

The vice grip of your walls pulsed around his member while he hit all the right spots. Your legs were shaking as skin slapped against skin, the tempo of his thrusts matching the pulsating beat of the music blaring through the pleasure hall. If any of your friends walked through that door, they’d see the tears forming in your eyes as you begged Azriel for more. The thrill of getting caught in the act made you moan into the shadowsinger’s hand. 

He eased on his grip, leaning over to hear what you had to say. “Fuck me, daddy. Fuck me until I cum all over your cock. Please.” 

Azriel chuckled. “Since you asked so nicely, princess. I’ll let you cum first.” 

His hands traveled south, settling on your clit while he rubbed circular motions over the sensitive spot. The shadowsinger rutted even more aggressively into you and the sweet nothings he whispered into your hair had you gushing all over him. Turning your head towards him, he kissed you deeply and swallowed your moans into his own mouth. 

“That’s it, honey. Just ride it out. Wanna feel you cum while I’m deep inside you.”

The second orgasm rocked you harder than the first. Your walls clenched around Azriel, coating his member with your arousal while it dripped out of you. 

“Such a good girl. You want daddy to fill you up, princess?” 

You nod, biting your lip. Azriel’s veiny, tattooed arms came down on either side of you as he released a shaky breath. “Cum inside me, Azriel. I can take it.” 

It was all the encouragement Azriel needed to hear before spurting his seed inside of you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to mask his moans of pleasure. The shadowsinger sighed in contentment, turning you over for a kiss. His forehead dipped down to yours, a shy smile spreading across his face. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. It sounded so different from the confident, authoritative male from a few moments ago. 

You smiled, nodding your head. “Never better.” 

Azriel scanned the room and took in the mess you both made, the food and bottles littering the floor, the ruined underwear hanging over the booth, and finally, your disheveled sex hair. The two of you looked at each other and the gravity of what you’d just done hung in the air. A line had been crossed and you could never uncross it. 

Slowly, the shadowsinger breaks out into a grin. The gesture was contagious and you found yourself mirroring the act until the two of you were both bursting with laughter.

“This isn’t what I had envisioned when I finally told you how I felt.” Azriel finally says. 

“Oh yeah?” you ask teasingly. “What did you have in mind?” 

The shadowsinger chuckles, pulling the straps of your nightgown back over your shoulders. He gathered his pants and pulled them on quickly. Retrieving a small cloth from his pocket, he wiped up the remnants of his orgasm on your leg and set you down on a clean surface of the table. Azriel raked through your hair, wiping away the beads of sweat on your temple and setting a comforting hand over your shaking legs. He kneeled, slipping your heels back on and ensuring that they were properly strapped around your ankles. You couldn't even recall when you'd taken them off.

The gentle manner he took in your aftercare made you smile gently as he kissed your cheek.

“Well, I was thinking that I’d take you out for dinner. Pick you up from your flat and fly into the city. I even planned on buying you a bouquet of irises. Your favorite.” 

You beamed as Azriel smoothed down your hair. “Did you think you’d get lucky after our first date?” 

“I’d feel lucky just being with you.” Your heart squeezed in your chest. He winked, a mischievous smile spreading across his beautiful face. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope that you’d invite me up to your flat at the end of the night.” 

He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “I would have waited for you, though. However long it took.” 

“Haven’t you heard, Az? Waiting is highly overrated. If I learned anything tonight, it’s that you should just go after what you want. You never know how it might turn out.” 

Azriel grinned. “How did it turn out? Hypothetically speaking?” 

“Hypothetically speaking, I wish I had taken the leap out of the friend zone sooner. Hypothetically speaking, I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” you pause, biting your lip as you consider your next words. “Hypothetically speaking, I should have told my best friend that I was crazy about him ages ago.” 

Azriel was smiling so widely that it tugged at your heartstrings. “Factually speaking, your best friend is crazy about you, too.” 

He gathered you into his arms, lifting you off your feet as he kissed you gently. You savored the taste of him, the remnants of you on his tongue mixed with the wine from earlier was enough to make your head spin. Azriel pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“What do you say, honey? Will you go on a date with me?” 

“I’d really like that, Az.”

The shy smiles on both of your faces made you giddy with excitement. You couldn’t wait to explore this new territory with Azriel. He kissed you softly, feeling him grin against your lips. The two of you were so caught up in one another that neither one heard the door swing open. 

A drunk Cassian stumbled in, his eyes glazed over as he leaned against the ajar door. “Where have you two been all night? It’s a party out there.” 

Azriel shrugged, casually retrieving your ruined lingerie from the corner of the booth and slipping it into his pocket. “We’ve just been talking. Did we miss anything fun, brother?” 

Cassian nods, gearing up to tell you all about the antic he most likely caused outside, but then the Illyrian general paused. His eyes narrowed at the both of you, sniffing the air. 

“What the hell happened in this room? It reeks of sex in here.” 

Azriel stared at his brother for a split second. Then, he leans over to you dramatically, “Honey?” 

“Yes, Az?” 

“What do you think about going on that date right now?” 

A grin spread across your face. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.” 

With that, Azriel takes your hand in his and faces Cassian again. “Sorry Cas, no time to talk. I have a date to go on.” 

If it was possible for someone’s mouth to fall to the floor, Cassian’s would’ve currently been sitting on the sticky linoleum under your feet. 

“I can’t believe you seduced our sweet, innocent honey, brother,” Cassian says, half-surprised and half appalled.

You patted your friend on the arm. “Actually Cas, the lap dance was my idea, but it kind of just spiraled from there.” 

The surprised choking sound coming out of Cassian was the only thing you heard before Azriel led you through the door. You both looked back at the male, who was currently gaping at the wall as though he’d just received realm shattering news. 

Azriel only chuckled, kissing your cheek. “Looks like you do have some sting to you, honeybee.”

tag list: @despoinasstuff @lahoete @mulansaucey @moony-thoughts @fangirlworld46-blog @percyjacksonspeen

#this...kind of got out of hand #alexa play freaky girl by nicki minaj cause azriel is a capital F R E A K #acotar #azriel #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acomaf #acosf #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel smut #acotar smut #masterlist #jess writes

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] The Long Con (part 2/6)

Bitchy Felix my beloved. Rated T | 2k words | ao3 link [previous] [next]

"Oh, really?" Ace said, feigning interest. "An architect? That has to be a really demanding profession."

The man next to him cleared his throat. "Not really."

Ace forced a smile and silently cursed his luck. He'd been trying to break through this guy's facade for nearly half an hour without much progress.

"He's lying!" the woman opposite the table from Ace exclaimed loudly. "Two weeks ago, we stayed at the office for 36 hours straight to finish a project!"

"Wow." Ace whistled lowly. "Now that's what I call dedication. You had to be dead on your feet after, huh?"

A minute shrug from Mr. Antisocial. "A little."

"You drank a quadruple espresso. Black," the woman continued, then turned to Ace. "I thought he was going to give himself a heart attack—I kept screaming 'Don't you dare die before you finish that render!'"

Ace laughed good-naturedly. "Hey, have to keep your priorities straight. And for what it's worth, I'm very happy neither of you succumbed to a caffeine-related early grave."

That got a small twitch of the man's mouth. "I think Americans and the sugary milkshakes you call coffee are more at risk for that."

"Well, excuse us for not wanting to drink bean water au natural," Ace teased.

The joke only earned him another bored glance. Ace took a big gulp of his beer to fill the awkward silence.

This really wasn't going according to plan.

When Ace first walked into the beer tent that Meg had pointed him to, he'd been briefly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the space. The tent looked even bigger than it had from the outside, full of tables and benches and a bar that ran almost the entire length of the room. A good portion of the tables were already occupied and wait staff scurried about in traditional outfits, carrying huge glasses of beer to their eager customers.

Ace had made his way to the bar and ordered the first beer on the menu. The bartender—dressed in suspenders and lederhosen and one of the ugliest pairs of socks Ace had ever seen—filled his glass from a wooden barrel, and Ace had to admire the vendors’ dedication to preserving the old-timey atmosphere.

Unfortunately, tradition also seemed to dictate that the default serving size was one whole liter of beer.

Ace had struggled to even carry his damn beer without sloshing it all over his favorite shirt. In the end, he only made it to a currently closed section of the bar, but it was a good vantage point to take in the sea of people.

While observing the chatter, the unholy amounts of beer being consumed, and the most leather pants Ace had seen since the eighties, he'd spotted a small group sitting at a corner table not far away. Or more specifically, his eye had been drawn to a woman dressed in a seemingly unassuming white t-shirt and a simple silver necklace, gesturing animatedly with her purse as she talked to her friends.

But the shirt looked like an expensive material, the sunglasses pushed up into her hair were from a designer Ace recognized, and the necklace he remembered seeing in a pawn shop—selling for over a grand. The woman's entire outfit radiated the sort of casual luxury that most people wouldn't even notice.

Fortunately, Ace had spent the last thirty years practicing how to do just that. And with the majority of festival-goers sporting identical-looking traditional Bavarian garb that was impossible to appraise, the woman was by far the safest bet when it came to schmoozing up to a wealthy target.

Ace sipped on his beer and kept watching the group out of the corner of his eye. It was only three people—the woman and two men—and Ace waited to see if others would be joining them from the bar or returning from a bathroom break. Larger groups were usually harder to squeeze into and if another woman joined the trio, they were obviously two couples enjoying the festival together who would not be happy about Ace fifth-wheeling.

But after ten minutes and no sign of potentially missing friends or the group even glancing around for anyone, Ace felt confident enough to proceed with his plan. He gave himself a cursory once-over to check for beer stains on his clothes before making a small detour back to the bar, just on the odd chance that he was being watched. He pretended to study the food menu before looking around the tent like a dumb little tourist—which wasn’t entirely an act—and then made a show of noticing the group for the first time and strolling up to their table.

After that, it was the familiar spiel of, "Excuse me, is this seat taken?", followed by a sheepish smile as they turned to look at him, and then, "This is actually my first Oktoberfest and I'm a little lost."

The woman had immediately offered an excited, "No, no, sit down!", the man next to her had smiled and nodded, and Ace turned to the final member of the group who he'd only seen the back of so far—

And proceeded to nearly choke on his spit because holy shit, was that guy a model or something?

One of the most handsome men Ace had ever met frowned at him, his brows drawn together as his icy blue eyes studied Ace. His blond hair was impeccably styled with not a strand out of place and his checkered dress shirt and navy blue waistcoat hugged his broad torso perfectly. Like almost everyone else, he was also wearing lederhosen, though these were of the more form-fitting variety and Ace sorely regretted not ogling his backside while he'd been watching their table earlier.

Ace managed a friendly smile, to which the man just turned back to the table and shrugged unenthusiastically. The message was clear: Ace could stay, but he wasn't happy about it.

Not bothered by the reaction, Ace took his seat and the woman immediately started introducing them all in heavily accented English. Her name was Lauren, the man beside her was Daniel, her husband, and the hottie with a bad attitude was Felix, her business partner slash best friend.

And, really, Ace's original plan had been to simply befriend Lauren—at least as soon as she said "husband" and Ace realized that flirting would probably not go over well. Still, Lauren was sociable, already tipsy, and seemed to like Ace from the get go; it would probably only be a matter of time before she asked her charming new friend to watch her purse while the rest of them got more drinks or something.

But then Ace rolled up his sleeve and reached over the table to shake Lauren's hand, and Felix's gaze immediately snapped to Ace's exposed forearm before roving over his entire body.

Ace's skin felt hot from the obvious once-over and he almost stuttered on his own name as he greeted both Lauren and her husband. When he went to shake Felix's hand, Felix's large palm was a little sweaty and he couldn't quite meet Ace's eye anymore.

And sure, Lauren would have made an easy target. But Felix? 

Well, flirting was definitely back on the menu when it came to Felix.

…Or that's what Ace initially thought, but after countless attempts at conversation that Felix shut down immediately, he was starting to doubt his intuition.

Maybe Felix hadn't been checking him out. Maybe he just hated arm hair with a passion, or felt extreme second-hand embarrassment from Ace's shirt choice?

Ace forced down some more of his beer and desperately grasped for another conversation starter. He glanced around the tent and spotted a few rays of sunlight shining in through a transparent panel on the ceiling—surely, small talk about the weather was at least a safe topic? 

"Really nice weather for a festival," Ace said.

"I like rain," Felix said, because of course he did.

Ace would have probably excused himself at that very moment. But Felix started unbuttoning his cufflinks—the tent was getting a little warm from the sun—and Ace happened to catch a glimpse of his watch in the process.

Mechanical. Swiss made. Possibly platinum?

Oh, and probably worth at least thirty grand.

Realization slowly dawned on Ace: Felix was likely the wealthiest person in the entire room. Hell, maybe even the entire festival.

Ace straightened his back and put on his most charming grin. The pot had just been sweetened a whole lot, and Ace wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

He'd crack this man's code somehow.

═════════════ ♤ ═════════════

"—And Melbourne was really nice as well," Ace said. "Have any of you been to Australia?"

"Not yet," Lauren said.

"Once, but that was over twenty years ago," Daniel said. "I don't remember much."

Ace nodded, then smoothly leaned closer to Felix. "What about you, blondie? Any exciting travel—"

"What are you doing, dad?" a very familiar and thoroughly exasperated voice butted in.

"Meg!" Ace exclaimed, quickly putting distance between himself and Felix. 

He turned to face Meg, who was standing behind him with her arms crossed and a sour look on her face. At least she'd had the decency to pretend they were related instead of addressing him as "Hey, asshole" like she did most times.

"I was just getting to know some of the locals," Ace said. "Did you want to join us? I mean, if that's okay…?" He glanced at Lauren in question.

Lauren was already nodding enthusiastically, but Meg immediately shot the suggestion down. 

"No," Meg said pointedly. "I just wanted to talk to you. Alone."

Ace smiled at the table. "Be right back."

═════════════ ♤ ═════════════

"What the hell are you doing!?" Meg hissed once they were out of earshot.

Ace shrugged. "Getting into the festival spirit?"

"If by 'festival spirit' you mean Blondie McSnob's pants!" Meg accused. "Just nick his wallet and dip!"

"I'm playing the long con," Ace said. "He's loaded, and he likes me."

Well. Sort of. Maybe.

Meg crossed her arms again and glared. "I remember what happened last time you said that."

Ace winced. "Last time" referred to almost a year ago, when he'd seduced a target and then ended up running through the fancy garden of her estate in the middle of the night, clad in only his underwear while her husband chased him with a shotgun.

That night Meg had been the angriest Ace had ever seen her, patching up his wound from where a bullet had grazed him while screaming in his ear about, "You knew she was a mob wife and you still fucked her! You could have died, you fucking useless piece of shit!"

Ace knew it meant, "I was so scared, please don't ever do that again."

"It's not like that," Ace insisted. "He's harmless."

Meg scoffed.

"Come on, look at the guy," Ace said. "He can barely put a sentence together and he's an architect. The most dangerous thing he's done is probably yachting without a life jacket."

Meg snorted and discreetly looked back to the table. "He does kinda seem like a nerd."

"A rich nerd," Ace stressed.

"Ugh, fine," Meg groaned. "As long as you remember rule number one."

Ah, throwing Ace's own teachings back in his face: one of Meg's favorite pastimes. Rule number one, of course, being, "Never get attached to your target."

"I know what I'm doing," Ace said, then smirked. "You'd better get to work if you still plan on winning our bet, dear 'daughter'."

Meg responded with the middle finger, and then she seamlessly slipped back into the crowd.

Ace sighed and absent-mindedly fiddled with the rabbit’s foot hanging from his belt: one of the knick-knacks he’d attached to it in what the internet told him was an old Oktoberfest tradition. Hopefully one of the lucky charms would work, because god knows Ace could really use some good fortune right now.

Forcing a smile onto his face, Ace ventured back to the table.

#riconti #dbd fanfic #ace visconti #felix richter #dbd #dweetwrites #dead by daylight

[katyspersonal]

OKAY THIS TIME I AM SENDING QUEEN YHARNAM YHARNAM YHARNAM IT’S YHARNAM OKAY LIKE THE SCREAMING BLOOD LADY IN A WHITE DRESS 🩸🩸🩸🩸🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼👩🏻‍🦳👩🏻‍🦳💀💀

(Sorry I had to lmao)

(From this ( x ) ask meme)

First impression: Honestly, again, it was in PS4-less times, and so I learned of Annalise through wikias... I thought it was a quite uncommon design for a vampire queen concept, yet at the same time, it felt right like nothing else-

Okay OKAY fine, this internal joke is overstaying its welcome xD

First impression: Oooooh, she is pretty! …that's it, really x) I did not even know she had a boss battle until much later. o_o"

Impression now: She is a really badass person, holy shit! Just... Just how COOL is she, kicking our ass in wedding dress, while being pregnant, and cackling like a maniac while sending projectiles of her own blood at us???? Like you know those memes and takes along the lines of 'stop acting like femininity is synonymous with weakness, look at Princess P3ach kicking your ass with feminine attributes'? Fuckin do the same shit with Queen Yharnam! Please!!! And she has a great potential, as ancestor of what are now Vilebloods and affiliate with cursed Pthumerian faction that apparently mingled with the divine not in the same way as Isz and Choir x)

Favorite moment: Her just standing there (menacingly) and weeping because Wet Nurse stole her baby! She is just so broken... There is a cut content where you could give Yharnam's Stone to Fishing Hamlet priest, and he'd point out that mother's devotion could still be felt there.

Idea for a story: Damn, the problem with her is that her prime is LONG in the past in the game's world. Not even in the same way as pre-Church Byrgenwerth or 'omg Maria and other vilebloods when they were babies :3', like... WAY too long ago. Pthumerians deserve an official comic about their culture, past and downfall entirely. However, I speculate that she had to be revived by the School of Mensis to take the cord from her; Mergo and her are basically one organism, you might have noticed they fused with her womb, hence there is no astral body besides that cord, only voice. And, well, it'd be interesting to go into this idea, elaborate how they did that, how hard was the fight with her, how many hunters died x) Maybe Queen Killer was involved into helping to get THAT far in the dungeons.. (and left there to die after expiring his use, of course. Classic.)

Unpopular opinion: I don't think her spouse is Oedon! The spouse figure appears to be a person that gets married in an unholy ritual; Queen Yharnam is wearing Ring of Betrothal, and with the same ring we can propose to Annalise - as both male OR female hunter! Oedon is the priest marrying the two, if anything (with likely a bad outcome for the "husband" side one way or another). Oedon can cause Celestial Larvae same as Flora (Ebrietas is called 'bastard of the moon' in game files), but it appears that Mergo and whatever baby Annalise could have are different entity, whether conceived by Oedon's blessing or not. In either case, actual spouse of Yharnam was someone else, and perhaps something bad happened to them!

Favorite relationship: Haha, well, there isn't much to do, is there…? However, I can see the potential of her and Wet Nurse being EXes! xD I am still deciding on what exactly Wet Nurse is, however, she is quite TOO Pthumerian-appearing to be just an external Great One… On the other hand, Wet Nurse notably has no blood, and Oedon IS said to have lost a child too… And Oedon's true nature IS within the blood, especially "dirty" one like Vileblods', so maybe! Maybe Wet Nurse was the one carrying Oedon's baby, that was lost because of whatever happened with Wet Nurse that made her lose blood. My draft idea is that she set herself on fire / sacrificed her blood / etc to grant Pthumeru Ihyll branch their bloody-pyromancy powers (not the same kind as Loran Clerics' magic!), so they could protect themselves from the beasthood, but seeing how mortals repeated their mistakes, Wet Nurse turned on them and took the baby! She keeps Mergo as surrogate and "what is hers", but also out of spite, because nourishing them (she IS a wet nurse, heheh!) nourishes the Nightmare itself, so, the Hell. And Yharnam just can't convince her EX bestie/gf/etc to come to her senses! AAAAAA THE DRAMA!!!!!!

Favorite headcanon: Basically everything I've just written. xD It is very hard to choose anything because in general, her backstory is so mysterious that it is ALL for you to work on.

#bloodborne #queen yharnam #ask replies #ask meme #honestly the potential

[gotham-fan-shit]

Call it Echolocation

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Bat obsessed!GN Reader

Request: Long request - Bat obsessed!reader discovering the batcave and Bruce’s identity as Batman

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 715

A/N: ik the request was not for battinson but i’ve been thinking ab him so it def comes off as him 😭 very sorry ab that

When you toss and turn in the dead of night, Bruce is rarely next to you. He clambers in beside you when the clock strikes an unholy hour, but soon after you close your eyes, he’s gone again. It’s happened one night too many - every night for the past two months is more than enough. Normally there’ll be a day every so often where he doesn’t. You know what he’s like, closed and secluded, so you’ll never pry. But curiosity might as well be your fatal flaw, so you slip out the covers and let your bare feet hit the cool ground.

It’s dark in the manor, and your eyes take a moment to adjust to its abyss. Faintly, there and gone, you can see Bruce’s silhouette dipping round a corner. You know you need to keep your distance - he’s far too assertive for you to trail closely behind. So keeping your distance is exactly what you do, tiptoeing down halls and turns, trying to keep a gaze on the merged shadow of his body. 

When he begins to head down the staircase, you have to stop yourself muttering a cuss. There’s no way you’re going to manage to clamber down those century-old stairs without them making a deafening creak. You walk heavily anyway, it’s a wonder he hasn’t already turned around. You think that maybe he’s just amusing you, letting you think you’re stealthy when he’s well aware you’re tailing him. You entertain the thought whilst Bruce makes careful paces, and soon enough he’s walking with purpose.

Your fingers trace, absentmindedly, over the outline of the bat on your t-shirt. It’s worn and stained, and the plastic vinyl material of the design is mostly faded, but it brings you comfort and, for some odd reason though you more than welcome it, it brings you courage now. So you brave the stairs, and they creak, little and often. But quietly, and that is a small mercy.

When you catch up to him again, hidden behind a wall, you see him fiddling with the grandfather clock. Within seconds, it swings open to reveal a shadowy rift, which he enters and descends, becoming cloaked entirely in darkness. You sense the “door” about to close, and rush towards it before it can do so, squeezing into the dark. 

The stairs that proceed you are illuminated at the sides in a gleaming blue-white, made out of a metallic charcoal grey material. You can feel your stomach twist into knots somewhat as you descend, each step becoming less visible; until, at last, you step down onto a cool rock floor. As you gaze upwards, eyes adjusted to the thick black smoke in the air that is the looming shadow, you are met with a wide expanse. Jagged rock and stalactite decorate the ceiling - though it is far too varied to be called that - which seems miles above. Somewhere, the dripping of water echoes, smacking the ground below it in a rapid tempo. And, best of all, hung from the various natural ledges that adorn the landscape, are dozens of bats. Their wings, leathery and the deepest black, wrap around them, and some expand to full wingspan as they screech and fly. And you cannot help but let loose a massive smile.

If there were people around, this would have been one of those embarrassing moments you don’t forget. But you can't help but let the giggle that so distinctly wants to escape do so. You’re so giddy, you hardly notice your boyfriend frozen a few feet in front of you, cowl in hands. You run up to him and take his face in your palms.

“You have bats - a cave full of bats - and you didn’t tell me?!” You yell, and he laughs, all nerves and awkwardness. And then, he plants a kiss on your forehead as you swing your arms around his neck.

“I wouldn’t have bothered trying to keep a secret if I’d known you’d react like this.” He teases, and you smile into him.

“Well, ‘World's Greatest Detective’, maybe it’s a good thing I followed you. Looks like you need some help.” You hear him mutter a soft “Yeah, maybe.” as he shakes his head, hair damp and falling over his eyes. And you agree. Yeah, maybe.

#dc #dc comics #batman #batfam #batfamily #batman family #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne oneshot #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne headcanon #batman x reader #batman oneshot #batman imagine #batman headcanon #battinson #the batman #battinson x reader #batfam incorrect quotes #batman x reader oneshot #bruce wayne x reader oneshot #bruce wayne fanfic #batman fanfic

[gubbles-owo]

Looking forward to Super Manticore Ball coming from the marble experiment. "Hold still to become invisible" would even work well as an integral mechanic!

keeping the marble still... in a marble maze game.... the ultimate test of skill, on god..., Y'know, I haven't really thought about the context of marble game much yet. Right now it's just a wooden board with a metal marble (the reflective metal is just an excuse to get away with a single billboarded sprite :3c), but it'd be cool to switch up the context... maybe it's an intricate key to unlocking a device, or perhaps you're just rolling a pillbug around in a shoebox. Typically I'll go into something with a pretty solid idea of how I want to present it, but since the aim largely amounts to a vague "get a Thing working on the N64", I haven't really given the presentation much thought. The only question in my mind as of late is "how in the h*ck do i handle collision" (there's no "game engine" here so I get to figure out how to program that from scratch, yay yippee!!) Similarly I also haven't thought much about the end goal of the Manticore model... again it's primarily an exercise to learn how to model a character that looks halfway decent. I've got OCs, sure, but no visual reference for them (at least I can't draw much myself nor afford commissions of em atm). And god the visual reference helps soooo so much when it comes to working out the shape of a thing in 3D space. So the ongoing hyperfixation brainrot of a particular Arknights character-- one that has both official reference art and a bunch of fanart-- seemed like a natural choice of subject xD

But if I can be brutally real about it... I don't think the model is gonna suit itself to *actually* run well on the N64. It's still fairly dense in terms of tri count, especially in the head/face area, like augh look how much is going on here. And for the love of all that is unholy I do not know how to model low poly hair. It's either an awkward clump of too much geometry-- something more reminiscent of 6th gen than 5th-- or it looks real flat and lifeless, with that perfect middle ground always escaping my grasp. Maybe someday I'll crack that code, but I have the sneaking suspicion that the character has to be designed with these limitations in mind from the outset. or maybe that's just an excuse for not knowing much lol I could potentially slap her in marble game if I can manage to think up a context that works... I'll have to let my brain sit on the whole presentation thing while I whittle away at optimizations and physics nonsense. Mark my words, whatever I wind up doing with the Manticore model... it's gonna be yuri.

#ough that sure is a wall of text alright #uuhhhuhh how does tagging work again #ask #gubdev #uhhhhhhh #instead of brain there is manticore and matrix math

[i-did-not-mean-to]

The Diary of Jane Doe - Part IV

@melkors-big-tits Your wish is my command, friend...

So here's the shopping trip and Jane's consequent meltdown.

-> Part III

Words: 1,4k

Warnings: blood, vomit, paint, tortured children, theft...the usual chaos

October 20th - Part II

In the end, she nursed her mug despondently while her guests got a literal thimble full of the watery, disgusting brew each.

Melkor had promised that he’d make her life more interesting and – before the day had even started – she had skipped work, gotten dressed without wearing undergarments, and had extinguished the beginning of a housefire; this was not at all what she had had in mind, but it was better than nothing.

“Your flat is horrendous,” the sharp-tongued poppet hissed. “Let me take care of that.”

Apparently, she had gotten herself a tiny interior designer on top of the off-brand devil, Jane thought vaguely but nodded to keep the peace. 

Getting a still awfully naked Melkor and his haunted doll lieutenant to get into her formless purse was another fight she’d never thought she’d ever have but – after a few minutes of screaming and stomping – she finally left her flat, the bat still snuggling against her throat and the uncomfortably hot lizard draped over her shoulder.

As she caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror in the foyer of her building, she had to admit that she looked 100% more interesting and edgier now than she had upon returning from work the previous afternoon.

“That one!” Melkor cried excitedly and pointed at a very large – incredibly expensive – dollhouse on a small dais; Jane – who had hitherto been a very easily recognisable spinster – felt somewhat uncomfortable sneaking through a toy shop, talking to her purse, as if she was out on a stroll through a park after dark.

No doubt, the shopkeeper was on the verge of calling the cops on the crazy lady who either wanted to steal a wild array of doll clothes and accessories or was about to have an epic meltdown.

“We’d have to redecorate though,” Thuri opined from her shoulder and Jane looked around frantically; it would not help her case if someone heard her talk to herself in different voices on top of slinking around as if she was about to rob the First National Bank.

Hence, after fleeing the shop as if she had indeed stuffed a garish pink Barbie bed down her shockingly absent panties, Jane took her resident plagues to the crafting supplies where they chose paints, fabrics, and an alarming amount of sharp or pointy items that she should have refused to buy.

Jane was notoriously bad at denying anyone anything though – which made it such a lucky coincidence that people seldom wanted anything from her – and she found that she was terrified of the distressingly pretty doll-like creature who didn’t stop glaring at her.

Finally, she stuffed all of them into her bag and closed it before trying to look as inconspicuous as possible upon entering the pet shop to purchase a terrarium for what she still surmised was some kind of reptile and an aviary cage for her cuddly bat.

“Do you have pets?” the pimply youngster at the register asked incredulously.

“I would not exactly call them pets,” Jane replied evasively, hiding her bag at the foot of the counter as it had started writhing and seething with indignation. “They’re unholy demons who have come into my life quite unexpectedly.”

“Ah yes,” he laughed, “that’s what we hear from a lot of customers. Just make sure they’re well-fed and are kept in circumstances as close to their natural habitat as possible.”

She shrugged. “Hell?” 

He chuckled again and gave her some live insects as a treat to feed her demons.

“I’m pretty sure they eat souls,” Jane sighed, “raw and unseasoned, but thanks anyway.” 

Jane had never hastened home – a cold, empty, and impersonal place even in her own assessment – as quickly and desperately before.

When she turned out her bag though, she discovered that they had somehow managed to actually swipe quite a few things, for which nobody had any use, just for the fun of it.

Exhausted and still suffering from the consequences of her inebriation, Jane crumbled onto her sofa and closed her eyes; maybe, she deserved to be mangled and devoured whole by the accursed powers she had allowed to enter her world. 

It was either that or prison if she didn’t manage to lock them up safely.

“Lady,” Melkor called, “can you come help?”

When she looked up, she saw that he was gnawing on the cap of a pot of paint and so she rushed back to the table to set up the supplies so they could immediately disfigure and ruin the pristine dollhouse she had gutted her savings for.

“My name is Jane, by the way,” she informed them weakly. “Jane Doe, the destroyer of worlds.”

“Can I have some of those snacks they gave you?” Thuri asked in a seductive purr, flitting up to nestle on her shoulder once more and rubbing her fuzzy head against her neck.

Despite her exhaustion, she set up the heat lamp for Gothmog and got the box of insects. They promptly ripped it open, and a feeding frenzy ensued in which one lamp, two cushions, and a number of knickknacks were knocked over and destroyed.

Finally, all the wily prey was caught and consumed messily while Jane picked up shards and feathers wearily. 

Just as she thought that it could not get worse and that she had to at least try to throw them out of the window, the ear-rending screeching of her neighbour’s hellions started like the alarm sirens of hell come to earth.

Jane groaned.

“Is this a problem you’d seek the Dark Lord’s assistance for?” Melkor asked suavely, having seen her eyes stray to the window more than once in the last few minutes. 

She shrugged; she had almost forgotten that they were supposed to help her and not ruin her life beyond repair.

“Let’s earn our keep,” Melkor called and let his twinkling gaze wander around the room until it settled on the vent Jane shared with the next unit. “Jane, would you be so kind to give us a boost?”

She knew it was wrong, deep within her miserable heart she was aware of it, but she did as she was told and – within a single heartbeat – they were gone.

Getting a tub of ice cream out of the freezer, she rolled up on the couch again and waited for the wailing and screeching to rise to a deafening crescendo.

She did not have to hold her breath for long; soon, a deafening cry arose and panicked howling poured like a physical deluge from the dark opening through which she had just sent her personal curse.

“Ewwwww, are those live bugs?” someone screamed. Apparently, Thuri could regurgitate her dinner on command, of course she could, Jane thought and buried her face into a ripped-up pillow.

“Something bit me!” another voice complained. “Catch it! What was that?”

“Get it out of my hair!” – “My pearls!” – “Shoo, shoo!”

Jane frowned; they had been on their best behaviour for her, it seemed to her now as she heard what chaos and destruction they could unleash within a few short moments if they truly let loose.

As the seconds ticked by, she started to worry about her strange guests and shoved a chair to the vent to peer into it carefully.

After what seemed like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, she saw them reappear and shimmy through the vent to drop into her waiting palms; they were covered in dust, hair, and a sticky fluid that smelled suspiciously like blood.

“Look what Mairon found,” Melkor cried happily and pointed at the jewels slung around the slender creature like ropes.

“Found?” Jane inquired severely.

“Yes, found, in a box, on a table, in a locked room. What of it?” Mairon snapped threateningly.

“What is this?” Gothmog had made his way to the couch and was sniffing at her ice cream before plunging his whole head into it; it turned out that a fire-demon-lizard and frozen cream were incompatible and his desperate tries to get to the cold treat before it could melt and evaporate was unsettling but endearing to witness.

“I guess,” Jane sighed, accepting that the dessert had also fallen prey to their unbridled chaos, “it’s bath time for you.”

All of them hissed and protested and Jane actually considered googling “How to bathe a fire demon” for a second before she decided that attracting the attention of the Secret Service would probably not be the best decision in her present situation. Would this day ever end?

Jane is a pitiful follower and a coward...She knows she should have called a priest, an exorcist, or the ghost busters but what does she do? She takes them shopping...

Oh...the poor woman; I expect more pity for her! She's never wanted any of that misery and she doesn't deserve to be tortured so!!!

Lots of love from me

-> Part V

#fanfiction #crack #Mini-Melkor #check out Melkor (the user)'s drawings #Conjuring bad forces #and fumbling it #Worst OC in the world #the silm #the silmarillion #very much not serious #when an idea takes hold #and now you're writing a sitcom about mini-melkor

[jdgo51]

How Long, Lord?

Today's inspiration comes from:

Waiting In Hope

by Kelley Ramsey and Jenn Hesse

Editor’s note: This devotion is helpful for all of us in a season of waiting and hurting. But, notably, April 23-29 is National Infertility Awareness Week. Today, let’s pray for our sisters and daughters (and their husbands) who are enduring through infertility and miscarriage. If you know someone who is in the midst of infertility, share this devotional with them today.

"How long, Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me?" — Psalm 13:1

"'Anger is a messy feeling. It can become overwhelming and downright ugly in a split second. Infertility made me (Kelley) angry because of all the unknowns. As the heartache dragged on, I fixated on one question: How long must I wait for a child? I battled this thought to keep it from becoming a fear. But it was hard not to feel exasperated when I just wanted the agony to end.

Sometimes anger begins with shock. Brooke explained how going through miscarriage shook her to her core, leading her to question God’s very nature. “Suddenly, God felt unsafe, scary, and unpredictable. He was no longer trustworthy. Mentally, I ran from Him, closing off my heart to the One I felt had inflicted such pain. I walked around for weeks telling everyone that God was simply mean. What else could I conclude after so many miscarriages?”

Our attempts to get pregnant and carry a baby show us how little we can control. Trying to conceive is just that — trying. No matter how much we try, conception is still in the sovereignty of God’s will and creating hands. Therefore, it’s easy for our waiting to make us angry at God, ourselves, our bodies, our husbands, or other people. We long for an explanation for our brokenness, and we seek a target for our intense feelings.

Jaclyn, my friend and our Waiting in Hope community director, shared honestly about where she directed her anger: “I was angry with God. Angry at His chosen silence. Angry that in my greatest pain, God felt so far off. I wondered what the point of having a personal relationship with God was if He was going to be silent. Why wasn’t He making His comfort, His love, His goodness, and His peace tangible to me, His daughter, in my times of greatest need?”

The Source of Anger

Most of us feel guilty about being angry. We consider anger a destructive emotion that we shouldn’t have or express. However, anger isn’t necessarily a bad emotion. So let’s start by investigating the source of our anger.

Anger can be holy and based on injustice. Throughout the Bible, prophets expressed anger and lament over the injustice done to God’s people. Likewise, God stirs anger in us, often to prompt us to respond to an injustice or a need. Think about Jesus at the temple flipping tables because they were being used for unholy purposes (Matthew 21:12).

Infertility is a type of injustice. As we have seen, life is unfair due to the brokenness of this world. The sins of Adam and Eve brought all humans pain and hardship, including effects on our womanhood.

In Genesis 3:15–16, God said to the serpent (Satan), “‘And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed...’ To the woman He said: ‘I will greatly multiply your sorrow and your conception; in pain you shall bring forth children’” (NKJV).

God knew Satan would hate women. However, it’s essential to understand that one consequence of the fallen world is a tainted childbearing process. Intensified pain entered the story at the fall, but thankfully this wasn’t God’s original design or his end to this story or our story.

When our expectations are not met, it’s okay (and normal) to be disappointed. It leaves us confused as our questions of disbelief grow each day. We can’t possibly understand, make sense of, or control the instability around us. These unknowns can lead to festering anger. And through our questioning of these unknowns, our anger intensifies.

In my overwhelming anger, I wondered many times whether God saw me or cared, or, as Jaclyn questioned, was His silence His answer for my heart? Was He showing me I was alone even from Him?

God has not left us, even when our emotions tell us otherwise. The anger from our unmet expectations makes us believe we deserve different from what God is providing. Yet why do we think God owes us a life free of pain?

Isaiah 43:2 describes hardship as “when you pass through the waters,” “when you pass through the rivers,” and “when you walk through the fire.” Notice that it’s not if you will endure hardship, but when. The trials are stated as a given. Like Christ, we, too, will experience pain in this broken, sinful world. Jesus said in John 16:33 that we should expect pain and suffering in this world. Yet He is with us, overcoming the world and providing us peace.

God has not left us, even when our emotions tell us otherwise.

The Direction of Anger

Years ago, Justin and I were experiencing frustrations and restless hearts regarding significant church situations, which led us to seek wise counsel. A trusted church pastor listened as we expressed our feelings, and he lovingly explained that God sometimes uses our frustrations and uneasiness to stir change in us.

He advised us to examine the cause of our feelings and warned us that anger could turn unholy if God is asking us to act and we do not. Wisdom is seeking God’s leading to adjust, jump, or change courses before our feelings lead to outbursts of anger aimed at the church, God, or others.

Anger often seeks a target. It’s an emotion that is directed toward someone or something. At some point, you’ve likely been angry at yourself, your body, your past, your future, your spouse, a friend, or a family member.

There is a safe direction for our anger, and that place is the Lord. Our Creator and King is good, strong, and faithful to handle everything, even anger. He allows us to express and vocalize our grief and frustration through the process of lament.

In Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, pastor and author Mark Vroegop describes how learning to lament involves a kind of complaining that is biblical. “Through godly complaint we are able to express our disappointment and move toward resolution. We complain on the basis of our belief in who God is and what he can do.”1

The books of Psalms and Lamentations give us examples for how to express lament. These prayers describe explosive feelings, even anger, that can lead us to God. Lament can become our pathway to God when life is hard or God feels far off. Most psalms of lament or sorrow start with anguish and build into confidence in God, resulting in praise toward Him.

But God has surely listened and has heard my prayer. Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld His love from me! — Psalm 66:19–20

We can practice lament by following this same pattern.

Turn to God in prayer. Bring your complaints and circumstances to Him. Acknowledging that He is in control gives words to the tension between what we know about God and how we feel about Him. Ask God to act. Ask God boldly to act on your behalf, believing that He is God and has good purposes for your pain and needs. Choose to trust God. This is an active surrender of your life to God and the beginning of acceptance as you release control over your unknowns. When you surrender to God, your questions find a place to go. Author Elisabeth Elliot described how she came to this place of acceptance: “Whatever is in the cup that God is offering to me, whether it be pain and sorrow and suffering and grief along with the many more joys, I’m willing to take it because I trust him. Because I know that what God wants for me is the very best.”2 Your anger could be the catalyst God uses to draw you closer to Him.

Lament Leads to Trust

In his laments of sorrow, David cried out,

How long, Lord? — Psalm 13:1

Lamenting gives us permission to feel sorrow, acknowledge the real emotions, and rant to the Lord. Yet it doesn’t stop there. Our protests are transformed into petitions and then praise.

These authentic and intimate prayers in pain lead to trust, a way to praise God through uncertainty and sorrow. The truth of who God is can reign when we honestly surrender and no longer pretend that everything is okay.

We can’t know how long, but God does.

He hasn’t forgotten you. How could He? You are His child, and that would be impossible for the God who sees and knows every last detail about you — from the number of hairs on your head to the dozens of pregnancy tests that made you burst into tears.

Though His face seems hidden, God has never left your side. Believe that the One who saved you will someday, somehow make this right too.

Reflect

Have you ever shared laments of sorrow like David: “How long, Lord?” Explain. Describe how you’ve been angry during your journey. Consider whether your anger has been directed at someone or something; then write about it. What do you think about the concept of directing your anger toward God? How can lamenting to God be helpful in your pain? Pray

Pray this prayer of lament from Psalm 42:3–8 (ESV): Lord God, “my tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long, ‘Where is your God?’ These things I remember, as I pour out my soul:... Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God. My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you... Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me. By day the Lord commands His steadfast love, and at night His song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.”

Act

Start lamenting to God in your sadness, anger, and overflowing feelings. Yell out to Him in your car, on a run, or in the shower. Sometimes it’s helpful to hear your audible voice crying out to Him as David did in the psalms. Then ask God, “Speak to me; I need to hear from You. What do you say about my pain?” Be silent and listen for His still, small voice (1 Kings 19:12) to whisper to your heart. If this is new for you, start reading the psalms for examples."'

Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy (Wheaton: Crossway, 2019), 44. Elisabeth Elliot, Suffering Is Never for Nothing (Nashville: B&H Publishing Group, 2019), 54. Excerpted with permission from Waiting in Hope by Kelley Ramsey and Jenn Hesse, copyright Kelley Ramsey and Jenn Hesse.

[gatekeeperwatchman]

Daily Devotional for December 13, 2022

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living Devotional Scripture: Proverbs 30:17 (KJV): 17 The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it.

Proverbs 30:17 (AMP): 17 The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother, the ravens of the valley will pick it out, and the young vultures will devour it.

  Thought for the Day

The penalty for mocking and scorning one's parents was grim in the Old Testament. It carried the death penalty. The Israelites were careful to bury their dead. A body left unburied for birds to feed upon indicated an ignoble death, such as by violence or execution. Vultures picking an eye out of a dead body is what Agur seemed to be referring to as the result of dishonoring one's parents; for such a sin leads to other sins, exposing one to all the dangers of an evil life. Implicit in this proverb is the truth that though one may escape the punishment of man for dishonoring one's parents, one will not escape God's.

The Bible stresses that children are to respect their parents. It is so important to God, that He made it one of the Ten Commandments: "Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee" (Exodus 20:12).

God gave other laws that charged Israel to deal very strongly with rebellious children in the Old Testament. The penalty for striking or cursing one's parents had the same penalty as for adultery or murder; the guilty party was to be stoned to death. "And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death. …And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death" (Exodus 21:15,17). It was a serious offense before God. The word for "curseth" in Hebrew is "halal," meaning "to bring into contempt, curse, despise." Belittling or mocking one's parents is a serious offense to God. Even if there is nothing about them that commands respect, we must refrain from speaking reviling words against them. Children with unholy parents should pray for them and ask God to change them. This is especially important for young people to understand. We are to bless our parents and speak respectfully to them and of them. Praise God, that under the New Testament law, children can find mercy and forgiveness if they have been rebellious to their parents. Spiritually dishonoring parents can result in spiritual blindness and even spiritual death unless rebellious children repent.

The Old Testament law often sounds extreme to our modern ears because our culture is so lenient about rebellion and even glamorizes it. It would help society to better enforce punishment for crimes that are directed against those in positions of authority. These punishments would be an example to cause those bent on evil to fear and respect the laws. It would work for everyone's good, especially the young. Those who honor their parents and elders seldom come to the evil end that Agur depicted. Prayer for the Day I honor You as my heavenly Father and gladly submit unto You, trusting You in all things. Please remove any trace of rebellion from my heart. I also honor my natural parents and my spiritual parents. Lord, I desire to always be respectful to the church elders and the authorities that You have designated on earth. Deliver me from any anger against those in authority, and if I have been wronged by any of them, I am trusting that You will properly deal with them. I want to have a heart that is submissive and trusting and free from all rebellion. I humbly ask this in the wonderful name of Jesus. Amen. 

From: Steven P. Miller CEO/ Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElderStevenMiller

GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG012, First Aid

Case #0121102, Lesere Saraki Release date: April 18, 2016 First listen: 14th October. On the walk home from work. Remember reaching the cul-de-sac as Gerard was standing.

My boy! Our Gerard! My sweet goth son! Who at this point in the proceedings I was convinced was something unholy.

- Trying to explain exactly where and in what capacity you work within the NHS, must be a freaking nightmare. I’ve never worked in healthcare, only really experienced it from the outside trying to get in, but from here, the hospital admin and bureaucracy, I mean, it’s important and necessary, but… yikes. I’ve seen it with our own doctors’ surgery at home; it’s gone rapidly down hill after it got subsumed into a Trust that runs a number of practises in the area. But throwing them all under one umbrella has really killed the efficiency and care aspects, especially since the area I grew up has an aged population and doesn’t do house calls any more.  

- God, I feel for this nurse, I really do. Every single member of ward staff in the NHS is a treasure and deserves better.

- ‘No fights or angry drunks, which was a blessing.’ I don’t think I can think of many things more terrifying than a scenario with a belligerent drunk who themselves is in pain, in an over bright room filled with ill and vulnerable people, many of whom probably can’t get out of the way fast enough. Actually, yes I can, multiple belligerent drunks. The ‘wounded, cornered animal’ behaviour takes over in that moment I’d imagine.

- You want as much prep time as you can get when it comes to treating a burns victim. Not just to get equipment ready but also to mentally prepare yourself I’d imagine. While I am a qualified First Aider at work, oh yeah the moniker of ‘Designated First Aider’ isn’t just for giggles, I have, thankfully, never needed to treat a burns victim. And actually, during the training, those were the slides that I had to strategically look off to the side for.

- Hang on, no, I have treated burns. On myself. Managed to spill hot fat over both hands. Spent a few days in miserable pain but in hindsight, I am flipping lucky I’ve still got my hand dexterity.

- Yeah the quiet in the waiting room is unnerving as all get out. It’s like animals picking up on an oncoming earthquake or tsunami.

- Why the quiet? Why the quietness in the face of The Desolation? Or is it just feeding into the unnerving nature?

- ‘They were second-degree, which is severe, but not usually such as to require hospitalisation, except that they appeared to cover his entire body.’ It’s something of a sliding scale if memory serves, when it comes to hospitalising a burn. For 2nd degree burns, I think it was something like if it covered more than 10% of the body or occurred over a major joint. Or if the victim was in ‘severe pain’, but that’s wonderfully vague.

- So the burning only damaged the mens’ flesh, didn’t touching the clothes. See, I was trying to puzzle that out, because ha! Eldritch horrors are nothing if I think hard enough at them!, yeah, but thinking about the different ways that heat can travel and I thought about radiation, burn no, radiating heat could still cause cloth to catch-… wait… radiation… nuclear radiation… and then I though about Chernobyl and then I felt a bit sick.

- The silence, why is it so quiet? I feel like I might have stumbled onto something if this act was leaning into radiation. We may be treading on The Extinction’s territory, but the boiling of liquids? I’m not well versed on that happened at Chernobyl but the explosion was triggered when a cascade of mistakes led to coolant flash boiling into steam and a positive feedback loop resulting in a steam explosion. And ‘The Ligthless Flame’? While fires at Chernobyl burned, the radiation cloud was something unseen, but burned. And the quiet, the evacuation. The movement of people away from the danger area, although possibly too slow as the burned man was already in the building.

- I’m spiralling, I need tea.

- We get something of a better description of Gerard then we did in MAG004, when Dominic Swain was too rattled to give much beyond commenting he looked a mess. He was described as smaller than the first man, who he’d presumably gone toe to toe with, and younger, mid-thirties or so. She describes him as ‘clean shaven’ and there aren’t any descriptions of a haggard appearance beyond the fact that he’s covered in burns. This is December 2011 and by winter next year, he looks a wreck.

- We get a description of the eye tattoos too, that I think Dominic Swain missed in MAG004. Why would he have them on the joints​? If they have offered him some sort of protection in this instant and could in others, why not get them all over his body? He does have one over his heart though. Odd thought, if he’d gotten one on his scalp, could that have saved him? Probably not. I wonder if he got them by choice, or if this was Mary’s doing?

- Annoyingly, there’s two Saint Mary’s churchyards quite close to St Thomas' Hospital where it sits in Westminster, pretty much across the river from the Houses of Parliament; one to the North East, beyond Waterloo and one to the South East, below Elephant and Castle. Both appear to be park land as opposed to an actual church site as I’d thought.

- The old passport Gerard has with him indicates he’s well-travelled. Has he met Gertrude yet, have they already started their globe hopping adventure of kicking The Entities in the teeth? Also, I’m not sure how many folk walk around with their passports on them, unless they are walking into situations where they may need identifying and may not be all that present themselves to help. Had he literally just stepped foot back in England? Had he picked a fight with The Desolation without even getting over the jet lag yet?

- Chanting. Chanting is never a good sign in this setting. Never good.

- ‘It wasn’t the first time I’d had a reaction like this, though, so I took a moment to centre myself and the feeling receded.’ Lesere? Hun? What exactly do you mean by that? Have you had a run in with The Desolation before? Is that why Gerard says what he says later? Are you already marked in some way?

- Finding A&E empty, yup, like animals fleeing before a disaster.

- Perhaps there’s a touch of The Lonely, as the hospital empties and those who can not simply aren’t awake for it.

- ‘I tentatively touched the back of my hand to (the door handle)’, smart lady. We were taught the same thing in fire safety training.

- She could feel the heat of Gerard Keay’s flesh through the bandages. My boy was literally still cooking and yet he was doing what he could. Immediately lets her go and apologises for grabbing her and scaring her, such a polite boy

- Lesere notes that he’s in ‘tremendous pain’ through all of this but he does his best to hide it. I’ve got a few things to unpack here. They did dose him with pain meds, Lesere states later, but he’s up and aware. Is the damage that has already been done to him intensifying with the chanting man going uninterrupted? Is more pain being heaped on? Part of me wonders what sort of hell Gerard’s body’s been through these last 30 or so years, with the life he lives. Also, how much of the hiding of the pain was ‘I’m in front of a ‘normal’, must’ve give them reason to panic’ and how much was left over behaviours from living with his mother? Mary Keay does not strike me as the type of mother to drop a kiss onto a brightly coloured plaster over a scrapped knee with reassurances that kisses make it all better. I would lay money that Mary Keay viewed any form of physical weakness with utter contempt. Look what she did to Eric.

- How far along is his brain tumour at this point also? He dies late 2014, three years after the events of this statement. How would a brain tumour affect his registering of pain? Could it dull it? Would he possibly have a base line of chronic pain?  

- ‘If there was a coherent explanation for everything ... then I would be no better off for knowing it.’ That line says to me, ‘take what the The Eye is offering and toss it across the room like the ‘It’s Always Sunning In Philadelphia’ plate throw meme.’ Reject it.

- ‘...standing and walking despite the burns covering eighty percent of his body, despite the sheer quantity of painkillers we had given him.’ See, my reaction is ‘my boy’s a trooper’, but I am becoming aware of some my own behaviours that could be seen as self neglect, so I’m working on it. Yes, our boy is strong, but he shouldn’t need to be. Or maybe he does because, y’know, need to survive the night.

- ‘...seemed to know the code to the door immediately.’ Is that an Eye thing or a Gerard ‘he most definitely learnt to pick locks, hack security systems, and learnt to read frequently entered codes by looking at the ware on a keypad’ Keay thing? He would have been such a good rogue.

- I have to say kudos to Lesere for considering the ethical question of whether to protect the burned man by risking her own life. She made the correct choice, but she considered her Hippocratic oath in her actions. But the Hippocratic oath isn’t the first of Asimov's laws of robotics.

- ‘Yes. For you, better beholding than the lightless flame.’ - Gerard, baby, what​? You offering asylum to other Entity’s refugees now?

- ‘Over the course of twenty seconds I watched this man’s body cremate itself to ash.’ There’s a good chance the body of the burned man was no longer fully human, and they way Lesere describes how it burnt, I don’t think it was. But the fact that it takes the scalpel with it... Do you know what it takes to cremate a body? What time frame is needed, the temperatures they need to reach, that fact there are still bone fragments left? It’s wild. Let Caitlin Doughty tell you about it my friends.

- He uses the bed pan to clean up after himself. So polite. Such a good boy.

- Lesere heading out into the corridor and back into reality and to work and ‘the rest of my shift was gone’. Bless ever EMT, nurse, doctor, admission staff and orderly for just straight up compartmentalising trauma as part of the job.

- Gerard was ‘discharged into the care of his mother’. So do we think this is Mary or Gertrude? I’m tempted to say Mary, given the sate we find him in in a year’s time. Even if she did die, for the first time at least, in 2008. So this is an undead Mary, after Gerard was tried for her murder.

- ‘I tried to talk to him about what happened, but he was on a lot of painkillers and never seemed to really register I was there.’ Let my boy rest.

- ‘When I’m alone on the wards, I get the feeling I’m being watched.’ Ah, there we go.

- ‘Not threatened or judged’, I’m glad. I was worried for Lesere, that she may retain some guilt over her choice to not stop Gerard from killing the burned man. But she made the correct decision.

-  ‘Asag’, a demon in Sumerian mythology associated with disease and corruption. And the Archivist is right, that doesn’t quiet vibe with The Desolation, would be more likely be found in the ranks of The Corruption. But then I think back to radiation burns...

- Martin knowing Polish is a wonderful little tidbit of trivia, but then the Archivist is so mean. We’ve been over this Jon, Latin is back news.

- ‘It has not escaped my notice that this is the second time Gerard Keay has turned up in this Archive.’ Archivist, you stand in the halls of his kingdom, he walked these halls and has long fought these battles, put some respect on Gerard’s name.

- We have a note of him having passed away in late 2014. So if, in universe we’re in 2015, that’s not too long ago at all. Probably not long before Gertrude died March 2015. That period could be as little as 3 months, but long enough for her to put him in the book. But between MAG004 and MAG012, the archival team find he has passed away.

- The nature of everybody leaving the A&E room is chilling. 28 people, standing up and calmly filing out of the doors without prompting and coming back in without an outward cue to prompt them and let them know it was safe. And they were quiet. Why were they quiet? Then I thought about the quiet of exclusion zones.

- At 03:22:52, the feed cuts and we get The Eye staring back, is that the moment that the burning man died and The Desolation was defeated in that place, or was it when Lesere made a choice and stepped aside?

#MAG012 #The Desolation #The Eye #the magnus archives

[ddarker-dreams]

Sweet Talkin’. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

There’s been an abnormal amount of sirens tonight.

It should be unnerving -- and to an extent it is -- but this isn’t what keeps you awake. Not that, or even the dogs barking outside accompanied with an occasional derogatory yell. With a heavy heart, you can say that you’ve gotten used to all of that noise. No, it’s something different that steals you from the welcoming comfort of a deep slumber. 

The thing that truly keeps you up is the anticipation of what is to come. Or more precisely, who. 

The bright glow of your phone strains your tired eyes, but it’s your best shot at finding entertainment. Squinting at the blinding light, exhaustion seeps into your being despite your best efforts to ward it off. No matter how much caffeine you drink later on in the day, it’s not enough to to thwart your natural inclinations to sleep.

For most, nighttime is a relaxing time of day that’s coveted. It brings a time of solitude, to reflect and rest up for the next day. While you wish you could return to the days where you felt like that, it’s long behind you now. Instead, you evade sleep, in fear of what could occur when you’re in the defenseless state. 

An illusion of control is better than none at all.

“You’re gonna get dark circles under those pretty eyes if you keep staying up this late.” 

A deep voice rumbles from the entrance to your shared room, one that you instantly recognize. Even in your groggy state, your emotions heighten in his presence. Turning off your phone and placing it down, you stretch your arms out, a yawn leaving your lips in the process.  

So he’s back. 

“Yeah, yeah…” you grumble back, caring little for the teasing comment. After feeling around your nightstand, a click resonates, light illuminating your room. Once your eyes adjust, you spot your unwelcome visitor, who makes himself at home. Dabi walks towards you, your bed creaking under his added weight as he sits down. Untying his shoes, he throws them carelessly in the corner.

Sensing your staring, he looks over his shoulder and grins at you. “Awe, you miss me or somethin’? How cute.” 

A groan leaves your lips, and you reach to throw a pillow at him. He easily deflects it with a snicker, working on taking his shirt off next. At least now that he’s back you feel more inclined to sleep, knowing that he can’t sneak up on you. Splatters of dark vermilion catch your attention, mouth curling downwards into a frown. 

If there’s anything you’ve learned in your time with Dabi, it’s that you shouldn’t ask where the blood stains come from. Ignorance is bliss, right? It’s still an unnerving sight, especially since you know it isn’t his. 

The relationship you two share is nothing if not unconventional. His occupation -- if you can even call it that -- has him coming and going at unholy times at night. Sleep is difficult to come by, not knowing when he might make an appearance. It’s what leads you to stay up some nights, a preferable experience to tossing and turning with anxious thoughts plaguing you.

As long as you stay in your designated place, Dabi holds true to his promise of doing you no harm. Thinly veiled threats under the pretense of being your “roommate” lead you to the current day, an awkward routine settling in. For all it’s worth, it could be worse. You’re acutely aware of what Dabi is capable of, having seen the ashes of corpses blurred out in the news. 

Why he’s taken a liken to you is beyond you. It still beats dying, only by a sliver. 

“There are some leftovers in the fridge,” you tap your phone, reading the time. Three in the morning. Great, and you have work tomorrow too. “I think I’ll give sleeping a shot now that you’re back.” 

Dabi raises an eyebrow at this, a fresh shirt without blood stains now on. “You always sleep when I get back. It hurts my feelings. What, am I not good enough company?”  

‘If I’m being honest, not really.’

He grins at how you shiver, lazily crawling over to be by your side. His sudden presence fills your nose with unknown scents, ranging from smoke to burnt leather. Underneath is hints of his cologne, all mixing together to disorient you further. Dabi loves riling you up, testing the limits of what you can handle. 

You take a deep breath, hugging your knees to your chest. As long as you don’t let it get to you, it’ll be fine. He always gets bored eventually, leaving you to do as you please. That’s what you’ll aim for.

“It’s not that. I just have stuff to do tomorrow, and I don’t like being exhausted. It’s my long shift.” 

His trademark grin melts away, furrowing eyebrows and a grimace taking its place. Mentioning your life outside of him is a tricky battle, and you can’t help but regret mentioning it. Being in a sleep deprived state is a major disadvantage in your interactions with him.

“This again? I thought I told you to quit. Rent or whatever won’t be an issue, I’ll handle it.” Dabi scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder. His skin feels rough against yours, coarse hands rubbing circles into  you. You bite your lip at the sensation, hair on the back of your neck standing. 

“I... I like my job. Sure, it can be irritating at times, but it gives me something to do during the day. I’d go stir crazy without something concrete to focus on.” The words are heartfelt, unfiltered. When he responds in silence you worry you’ve made a mistake, upsetting him with your defiance.

He huffs against your neck, lifting his head and shooting you a displeased look.  His voice is a low murmur, one that reverberates into the core of your very being. “Always making trouble for me..." 

Dabi’s grip around you tightens, and you gulp thickly. With how casual he speaks to you, it can be easy to forget the major power imbalance. Instead of greeting you with insults, or worse, he lightly flicks your forehead.

You blink, baffled.

“Don’t most people hate their jobs? I figured you’d be jumping at the idea of having more free time, or whatever. So you can focus on other things.” 

It’s not a confession you were expecting, your cheeks flushing at the considerate nature of his words. While it’s true quitting your job is an appealing thought, it creates a semblance of balance within your now chaotic life. Helping you stick to a schedule, in the same way school used to. 

Now feeling confident in expressing yourself, your taut muscles relax into his touch. “I’m too tired to think about it properly, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how you can stay up this late all the time without losing it.” 

Deflecting from the previous topic makes you feel better. If Dabi notices your intentions he doesn’t point them out, allowing you to take control of the conversation without complaint. He must prefer it over when you’d just shake and cry in his presence.

“You get used to it, sweetheart,” he drums his fingers against you, smirking. “I’ll make a night owl outta you yet.” 

Any implications in his words go straight over your head.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I think I’ll pass. ” 

He shrugs at your indifference, removing his arms from your frame. The lack of enveloping warmth causes you to shiver, Dabi searching through his bag. You peak over his shoulder out of curiosity, his scarred hands settling on an object which he pulls out. 

It’s a copy of Animal Crossing, in all of its beautiful glory. You wipe your eyes, unsure if what you’re seeing is reality.

“W-what?” you guffaw before your brain has the chance to stop you, jaw agape and head tilted. Dabi places it on your lap, and returns to his previous position of holding you. There’s clear amusement in his eyes at your stunned state, relishing in your every reaction.

“Did I get the wrong thing? This is that game you wanted, isn’t it?” 

It had to have been a week or so ago. You lamented to him about not being able to afford this, not even realizing he was giving it any attention. To think he remembered, and acted on it for your sake... is a touching sensation. Maybe he is capable of selflessness after all.

The cute box art puts a smile on your face, one that Dabi stares at. 

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” you pick it up, looking at the back with wide eyes. “Did the cashier give you a funny look when you picked this out?” 

‘I really need to start thinking before I speak.’

He shakes his head at your blunt comment, not taking any offense. “I didn’t get it that way.”

‘Oh, well... better not ask more than necessary. There’s no blood on it so at least that’s a good sign.’

Wiggling free from his grip, you rotate your legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting your switch. An opportunity like this must be taken advantage of, and you’ve wanted to play this game for some time now. Dabi must’ve read your mind, and pulls you back to him with little effort before you get the chance. 

“If I remember correctly, you said you were tired just a few minutes ago.” 

He plucks the game from your fingers, and places it on the side furthest from you. What a cruel world this is, to have paradise so close and yet so far. You can’t help the pout that forms at his actions.

“The situation changed, I’m wide awake now.” you explain to an unmoved Dabi, launching over his lap to get your coveted game back. He picks it up, lifting it over your head with a chuckle. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

Defeat settling in, you retreat for now. A sigh leaves your lips, arms crossing over your chest. You should’ve known better, Dabi has made it clear to you that he wants your attention. Looks like you’ll have to wait until after work to get a taste of Animal Crossing. 

There’s a glint of mischievous in his azure eyes, one that you’ve seen more often than you wish. Dabi sighs in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Not even so much as a thank you for my efforts. That’s cold, babe. Real cold.” 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you, it means a lot.” 

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s not what I was looking for. Try again, sweetheart.” 

A flurry of thoughts fly through your mind, all competing with one another to offer a solution. Does he want money for it? He should know that you’re not capable of producing that amount, or you would’ve bought the game for yourself. Dabi gives you a moment to think, before offering the answer to you.

He puts his pointer finger on your lip, maintaining eye contact while doing so. 

“Oh, t-that.”

“So glad to see that you’re finally catching on.” 

It could be the summer heat winning over your AC, the room suddenly feeling warmer than it did a few moments prior. You look down at your blankets, focusing on anything other than the person in front of you. This level of teasing is nothing new with Dabi, he always manages to fluster you. 

He sits, relaxed, waiting for you to make a move. There aren’t any other options that you can think of, so you give into what he wants. Moving closer to his face, you feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your hand twitches, pressing against his chest to offer balance.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you tilt your head, soft lips brushing over his own. All of your movements are hesitant, your entire body feeling like it’s on fire. Heart pounding violently against your chest, you move to pull back. Only to discover his hand on the back of your head is stopping you from doing so.

Dabi slants his lips back over your own, nibbling your bottom lip. You freeze, the unexpected affection leaving you incapable of reacting. It’s when you squeak that he finally loosens his grip, opening his eyes to take in your embarrassed countenance. 

All things considered, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. 

You cover your burning face with your shaking hands, feeling the warmth emanating off of you. He makes it even worse by chuckling, the low rumble filling you with indignation. There never is hope of catching a break with Dabi. 

“You might be the one with a fire quirk after all,” he leans forward, placing a hand against your hot forehead. “Mm... that look you’re giving me is too much. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point.” 

Fed up with his relentless teasing, you smack his hand away and purse your lips. He props his arms behind his head, letting you glare at him to your heart’s content. From his lack of reaction, you get the feeling he isn’t too intimidated by you. 

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you huff, returning to your side and pulling up the blankets. He doesn’t make a move to stop you, and you take the opportunity to lay down on your side. Refusing to look at him, you focus on the wall. 

Dabi pokes your cheek, which you ignore. 

He lets out a long sigh at your antics, joining you underneath the covers. You hear shuffling behind you, and can’t help but wonder what it is that he’s up to. Maybe he’s succumbing to his own exhaustion, and will let you sleep in peace? What a perfect world it’d be if that’s the case.

The thought is entertained for three seconds before you’re pulled against his firm chest from behind, toned arms snaking around your torso and staying there. His body is always so warm. It doesn’t help that you’re already embarrassed from before. Dabi grumbles something incoherent, placing his head in the crook of your neck. 

Accepting the situation for what it is, you stop moving. He reaches over you to turn off the light, and darkness surrounds you once more. All you can hear are your own labored breaths, and rapidly pounding heart. It might be impossible to sleep like this. 

You’ll call out of work for tomorrow. 

“... Dabi?” you whisper, voice soft and barely audible. He grunts in response, nuzzling further into your neck. For the past few months, there’s been a thought that haunts you at every turn. One that you can never find an answer to, and have been too frightened to investigate beyond your own musings.

It’d be easy to play this off as sexual attraction alone, yet a voice in the back of your head says otherwise. That what Dabi feels for you goes beyond that, into a sinister territory that you want desperately to avoid. Why is it he’s patient -- borderline kind -- with you, yet cruel to everyone else? None of it makes logical sense, his actions erratic and seemingly without reason.

Maybe you shouldn’t know. Still, you ask, against your better judgement. 

“Why do you like me so much?” 

You feel how he smiles against the skin of your neck, the sensation stirring up unknown emotions within. He squeezes you against him once, letting out a low hum as he considers your words. While waiting for him to speak, you hold in a breath. 

“Dunno. Just do,” Dabi offers a noncommittal response, one that leaves you greatly unsatisfied. It seems he’s not even aware of it himself, the effect you have on him unlike anything he’s ever experienced. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” 

“... Alright, I won’t.” 

“Good. Now get some sleep, before I ask you to kiss me again.” 

#dabi my hero academia #Dabi #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi headcanons #yandere dabi imagines #yandere dabi #yandere dabi imagine #yandere dabi x reader #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere #my hero academia #my hero academia imagine #yandere my hero academia #commissions

[crystalessenceswrites]

Hi Again! I was wondering if you wrote for the clones? (I'm thirsting for Wolffe!!) If not, that's ok! And if so, I thought maybe something fluffy and a bit hot with Wolffe? I'm a huge sucker for the trope- Reader tries to hide that she hasn't been feeling well and turns out she's pregnant? With twins! She's scared because even though they're committed, it wasn't planned? And then fluff and some love making?? <3333

Hi lovely, welcome back! I am open to writing for the clones, I just haven’t done so yet! I too thirst for Commander Wolffe so you’re in luck! This trope is def very cute, the end turned out more fluffy than spicy, I hope that's alright.

Commander Wolffe x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v sex, unplanned pregnancy, swearing (first time writing for Wolffe, may be slightly ooc)

[PART TWO]

There was never enough time. You really should not have been surprised by the revelation, you were at war, but it still sat heavy on your chest. Always needed elsewhere as soon as you completed a mission. Never time to rest, even in transit. Someone always needed your attention for reports, strategic planning or council meetings as the GAR cruiser hurtled through hyperspace. It never left you enough time for him. Thankfully, the stubborn nature of your clone commander allowed him to make time, even if just a spare moment, for the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” you throw your head back against the door as he reaches that spot deep inside you. Pushing you ever closer to the edge. “Wolffe, please-” you’re whining as he grinds up into you, throbbing inside you. He’s always had the uncanny ability to read your body, he knows better than you when you’re close to bliss and he enjoys drawing it out. To think Commander Wolffe was a fucking tease.

“Please what, cyare?” His smug grin slides across your chest following the trail of marks he’s littered across your skin where no one will see. “What does ner jetii need?”

“Please, ‘m so close,” you tighten your legs around his waist, trying to draw him in closer, anything to reach your release, “please, Wolffe!”

He groans into your neck as you tug at the curls fallen loose at the nape of his neck, “well when you ask so nicely, cyare.”

His sudden thrust up pushes the air from your lungs. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he pounds into you, all teasing forgotten. He’s relentless as you tighten around him, the coil in your belly threatening to snap.

“That’s it,” he grunts, “come on my cock ner jetii.”

His words and his gloved thumb brushing over your bundle of nerves has you falling apart around him. White hot pleasure rolls over you, leaving you a limp, moaning mess in Wolffe’s arms.

“That’s it, mesh’la. Squeezing me so kriffing tight,” he groans, hips stuttering, his own release fast approaching. “Fuck.” Wolffe manages a few more thrusts before he buries himself in you, spilling himself inside you. Whispered praises fall from his lips as he comes down from his own high. His lips ghost over yours in a chaste kiss as he withdraws, tucking himself away before he lets you down.

Your legs cry out in relief when they meet solid ground, not longer clinging to Wolffe for support.

“Good, cyare?” his hand sweeps over your brow, so tender for a man with such a fierce reputation, even amongst his brothers.

“Mhmm,” leaning into his touch, he chuckles at your blissed out expression.

“Someone’s bound to come looking for you soon, General. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You don’t protest as he helps you redress, though you do moan about how unfair it was he just had to remove his codpiece and you had to strip completely out of your robes for these little storage closet rendezvous’.

“I don’t think jedi robes were designed to allow for easy access, cyare.”

You pout, “you’re probably right.” There was that whole bit about no attachments you were blatantly ignoring after all.

Before the commander can come back with another sharp retort your commlink blinks to life. “Yes?”

“General, General Plo is looking for you on the bridge.”

You sigh, “thank you, Sinker. I’ll be right there.”

Never enough time.

.

The next couple of months continue much the same. You and Wolffe sneaking away between missions when you can, trying to find solace in each other despite all the horrors you both see on the battlefield. In a war that seems to stretch on forever he is your rock. As he watches his brothers fall, one after the other, you are his comfort. It breaks your heart to be apart from him but there is little you can do to control it. When the council requests you to join Obi-wan and Anakin for a series of missions you cannot object. Instead, you drag your tired self out to the far reaches of the outer rim to help them as best you can.

“You look exhausted, my dear.” Such tact this one possessed.

You roll your eyes, “you don’t look much better, Kenobi.” Though you doubt he has been waking in the middle of the night to empty the contents of his stomach like you have for the past week.

“This war does seem to be pushing us all to our limits.”

“I’ll race you!” Ahsoka sprints by, apparently headed for some target or another with her master hot on her heels.

“Snips!”

Cody chuckles under his bucket, shaking his head as the two disappear into the distance.

Obi-Wan scrubs a hand over his face, “it’s pushed most of us to our limits.”

“What I wouldn’t give to have the energy of a padawan again,” you groan.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Obi-wan nods, “we should all try to get some rest while we can. We need to break camp near dawn.”

You agree and bid your fellow jedi an early goodnight. With the headache you could feel coming on, sleep sounded like a good idea. As you go to stand the world spins around you, any sense of balance you had gone. You reach for the crate you had been sitting on to try and stay upright but you miss by a mile. Knees giving out you collapse to the floor, the world around you still spinning. You can barely hear Cody shouting over the ringing in your ears.

“Call for a medic! The General’s collapsed!”

.

By the time you regain consciousness you’re no longer planet side. Obi-wan had been quick to have you medevacked to the closest med-station for testing. The unholy white lights of the station burn your eyes when you finally come to. Your sudden groaning draws Kix back to your bedside.

“General. Good to see you’re back with us.”

“Kix?” You try to focus on the 501st medic instead of the bright lights, “what happened?”

“You collapsed back at the forward camp. We weren’t able to determine what was wrong with the limited medical supplies we had on hand, so General Kenobi called an air lift for you.”

Another groan bubbles up, Obi-wan had been forced to waster precious resources on you. “Were you able to find out what’s wrong?”

The clone’s face falls, “yes.”

You’ve never heard the medic sound so meek before. “Kix?”

“I’m not sure what’s the best way to explain this, General… but you’re pregnant.”

Oh.

Oh.

“H-how far along?”

“Looks like just over two months,” Kix shifts from foot to foot, pointedly not looking you in the eye. You can’t blame him for being uncomfortable, this isn’t quite the medicine he’d been expecting to practice. He was a combat medic not an obgyn. “We were able to get an ultrasound, would you like to see?”

Nodding, you sit up, your head now spinning for completely different reasons. Kix brings you a datapad displaying the grainy black and white image.

“Kix… am I seeing this right?”

“Yes, general.”

“There’s two…”

“Yes general. You’re having twins.”

Oh fuck.

.

Kix is a godsend, having worked with Anakin and Rex long enough to know reporting everything may not always be a good idea. The official report on your sudden collapse reads that you suffered from a foreign infection your body had not been prepared to fight, coupled with the battle fatigue, your body had shut down in order to force you to rest. Obi-wan and the council believe it, ordering you back to Coruscant to recover and rest. You knew you would have to tell them; it would not be long until you were showing, but you would much rather deal with the council in person than from your medbay bed.

Before your escort arrives, Kix slips you a disk with a copy of the ultrasound pictures, “in case there’s someone you want to show them to.”

“Thank you, Kix,” he blushes when you give him a quick peck on the cheek, “you’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”

You do your best to rest on your trip back to Coruscant but its incredibly difficult when your mind is going a parsec a minute. Besides the council there’s one other person you have to break the news to. While you two had talked about what life would be like for the two of you after the war, this was not something you had discussed. You were not sure if Wolffe wanted kids ever, let alone now. Having twins while the whole galaxy was at war was not ideal. Not when the two of you were expected to put your lives on the line for the Republic.

Panic washes over you when you arrive at the capital to find the wolfpack waiting for you on the tarmac. They’d just arrived back for some long overdue shore leave and Plo had informed them of your sudden illness. Normally you would be touched by how much they cared for you, but now all you can think about is how you are not ready to face Wolffe. Not yet.

You can feel his gaze heavy on your back as you field Sinker and Boost’s barrage of questions.

“I’ll be alright, I just need to take my medicine and get some rest. It shouldn’t be long before I’m right as rain again.” You hate lying to them, but you did not want them worrying unnecessarily either.

It seems to appease them; the pack wishes you well and invites you out to 79’s with them as soon as you’re recovered. Wolffe hangs back, watching his brothers go.

“I’ll walk you back, general.”

“No.” It comes out much harsher than you’d like. The surprise that washes over his face feels like a stab to your gut. “There’s no need, Commander. I’ll be alright.”

His voice drops, brow furrowed together, “cyare?”

“Not now, Wolffe,” you frown, “I just need to go lay down. We’ll talk later.”

But you don’t. You cannot find it in yourself to answer any of his calls or messages over the next few days. Instead, you wrap yourself up in as many blankets as possible and hole up in your quarters while you try to figure out what to do. You watch Coruscant go by from your window. It’s only when Sinker and Boost call that you’re freed from running around in circle inside your head.

“Boost? Sinker? What’s going on?”

“Oh thank goodness you’re alive, General!”

“Boost what are you going on about?”

“The Commanders been going crazy! He hasn’t heard from you in over a week and we don’t think he knows how to handle it!”

Although you and Wolffe did your best to keep your relationship hidden, in such tight quarters it was hard to keep it from Wolffe’s brothers. You’d never outright admitted it to them, but you figured they understood what was going on. You were glad for it now.

“I’ve seen him pace before, but never like this,” Sinker adds.

Oh Maker. “Where is he?”

“The barracks, General.”

“I… I’ll speak with him, alright? Hopefully that will calm him down.”

“Thank you, General! We were running out of ways to distract him!” That was the kind way of saying ways to annoy him to keep Wolffe’s mind off you.

“Thank you, Boost, Sinker.”

“Good luck, General!”

You were going to need it. This was not a conversation to have over the com so you make your way down to the barracks, doing your best to avoid attention when you can. It was not like you weren’t allowed there, but the last thing you needed was more questions.

Boost and Sinker were not lying about the pacing. Punching in the access code to his quarters reveals a tightly wound Wolffe, pacing back and forth across the length if the tight space. His armor has been haphazardly discarded around the room. You’re surprised he hasn’t worn a path into the floor yet.

“General?” Surprise and then relief fall over his face when he catches you standing in the doorway.

“Wolffe, I-”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

You’re thrown off by the sudden cold tone in his voice. “I-I came to explain, Wolffe… to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“I’ve been avoiding you Wolffe,” your voice cracks despite your best efforts to remain calm, “and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I just needed to find a way to tell you and I couldn’t.”

His frown deepens, “tell me what?”

“That I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He looks at you live you’ve grown another head.

“I’m pregnant, Wolffe.”

It takes him a moment to wrap his mind around your words, but you can see the instant he does, his mouth dropping into an ‘o’ as his jaw falls slack.

“You’re pregnant? With my… with my baby?”

“Babies,” you correct.

His brain seems to sputter out again, “babies?”

You nod, “twins.”

Before you can blink, he’s got you wrapped up in his arms, spinning you around the room. “Twins. You’re having twins.”

It takes everything you have not to start bawling. Kriffing hormones. You’ve never seen Wolffe this happy. This was beyond any reaction you could have imagined. The awe on his face when he sets you down makes your heart melt.

“This is why you were sent back? Your sudden illness?”

“Well yes… but Kix’s report was that I had an infection. I wanted to talk to your first before anyone else. I just didn’t know how.”

His warm hand oh-so-gently cups the side of your face. You lean into the touch. After even just a few weeks apart you’re starving for him.

“Why were you worried, cyare?”

“We’d never talked about kids. And we’re in the middle of a war. Not to mention we’re not even supposed to be together on the first place… I didn’t know how you’d react…”

His face softens, his amber eye drifting down to your nonexistent bump. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised. It may not be how either of us hoped, but it is a pleasant surprise.”

“Really?”

“Really, cyare.” You cannot help but smile as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips slanting against your own as he holds you close. “I know there may be somethings we need to work out, but we’ll take it one step at a time,” he murmurs against your lips, hands tracing patterns across your back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #clones x reader #wolffe imagine #the clone wars #tcw #the wolfpack #nsft #smut #request #crystalessences writes

[zazzander]

So... I made a Octavian x Mike playlist! This is meant to tell a bit of a story. Basically from when they get together right to the end of Blood of Olympus, so like, fair warning it's not happy. Here's the Spotify link.

I don't use Spotify myself so I'm not sure if this is workable. But it's designed to be listened to in order.

(yes, Taylor Swift features a lot - I am incapable of making a playlist that doesn't include several of her songs)

Endgame, Taylor Swift

Renegade, Taylor Swift

High school sweethearts, Melanie Martinez

Sweater Weather, the Neighbourhood

King of My Heart, Taylor Swift

Honey, Halsey

YOUTH, Troye Sivan

Run, Taylor Swift & Ed Sheeran

The Mad Ones, Krystina Alabado & Emma Hunton

Go Slow, Haim

C'Mon, Amy Shark

peace, Taylor Swift

Wish You Were Sober, Conan Gray

Unholy, Hey Violet

Is There Somewhere, Halsey

I'm a Ruin, Marina

Forever Winter, Taylor Swift

Never Love an Anchor, Crane Wives

The Anchor, Bastille

Be Kind, Halsey

Death Stranding, Chvrches

hoax, Taylor Swift

California, Chvrches

Read for notes / thoughts...

Beginning:

Endgame, Taylor Swift

This is more of an intro (to the intro). It's kind of the two of them introducing themselves to each other. So exactly who is "singing" flips back and forth (and not based on the singers themselves).

First string, A-team etc. are all Mike. Because he's thinking in sports terms.

Generally the parts about having a big reputation are from Octavian.

Octavian is... not keen - he doesn't want to have his heartbroken - but over the course of this back and forth, he starts to come around...

Renegade, Taylor Swift

Mike makes the first proper move, song from his POV. It's the tail end of the Titan War ("times like these"). There's a hint of what's to come in,

And if I would've known How sharp the pieces were you'd crumbled into I might've let them lay

High school sweethearts, Melanie Martinez

They start dating but naturally Octavian has to outline the ground rules.

Everything goes well, dating!

Sweater Weather, the Neighbourhood

King of My Heart, Taylor Swift

Honey, Halsey

Run:

YOUTH, Troye Sivan

Run, Taylor Swift & Ed Sheeran

The Mad Ones, Krystina Alabado & Emma Hunton

They both start thinking about leaving the legion, running away together. To find some freedom away from Camp Jupiter.

Mike pushes Octavian to go, but it goes badly. Octavian hesitates in the end, insisting that he needs to finish his service. Three years, is not that long. And if he leaves after, he doesn't have to leave his family behind...

They fight. They break up.... kinda.

Go Slow, Haim

And all their interactions are filled with regret.

The War Against the Greeks Begins:

C'Mon, Amy Shark

With the start of the war, Octavian is at the top of his game. And with the sudden rise, leading the legion even without authority to do so, fighting with Reyna... he turns to Mike. Looking for support. He needs his right hand back.

peace, Taylor Swift

Octavian believes he can't be all that Mike needs. He can't get rid of his baggage. And he hopes Mike will love him regardless. Still, I imagine he doesn't know how to say any of it.

While at Nero's Tower:

The war gets worse. The Argo has left for Europe. Octavian is forced to turn on CHB. He makes a deal with Nero...

And his mental state gets worse. He distracts the legion and himself with various parties. It's why no one questions who owns the building etc.

Wish You Were Sober, Conan Gray (Mike POV)

Unholy, Hey Violet (Octavian POV)

Is There Somewhere, Halsey (Mike POV)

I'm a Ruin, Marina (Octavian POV)

Forever Winter, Taylor Swift (Mike POV)

Mike and Octavian have been doing a messy back and forth while at the tower.

During this time Octavian reveals his deal with Apollo, "I've been doing things I shouldn't do". And admits Apollo hasn't contacted him for a while. The "I'll be your summer sun forever" is him offering to fill that void. Basically "forget Apollo! He's trash! I'm here for you".

Mike thinks their relationship is resolved, that they can get back together. After all, "Believe in one thing, I won't go away" was basically what Octavian demanded at the beginning. So it's fixed.

Except it's not.

Never Love an Anchor, Crane Wives

Octavian decides to break up again. Properly this time. He's scared he's going to "ruin" Mike and doesn't think deserves that. He won't be Mike's "anchor".

About this time, the legion moves to Long Island, which is why they are so cold to each other in Reyna's dream.

The Countdown to August 1st:

The Anchor, Bastille

Be Kind, Halsey

Mostly Mike's POV. Despite Octavian's best intentions, this break up actually just makes things worse. Mike is an internal mess. And he's angry. He said he'd stay loyal! He urges and urges, but Octavian won't listen to him anymore.

Death Stranding, Chvrches

It's the morning before the battle. And this division between them is clear.

There's a line in the sand.

This will be the end, one way or another.

Post Battle

hoax, Taylor Swift

California, Chvrches

I couldn't find a good song for the actual battle but hoax comes close.

It's Octavian's thoughts (if he lived), regarding Mike's betrayal. That ultimately Mike is a hoax Octavian was willing to believe in, even if he knew it was 'false'.

Regardless, in the final song, Mike returns to New Rome. And in his regret, he doesn't leave. He has his "freedom" now, with Octavian gone he has no obligation to stay... But he views Octavian's death as a failure on his part, and is unable to get past it. So he stays, stuck. He decides he'll die in California (i.e. New Rome).

#before I second guess myself #I'm going to post this #octahale #octavian x michael kahale

[queenmuzz]

Heat of the Moment

A Dante x Reader Valentine’s Day Special!

Your mom had always told everyone, in a disapproving tone, that you were too impulsive for your own good.  You darted into the road to get a runaway ball.  You bought that awesome looking jacket, without checking to see if it was on sale.  And now, because you were craving pizza, and didn’t want to shell out the four bucks extra for delivery, you were in a mighty fine pickle.

You decided that taking the deserted looking street at near midnight, just to shave a few minutes off your walk to Angelo’s Pizzeria was a perfectly splendid idea.  So splendid, you didn’t notice the shadowy figures following you, until you were grabbed from behind, and a cloth covered with some sort of chemical was placed over your screaming mouth.

So now, here you stood, or rather...laid, on cold grey stone, that seemed to leech all warmth away from your flesh.  It was still dark, but illuminated by torches, you seemed to be surrounded by columns of stone, like you were in some knock off kid sized version of Stonehenge.  You immediately attempted to get up, only to find to your irritation, your wrists and ankles were bound by industrial grade chains.   

“The offering has awoken!” called out a woman’s voice, and from the darkness, like the damn Ringwraiths from Lord of the Rings, nine cloaked figures came out of the darkness.  You tried to make out their faces, but both their pitch black cloaks, and blood red masks hid everything about them.

“Brothers and Sisters, we are gathered here tonight to call forth from the very bones of the earth, a power far greater than any human can imagine.  The stars have aligned, the incense has been lit.  All now,” she motioned to the cultist beside her, who handed her a leatherbound book, “Is to speak the incantations, and complete the rituals.”

And then, with the help of her assistant, the group began to chant.  You had no idea of what was being spoken, but it sounded Latin. 

“Really... Latin?  Guys, there are a tonne of other languages you could use!  What happened to originality?!” you grumbled, but while you could feel their glares, none stopped their inane chants

Upon each pillar,  a letter lit up, one at a time.  You couldn’t recognize the script, but it looked like a five year old’s attempt to write Hebrew. For some reason, that irked you. This makes no sense.  Latin is an Indo-European language, and Hebrew is a totally different family! These idiots are mixing everything up!.

But the incantation seemed to do the trick, and the flames grew, and changed to a sickly green colour.  And now, all these cultists raised their arms in exultation 

“Lord of the Underworld, we present you this offering, a Virgin Offering, for you to consume!” The lead cultist chanted.

“Wait!” you blurted out, in a desperate attempt to avert your fate, “I’m not a virgin!  I’ve had sex before, dozens...no, hundreds of times!”

Her assistant leaned over you, their mask barely concealing his skepticism.

“Name one person you have laid with,” he tested.

“Well…” Your mind was blank, and so you went with the first thing that shot through your brain.

“Your mom, for starters.”

You could have slapped yourself for such a dumb comeback, had your wrists not being tied up, but you needn’t have worried about not getting slapped.  The cultist’s lips twisted into a snarl, and you felt white hot pain radiating from your cheek, and the taste of blood filling your mouth.  Even though it hurt like hell, one part of you was mentally high fiving at that comeback.  His hand raised up one more time, to give another strike, but the leader quickly grabbed his wrist.

“Calm yourself, brother… the offering must remain undamaged. Besides,” and you could swear you  heard a smirk in her voice, “It’s not their body that must be virginal, it’s the blood.”

Well shit, you thought, as you placed your burning cheek against the cool stone to relieve the pain.  

The ritual continued.  “We humble servants provide both the firstfruits of this offering to open the way.”  The woman took out a jet black dagger, and approached you with steady steps.  Would she cut out your heart, Temple of Doom style?  Rip out your entrails?  Slit your throat?  All you could hope was that it would be quick and painless.  

What you hadn’t expected was for her to grab one of your restrained hands and with surprisingly gentleness placed the edge of the obsidian blades against your palm.

As she dragged the razor sharp edge, a line of crimson bloomed, like a trail of bubbles.  It almost didn’t hurt, but you couldn’t help but get upset.  All this pomp and ceremony, and they were just giving you a cut that would irritate you for weeks...if you lived that long. Whatever happens, you said as the cultist began using your blood to paint the two largest stone pillars, in a perverse parody of the Passover ritual, I hope whatever these bastards are summoning crushes them.

“COME FORTH!” The whole group chanted in unison, “Taste the blood… DEVOUR THE FLESH!”

And without warning, the blood...YOUR blood, burst into flame, racing up the pillars as if gasoline had been pumping through your veins.  At the top, the flames connected and  formed a gateway...a hellgate.  And within it, an orb, an inferno expanded...and a roar that sounded nothing like any earthbound animal emanated.

And then, an explosion of heat and sulfur knocked down the stones, and the cultists, sending the leader flying back several feet.  Only you, chained to the granite altar, remained in place.

You squinted as the searing light dissipated.  Among the now dying flames stood, or hovered… a demonic sight.  You could swear you saw the air distort from the heat that seemed to generate from within his chest.  Four leathery wings splayed out, the inner skin swirling designs constantly shifting, almost hypnotising.  And the horns!  A good foot long that curved  and twisted, glowing like charred wood both above and around his face. A face that reminded what was in front of you.  A demon.  Teeth as long and sharp as paring knives, eyes glowing like the pits of hell.  As if Satan himself had come up from the depths.  And for all you knew… he probably had.

You heard the sound of crumpled paper.  “Oh man,” the demon rumbled, his voice distorted by the sound of the exhaust coming from between his teeth, “I was just getting to the good part…”

“Oh Great and Powerful Lord…”  the devil stared at the surrounding area, at the the cultists that had recovered began following their leader’s motions and bowed prostrate on the ground, and you still chained.  It was hard to make out his expression, but it seemed like...surprise?

 “We are your most humble servants,” the leader continued,  “All we ask...is a scrap of your power...a trifle for one such as you, as payment for summoning you..My Lord?”

The demon didn’t even spare a second glance as he strode past her, past the other shrouded forms, and made a beeline towards you.  This was it, you thought, time to come up with a witty parting remark. But of course, your impulsive nature wouldn’t cooperate right now.  At least the demon seemed to be the ‘fire and fury’ style, he would probably consume you quickly.

He towered over you, and even now, the stone, which had been ice cold the entire time, began to heat up beneath you...sweat, both from terror, and the inferno looming above you,  beaded on your forehead.  

“My Lord?” the assistant asked, “Is the offering suitable for your arrival?  They have a wicked tongue, but they are perfect for summoning.

“I think you got it all wrong buddy,” the demon turned his eyes on the unholy congregation, and strangely, a chill appeared in the air, “You guys didn’t summon me….” A razor claw extended out and pointed at you, “THEY did… and if they summoned me…” the cultists slowly became aware of what he was implying, the quicker ones started making a run for it, “YOU guys must be the offering!  Who’s volunteering first?”

The answer was nine sets of panicking feet trying to sprint out of the stone circle.  The demon glanced back at you, “You might want to cover your eyes for this, it’s gonna get a little messy,” and with the speed of a racing forest fire, he charged, blades of superheated air swirling around him.  

The scream of the lead cultist was enough for you to clench your eyes shut, and then followed by a multiple of cries of terror and death, as the coppery scent of blood, not your own this time, scented the air.

A few minutes later, there was nothing but silence, except the sound of boots on gravel.  You couldn’t help it, you took a peek.

Instead of the cultists, or the demon, there was just a guy, shaggy white haired, with a worn t-shirt that clung juuuuust right against his broad chest, and a smile on his face.  You looked around, trying to find either a surviving cultist, or the demon, but all you could see in the darkness were void black shapes, lying on the grounds, their robes moving slightly in the breeze.

“That can’t be comfortable, let’s get you out of there,” the man said, and without a hint of effort, he gently grasped your hands, and with the other, he gave a quick yank.  Immediately the sound of snapping metal, and to your amazement, your arms were free.  And if you had thought he had done a sleight of hand with those chains, the way he effortlessly ripped the chains around your ankles off immediately clued you in that this man was more than he seemed.

You rubbed your wrists as you slowly sat up, staring at him. “Who are...you?”

“Ah, yeah...forgot to introduce myself in the whole hubbub.  Cultists always ruining get togethers.”  He stuck out his hand, “Name’s Dante.”  And as you shook his hand, with your uninjured one, you noticed that for a brief moment,  his eyes momentarily glowed red, like embers.  Embers that had once been blazing coals.

He must have seen the flash of panic in your eyes, because he backed away, his hands raised in surrender. 

“Don’t worry!  I ain’t going to hurt you… yeah, I’m the demon those jackasses called for” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “but I’m not the ‘MUST RULE THE WORLD’ type, I usually am the one people call to get rid of what was being summoned, not actually BEING the ‘sommonee.’  Wait, is that the correct term?”  He paused for a moment to think it over, before he seemed to come back to the present. “Anyways, I was just relaxing in my office, reading a magazine, and then POOF, I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people with horrible sense of fashion.  Speaking of my magazine...where did I put it?”

You saw the magazine, its pages fluttering in the wind, and picked it up.  A copy of ‘Half Cocked’, and on its cover, a buxom young brunette was getting a bit too friendly with a revolver,  alongside a well toned man wearing little more than a bandolier.

“Oh thanks!… that” he quickly snatched it out of your hands,  “I read it mainly for the articles…” he explained lamely, before hurriedly shoving it in his back pocket, as he looked you up and down. “Besides...I got a feeling I won’t need it much anymore…”  And in the flaming remnants of ritual, you swore you saw him turn a shade of pink...although that could just be the fire.

“Welp,”  He stretched, “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?  All that work made me famished.”

You had no idea where the hell you were, but you were still ravenously hungry.  Which reminded you how you got into this mess in the first place.

“I could go for some pizza or-”

You felt a blaze of warmth, and suddenly you felt your legs swept under you, and you looked up at Dante, now back to his demonic form carrying you bridal style.  But no longer did it strike fear in you, just a sense of awe...and admiration

“You truly know how to get to this demon’s heart,” he practically purred, and with a slight grunt, he leapt up and started flying towards the nearest collection of lights on the horizon.  “Pizza it is, then!”

Despite the remnant of chill from spending God knows how long on that stone, and the brisk breeze of the upper atmosphere blowing past you, you didn’t feel a little bit cold. It was like being held by a flying furnace.

“You know Dante….” you spoke, barely audible above the wind.

“Hm?”

“You’re pretty hot.”  Instantly, you realized what you had said, and would have preferred him to just drop you to your death at this very moment.

You heard him chuckle.

“Yeah, this form runs a bit warm….”

And even though he didn’t say it, you were almost certain he knew exactly what you meant.

#Devil May Cry #Dante #dante x reader #dante x you #Valentine's Day Special

[robbyrobinson]

My Most Hated Characters from the Owl House

1. My most hated character from the show is not surprising, but it's Kikimora. I just have this...unholy urge to punch this midget in the face so many times, it rips her head off her neck. To describe her, it's kind of like if you were at home just unwinding, and then you see this big cockroach crawling on the wall. Not only is it a big, unsightly freak of nature, but it's hairy. You just have this innate need of crushing it to death before it could lay eggs. That is Kikimora to me. Anytime she is on screen, I just want to smash her with some cartoonishly large mallet like you'd see in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. She is a condescending prick with that grandiose sense of self-worth because of her position in the Emperor's Coven who was a dick to Lilith, and then tries to kill Hunter. What the fuck, lady? What kind of yandere shit is that? It was bad that Odalia tried to kill Luz, but Hunter's case is worse because he would be the most intimate with Belos because of him being his "nephew." And why would she do something that irredeemably evil? Just because she was jealous that she wasn't at Belos's side. What the hell, gremlin? Even worse, you could contrast her with Lilith and Hunter: Lilith served Belos partly because she was trying to cure her sister to atone of her mistakes and ultimately tries to become better. Hunter was emotionally abused/manipulated by Belos and follows his commands without question even when he was curious about wild magic. Kikimora has no redeeming traits, sympathetic motivations, nor complexity. She is just some arrogant, psychotic, pint-sized asshole who needs to be destroyed/ Just...stop it. Get some help.

2. Bria. I don't care much for her lackeys since they were relatively flat. Bria at first came off as being concerned how her school was being run on some Social Darwinist rhetoric with stronger students bullying the weaker, and it seemed at first she would be a genuine friend for Gus, and likely be seen as "cool mentors" or whatever. But nope. She blew it because it was obvious she wanted to get the galderstones so that she could benefit from them. And then there's robbing graves. Can't get much worse than that.

3. The Blights. As it was kind of obvious, I love Odalia's design. But aside from that, not a really pleasant person. She could be on the running for worst mother in western animation among the likes of Lois Griffin, Peggy Hill, and Sheila from South Park. She is the very definition of a Karen who throws fits when things don't go her way such as when she was considering calling up everyone she knew to prevent Luz and her friends from reentering Hexside. Add in the obligatory "I want to speak to your manager," and you can check that off you Karen bingo board. Alador, I do like a little more because of his odd mannerisms such as chasing butterflies and the like. But just because he is seemingly less verbally abusive than his wife does not mean that he is a good guy: he was likely henpecked by his wife to force Amity to end her friendship with Willow; he thought nothing of demonstrating his Abomi-ton on Luz (even if he did agree with Luz that the demonstration itself was enough...he doesn't even try to push his wife to not kill Luz). And he shows shades of being an opportunistic bastard.

4. Boscha; she is Amity if you stripped her of her redeeming qualities and have her just be obsessed with her social life and goes out of her way to bully students she viewed as "weaker" than her. And then came where she harasses Willow for no good reason beyond "oh, the nerd is stealing my glamor? Well, I can't have that." But I do kind of think that she does have some potential to become slightly better...not to the point where she is a tag-along accomplice to the Hex Gang, but maybe have her haughtiness be broken a smidge? Plus her reaction to acquiring her crab palismen was cute.

#owl house #the owl house #blight #blight family #odalia #odalia blight #kikimora #hunter #golden guard #rant #bria

[your-brilliant-lady-m]

Part 5 - Basic Concepts of Miraculous Ladybug: Guardians

Helloooo! Did you think I was done? No!

My PhD thesis chapters were approved last week, so have some celebratory meta. I haven't seen the latest Season 4 episodes, so do forgive me for not being up to date.

Welcome to the next part of my analysis of the basic concepts of Miraculous Ladybug. Today we are talking about Master Fu, Order of the Guardians and how little everything here makes sense. I highly recommend reading previous parts to fully understand this one, but I'll try to quote most parts of earlier posts.

Order of the Guardians

Order is an international and ancient organisation (New York Special showed us the guardian from North America and he was dressed like Su Han). Presumably, Miraculous jewels were created by these people. Guardians are responsible for the preservation of jewels and knowledge about them. They also distribute Miraculouses to worthy people around the world to combat mostly magical threats, but sometimes jewels are used against normal threats too. It's implied that Master Fu used Miraculouses during WW2 when he was in Paris. Perhaps he performed some spywork with Marianne, but the magical nature of his interferences was discovered and he was forced to flee, before returning to France many decades later.

Why does the Order need so many people to take care of a 3 Miracle Boxes? If its only purpose is to preserve knowledge, keep magical secrets and distribute Miraculous jewels then wouldn't it be more logical to have Master-Apprentice system? It's much easier to keep magic knowledge a secret and train a few people in martial arts than doing the same in the self-sufficient temple full of people, keeping in mind that a good part of them are teenagers and children, who are bad at keeping secrets. Also a single person can travel around the world much easier to give out Miraculouses. Imagine that we have a few active guardians traveling the world with Boxes. What do other people at the temple do in the meantime? They teach the next generation about the powers of each Miraculous and Mirakung Fu, but besides that?

Master-Apprentice system gives us more personal conflict between Fu and his mentor and makes his relationship with Marinette and Adrien more nuanced. In this scenario Fu accidentally caused the death of his Master at 14 because he wasn't careful. It makes sense for him to take on only 1 or 2 students if this is how things were done with Miraculous Guardians. This Wang Fu is very cautious and protective, he spent the majority of his life afraid of hurting someone else and never took an apprentice as a result. But now he is ready to try again, since he is not getting any younger and he likes these 2 kids. He wants them to succeed. Maybe Master Fu, becomes the father figure for Adrien in this situation and a guide for Marinette. Just think about it. This way writers avoid the need to develop all these extra characters (Su Han) and traditions related to the Order. All inconsistencies I mentioned before and later in this post are gone now! Hell, even memory loss and the changing of the Miracle Box shape could make more sense. We also raise the stakes post-amnesia, if it happens of course (the whole Season 3 finale didn't make sense, so stay tuned for my next meta). Marinette and Adrien are on their own now, there's no one who can give them answers. It's very fun scenario, which has potential to be brilliant. Any thoughts on that?

The existence of Order of the Guardians is not quite a secret, at least it wasn't in XIX century China. Master Fu in "Feast" says that guardianship was considered "a great honor". It implies that people who lived close to the temple of the Order knew about Miraculouses and what exactly guardians did for the greater good.

The existence of other Miracle Boxes around the world makes sense from a real-life perspective. Writers have the ability to create many stories set in the same universe and use them for merchandise and an almost unlimited amount of content. Judging by the unholy amount of specials in production, this is exactly what the creators are going to do. It probably won't go down well, but who knows?

However, it doesn't work in our main story. The main conflict is Paris-centred. Gabriel's motivations revolve around Emilie's resurrection and Season 4 gives us more reasons to suspect that Adrien's mom wasn't as wonderful as everyone says. Hawkmoth still remains the main villain of the show and most likely it's going to stay that way. There's no point in moving the main story to different places for the sake of introducing more Miracle Boxes from around the world. Ladybug and Chat Noir aren't needed to fight something halfway across the world unless Hawkmoth also changes locations.

LB and CN are centrepieces of this franchise. They brought success and money to ZAG. Creators constantly need to remind the audience that this new piece of media with new characters who will never be mentioned again is connected to Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir. Writers have to come up with reasons to include our heroic duo into the story even if makes no sense.

New York Special had to introduce American Heroes whose names rarely come up in the fandom because people stopped caring about them or their stories shortly after the release of the Special. I barely saw any content dedicated to them. In order to bring LB and CN into the story, you have to include Hawkmoth too. Gabriel suddenly needs to get his hands on the Eagle Miraculous and goes to USA. Marinette and Adrien suddenly have a class trip to New York. Unfortunately, their presence in this story is required only to expand the world of Miraculous and attract fans of the show, so that they could keep an eye on new content related to newly introduced characters.

In the end, it's not their story. Events of the special don't affect main story of the show and the development of the love square is merely an illusion, because Adrien and Marinette are no closer than before. In season 4 LB and CN are growing apart and their test of trust in NY Special doesn't matter. Perhaps, some people don't see it that way and it's their right, but I find it hard to see NYS as a valid contribution to canon. I mean, even people in large portion of the fandom state in the tags on AO3 that "specials are not canon", "specials didn't happen" or "ignores both specials". It speaks volumes about continuity and preferences of your fandom.

Shanghai Special didn't give us more information about the Order, which is located in China, history of Miraculous jewels. We still don't know much about how Gabriel and Emilie found Peacock and Butterfly. Maybe, Marinette's family had connections to Miraculous jewels. Maybe, Adrien does some snooping and discovers research his parents made while Gabriel is away. All of these are relevant to the main story. However, we got something much different in the end.

Marinette chases Adrien across the globe and they make new friends. Fey becomes Ladydragon and now has a direct contact with Marinette through her uncle. Gabriel's desire to get his hands on the Prodigious comes out of nowhere. Apparently, he had been planning this trip for years, presumably even before Adrien was born. It probably happened at the same time as Agrestes found 2 Miraculouses. He bought bracelet-key (which is also a Miraculous apparently, but its Kwami is a Guardian of the Prodigious and they existed separately for a very long time - and let us not dwell on this mess) from some shady mafia boss, who can easily find out just who Gabriel really is (fashion designer billionaire) and use this information to blackmail him. This Special didn't answer important questions, but it gave us a new superhero character.

The real question is whether Miraculous as a project will survive long enough for writers to create content for every minor character they introduced in all specials. This is only a beginning after all.

Miraculous is not a global show and it can't be globalised in a way that makes sense, at least with Ladybug and Chat Noir in the centre of action. Case closed.

Mirakung Fu

I liked the idea of Mirakung Fu introduced in "Furious Fu". It makes sense and things rarely do in this show. Miraculous grants its holder superhuman strength, stamina, endurance and ability to fight. This means that essentially transformed heroes are guided by magic in combat. There's nothing personal in the way Miraculous holders fight. You can predict their moves and learn how to fight this magic guidance, which is what Su Han does.

However, if the holder has any special training, skills or knows any martial art in their civilian life then they become more dangerous opponents during transformation because now their fighting is a mix of magical moves and their personal knowledge, tricks and style. Therefore, Adrien and Kagami as skilful fencers have more chances of winning against someone who knows Mirakung Fu than Marinette, for example.

Memory loss

At the end of season 3, we find out several things:

apparently, now Miracle Box can change appearance to suit its guardian;

when Guardian passes down the Miracle Box to someone else, they lose memories not only about everything related to Miraculous, but also about pretty much everything in their life (Fu doesn't recognise Marianne, instead he experiences the love at first sight)

Master Fu trains Marinette to be the proper holder and next Guardian off-screen. He says that her training as the holder is complete in "Feast" and wants her to become the next Guardian. Fu told her lots of things, and yet, he never mentioned the fact that he would lose his memory after relinquishing the box, nor the fact that Marinette would lose her memory afterwards. She finds out about this from Wayzz after the battle with Miracle Queen and the letter that Master Fu gave her. That's not proper training! How on Earth do you forget to mention this memory loss? How?

Master Fu's amnesia is a convenient plot device that removes him from the narrative almost completely. That's mostly all there is to it. Why? Because it doesn't make sense.

Fu was around 7 or 8 when he started his training. The disaster at the temple happened when he was 14. He stated that his training was never complete, which means that he never passed any magical ritual, never swore an oath or was bound by some kind of spell that made him subjected to the rule of memory loss.

Miracle Boxes belonged to the order, not Fu. Their design reflected their country of origin because these Miraculous were made and kept in China. They were just standing there on the shelves not magically bound to anyone in particular. When Feast attacked, monks just tossed Wang Fu the miracle box and grimoire. No one at the temple lost their memory after Fu took the box with him (Su Han is the proof). Su Han not only remembers Fu and his mistake but everything that happened that fateful day as well. In "Furious Fu" Marinette explains Su Han that Master Fu lost his memory in the very first conversation they have. However, after Ladybug and Chat Noir fight Su Han on the roof and escape with the Miracle Box, the latter searches for Fu and attempts to take his staff from him. In this scene, Su Han acts like Fu knows very well what is going on and who he is.

Su Han should be aware of the memory loss rule as the Celestial Guardian. He remarks on the different shape of the Mother Miracle Box and calls her "incorrect", which means that Su Han should have been able to easily tell that previous Guardian lost his memory and the Miracle Box is now bound to someone else. But he doesn't say anything. Moreover, since Su Han is supposed to know about amnesia, he seemed awfully chill about forcing this 14-year-old girl in front of him to give up the box and her memories. Hell, Chat Noir wasn't on board with this. But we get zero reaction from Su Han.

During the first conversation between Marinette and Su Han, he doesn't ignore what she is trying to say, instead he actively comments on every word. Even if Su Han didn't listen when Marinette told him about Fu's memory loss, than he still should be able to understand that Fu doesn't recognise him, because of common sense and the "incorrect" shape of the box. But nothing of the sort happens. Because writers apparently forgot that "memory loss" is supposed to be known to everyone in the Order. On-screen it looks like Su Han is not aware of the "amnesia rule".

"Furious Fu" makes the concept of memory loss a plothole no matter how you look at it. Just like "Timetagger" and "Chat Blanc", as well as "Kwamibuster" this episode is not consistent within itself. It does not surprise me, however.

Grimoire and Guardian Staffs

Let's talk about the Miraculous Grimoire. Good things first.

There are no illustrations of Miraculouses in camouflage. Kwami can't read its contents, only guardians can. Certain elements are written in riddles as an additional precaution. The book contains only the information people have learned so far, which means that Miraculouses have more unexplored potential ("Mr. Pigeon 72"). It describes powers of each Miraculous, provides information about weapons, has instructions for potions that don't make sense (see previous parts).

Unfortunately, everything is about to go downhill from here.

Guardians are taught how to read the writing in this book. They can read it just like people learn to read texts in a different language. This means that one can read Grimoire like any other book (you don't need to consult some guide to decode each letter or word). Master Fu proclaimed Marinette an almost fully trained Guardian. He should have taught her how to read the Grimoire then (he doesn't know the code very well, but he knew enough to understand the general meaning and content of the book according to "Collector"). He didn't. We don't know why. He shows her powers of every Miraculous but doesn't teach her the code.

Master Fu knows that Grimoire now belongs to Gabriel Agreste. He knows that it's dangerous for someone else to have it. If they knew how to read the Grimoire, they could discover all secrets of Miraculouses and harm Ladybug, Chat Noir and other heroes. It's very important to keep the information about the code top secret because Fu is not the only one with the source material.

What does he do then? Master Fu proceeds to write a French translation of Grimoire for Marinette, a translation that he doesn't even need. He carries it with him at all times on a tablet (without any precautions) just like the Miracle box after "Feast". Naturally, it means that in "Miracle Queen", Gabriel and Nathalie easily managed to get their hands on the tablet and Miracle Box. It allows the plot to happen, sure. But it doesn't make any sense.

"Furious Fu" created another curious plot hole. It will probably be ignored, of course. Su Han has a staff with a magical compass that allows him to find any Miracle box, but not the Miraculous jewels for some reason. How does the staff work? Can it locate the box without the Miraculous? If yes, then it seems useless. What's the point in the ability to locate an empty box? If it can locate the box only with the Miraculous jewels inside, it implies that the staff can track the location of every Miraculous too. So, Su Han could just locate the Butterfly and Peacock without any problem. But he talks about reassigning Ladybug and Black Cat to adults and defeating Hawkmoth like locating the Butterfly is not possible. This situation makes the Guardian Staff a simple plot device that creates plot holes and its only purpose is to explain how Su Han found Marinette.

Also, I have a few more words to say about this. Master Fu had a Guardian Staff that was never mentioned before. I wonder why? That's because the staff didn't exist before "Furious Fu" was written. Writers just went: "Do you know what would be cool? If Fu's cane was really a secret Guardian Staff with a compass all along that he decided to keep even after he lost his memory? It would make people wonder whether Master Fu is faking amnesia, and everyone will definitely call him an awful mentor after this even though we kind of tried to make him a good and responsible person."

Fu didn't give it to Marinette and didn't mention it to her. Why? When he gave up his memory, he should have written about this in his letter at least. Why did he decide to keep it? He can't use it anyway now.

Please note how in the flashbacks Fu didn't take any staff with him when he escaped the temple. Su Han seemed to know how Fu's staff looked like. It means that Master Fu didn't make this staff himself, because it belonged to the Order.

Su Han wasn't even surprised that Marinette didn't have the staff as the current Guardian. Was she not supposed to have it? He never questioned the fact that the former Guardian without memories has the staff. Su Han actually returns this staff to Fu after he is deakumatized and Fu acts like they have never met before. Why did Su Han gave the staff back when he knows what it is and to whom it should belong (to him or to Marinette as the current Guardian)? The staff is useless in the hands of the civilian. Does Marianne know about its secret? We'll probably never find out, unfortunately.

Guardian Staff of Master Fu has a compass too and therefore this also makes it a plot device, just like Su Han's staff.

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